Riding

Tieran's third birthday. His first trip home with us. I remember how surprised I was at how willingly he came. We had just shown up a few days before, ready to spend a few days getting to know him... Not intending to necessarily bring him home. But it was going so well, and he was so incredibly loving and open and it just seemed so right. Ah, if only we knew that it was a telltale sign of attachment disorder that he would jump in the car and go home with a cousin he met a few times and her husband he had known for three days. I look at that picture, and it hits me in so many ways. There is all his stuff in the backseat (the trunk filled with things Jo said, "he just had to have!") that he literally never sees or plays with. Our car ride then filled with silly songs and veggie tales, rhyming and stories, and now filled with cursing and my windows being bashed or spit on. The toys have long since been bagged up after being thrown at my head while driving.

Have we destroyed him? Ruined that precious little boy who seemed so trusting? I sure hope not. No matter what happens in life, RAD is formed in the first 2-2.5 yrs of life... which we are definitely not responsible for, but is hard to remember when I look at that picture. The literature says that both RAD and bipolar progress (why is that called progression?!?!) with time, which is both comforting (assuming it means they are raising their ugly heads more with time, not because of us) and horrifying (are they to get worse?!?). I think of birthdays to come. Will he be in residential somewhere? Will he ever be able to accept gifts without feeling undeserving and destroying them? Will we get in the car like that again, with songs and giggles and the feeling of being a family?

We just finished up a holiday unlike any we've had before. Last year this time, we were beginning to see the face of the pain that he was quietly carrying before. But we faked it, believing in the 'fake it till you make it' mantra. We helped him to have fun and enjoy family, and bore the tantruming with a "what else can you expect from a little guy with so many transitions?" feeling. This year is a different one for sure. Our little angel spent most of the holiday weekend in isolation. We have paid for the extended-fam time for so long, and are tired of taking turns attending things while the other stays home with little man. So we all went, but he was not really allowed to participate with the rest of the fam. Nobody else read stories to him, took him for walks or sang him songs. As badly as they all want to, and as badly as he wanted them to, we could not allow it. Nazis you say? Probably sounds like it. But oh the decisions... Do you let him meet his love/affection quota with the insignificant (meaning not parents) folks so he can come home and refuse it even more? Do you appeal to everyone else's need for things to seem okay? Do you grin and bear it when he hugs onto to an auntie who has just said, "oh but isn't he well behaved and trying soooo hard!" and glares and growls over her shoulder? I can't. I know too much now about what it does to him. But man what it does to us all.

I look at that picture, and I think of what we didn't know, and what we still don't know, and I shudder. Then I take a breath and think of what I saw in him that I haven't seen for so long. And I remember that he is still in there. That even when he is fake, he is showing something about what he wants to be like, even if he is far from it. He doesn't have much energy left to fake it these days, but at least we know what we're up against. We keep telling him, we're all on the same team. Dad, Mom, and Tieran against the mad/hurt/pain. We're grateful to our families for trying desperately to understand, for trusting us, and for being on our team, at least on the sidelines.

It is a countdown now, two weeks, until we all pile into that car and drive down south. This time to drop him off somewhere, and pray for healing. For training and for teaching and for understanding. Mostly, for miracles. It will be a very different drive than that first one. Probably no giggling and veggie tales, but definitely similar anxieties and dreams and prayers. I wish I could show him that picture and he could see our hearts, what we wanted to be able to give him, what we wanted to bring him home to. Maybe after his time at the SAFE ctr, it will be an entirely different drive... With smiles like the first one, but more knowing.

Multiple Transitions

Okay, this is not for the weary or faint-hearted. And definitely a long read. But well worth it to any who are considering adoption of a foster kiddo(not as a "do not proceed" just as a "proceed with care and awareness!") Or for any who are trying to understand the situations these families face. I am trying to hold onto this, as Tieran is very much unable to say it with his words, and working his bootie off to say it with actions. Michael Trout is incredible and insightful and I think he maybe read Tieran's (and many others) mind somehow. It's called Multiple Transitions. The video is incredible... children's voices over stirring music, with their straight forward way of saying and seeing things. It's pretty unbelievable, unless you happen to live with one of those children. Here ya go...

I want to talk to you about what it feels like getting ready to be adopted, when you are a little kid who has already had about a hundred mothers.
When you can barely remember what your first mother smelled like.
When everyone spoke a different language in the place where you were born than in the place you are now. When some of the people who took care of you were called "foster parents" and you didn't know what that meant except something about they weren't going to stick around.

When, in the process of being moved all over the place, you lost some of your brothers and your sisters and a particular pair of shoes that felt just right and your absolutely most favorite cuddly, and a certain place on the inside of your last crib where you used to scratch with your fingernail to help yourself go to sleep.

Kids like me, see, don't have families of our own. Because there's something wrong about us. (I guess) Or because there aren't enough to go around. Or something. And I probably won't get one, either. Or if I do, will it be too late for me to believe that they love me, and are going to stay with me?

So I want to talk to you, Big People, about these things, even though I am not sure you are real interested. Are you the same Big People who keep doing these things to me in the first place? (Please don't get offended if I talk to all of you at once: caseworkers, foster parents, judges, adoptive parents. I just need to say how it all feels to me, and sometimes I can't get the cast of characters straight.) Some people say that my first parents shook me until my eyeballs got loosened up, or they left me alone, or they gave me away, or they just ran away. I guess you think, because of that, I am supposed to not miss them? (Because if I did it would sure make me lots more cooperative with all the plans you keep making for me.) Should I just say, "They did the best they could" so I am not so ticked off and lonely and worried all the time about what the Big People are going to do next?

The truth is, I can't do any of these things: I can't forget. (Even when my brain does, my body won't.) I can't stop myself from yearning (even though later I will get quite good at playing games about this). I'm not saying I was some cherished treasure or anything in my family. But what were you thinking when you sent big men in uniforms to grab me out of my screaming father's arms at eleven o'clock at night, scaring me to death? Or when you sent me to a foster home without telling them about the special ways I needed to be handled because I had never stayed anywhere long enough to get attached to anybody? Or when you then took me from those people who were so disappointed in me after a few weeks that they said I would have to be "disrupted" (whatever that means). So you sent me to a family with an older foster child who was mean to little kids because they were weak and small. And so he punched me a lot in secret. And pulled real hard on my penis in the middle of the night.

And when that family got rid of me, and the next, and the next, did you think I was going to take it all lying down? Did you think I was supposed to just be sweet and adorable and ready to connect to yet another family who were going to throw me away? (Could you have done that?)

After a while, I had just lost too many people that I might have cared about. I had been with too many "parents" who really weren't, because they couldn't hold me tightly in their hearts at all. None of you got how I was being changed by all these losses, (in my heart and in my behavior). After a while, I began to get some pretty bad ideas about how things work. And mostly those ideas said that I was, by that time, in deep doo-doo. I wasn't going to let anybody like me. Not even me.

And so, now, I won't let you imagine even for a minute that I like you. That I need you, desperately. That I might ever grow to trust you. I am not, after all, a complete moron.

Are you ready to have me not believe you? Are you ready for me to fight you for control? Are you ready to hold me, and then hold me some more (when all the time I act like I don't want you to at all?) Are you ready to really stay with me, through a battle that might last almost my whole growing up? Are you willing to feel as powerless as I do?

What will you think when I say I don't care a bit whether you go on vacation and leave me with Aunt Harriet, who I hardly know at all? Then, when you come back, are you ready to deal with me taking a dump in front of your bedroom door every single day for three whole weeks?

You see, it is like this, Big People: I'm not stupid. I was not blind. I do pay attention, because it matters lots to me. And so when my first parents knocked me around or acted like I was invisible, or gave me to someone else to raise, or stood there screaming while you took me away from them, I noticed. And when no one came to take their place, I noticed that too. And when the orphanage didn't last, and the first half-dozen foster families didn't last, something started happening to me. A little bit of my spirit started to die.

For some reason, then, I started pulling out my eyebrows. (I'm not sure what that has to do with my spirit dying.) I agree that it doesn't make much sense for me to join in with all the other people that have hurt me, by hurting myself. But I do it anyway. So I bite on my hand, or dig at my face, or make a real bad sore on the top of my head from scratching myself. I pull out clumps of my hair, and so the kids at preschool laugh, and Big People have an odd look on their faces when they see me.I masturbate a lot to comfort myself. (I even let a dog lick me down there.) They say that sometimes I try to touch other kids down there. Sometimes I run into the arms of strangers, like I have known them forever, and like I don't actually care anymore who I am safe with or not. (Am I safe with anybody? Does it matter any more?)

Did I mention how much I am growing to hate smallness, and weakness and defenselessness? It's getting so the only thing I know how to do is to just be as tough as I can, and to try to rub out smallness and weakness wherever I see them:

In the kittens that get hung by the clothesline in the backyard and squished with a tennis racquet. In the babies in my recent foster homes who turned up scratched. In my own Self, which I attack, particularly when I am feeling small or scared, and I need to beat myself into more toughness.

And as little parts of my spirit keep dying, will it surprise you that I'm not exactly going to be overjoyed when you finally say you have permanent parents for me? Do you honestly think I am going to say, "Oh, I get it. You were just kidding all those other times, but this time you really mean it"?

And, so, do you want to hear something funny? Just about the time I am ready to get what everybody thought I needed (parents who are actually never going to leave me) I'm going to get just a tad weird. I'm going to start banging my head more than I did before. I might start acting like a baby again and, even if I had gotten a little bit comfortable with my latest "parents" I'm going to go back to stiffening my body, and screaming at night, and doing everything I can to tell you that I don't want you to love me. I can't stand all this talk about "permanence" and "adoption". I will make you sorry you ever thought about trying to get close to me. I will make you feel almost as helpless and small as I have usually felt. So are you wondering what I need? Are you wondering what I would do about all of this if I had the power?

First of all, it would help a lot if you would start with one simple, clear commandment to yourself:
Never forget that I am watching. Never forget that every single thing you do matters immensely to me (even when I work like crazy to make you think that it does not). And I will remember.
You may be able to get away with treating me as if I am invisible for a while (perhaps long enough to "disrupt" me or move yourself to a different casework job). I was there, watching, I was having deep feelings about what was happening to me and I needed someone to act as if it mattered, hugely.

Second, don't imagine that I will ever stop yearning for my birth-family (even though, as in other things, I will pretend otherwise). Help me find some way to keep a connection with them, even if I never see them again. Bring out pictures, or a Life Book and hold me while I rage or sob or stare, or all of these at once. And understand that none of this is a reflection on you. Don't be surprised when I come back from a visit with them peeing my pants or throwing tantrums in the bath that night.I told you: things matter to me. So I am going to have feelings about things that matter to me.

Third, it would help a lot if you would make the decisions that you need to make and stick with them. Some days I think my mind is going to explode because I know something is going on in my life but I can't tell what it is; later I'll learn that there was a court hearing that day and everybody in my life was wrought up and then it was "continued" (whatever that means - except mostly that nothing is getting decided, and I still don't have a family). I don't get to make the decisions. You do. So have the courage to make them. So that I can get a life.

Fourth, it would mean a lot to me if you would take good care of my foster family. They have their hands full. Sometimes they don't know what to do with me. So make sure someone is there to answer their questions, to encourage them, to help them understand me better. You won't like what will happen if I keep getting disrupted, and the only way I can think of to prevent that is to take extra good care of the people that are taking care of me.

So have I told you anything that you wanted to know? Have I helped you to understand how we feel - all of us kids who fell into the world of foster care and adoption? I know it is a burden for you to think so carefully about me, and I know you might get a little nervous to realize that I am watching, and affected by all that you do.But you won't be sorry if you take me seriously. Someday, see, I will be Big People. GIVE THAT A THOUGHT.

Baby Steps

I feel like Bill Murray in What About Bob.
"Baby steps off the elevator... Baby steps down the hall..." And then there's the fact that I could also be seen standing in the middle of town screaming for a shrink... But that's a topic for another day.
As for today, I got a miraculous phone call. And in all my excitement I completely forgot what the heck I was really so excited about. We have been hoping and hoping and praying and crossing our fingers to get our little man into a stabilization and evaluation place to get some more holistic and practical help. It is truly an amazing place... they do the evaluations that we desperately need (medical, psychiatric, academic, family etc) do intensive family therapy, teach about making safe choices, give parent training, wean him off medicines to determine what is necessary or not, and send him home on weekends with a family plan in place to try and try again. (all in 30-90 days!) We have been praying it would happen before Jarod deploys, and were elated to hear that it will be happening next month. Or I was elated anyway.
I kept trying to figure out why Jarod wasn't dancing with relief like I was, and then we sat down to process the whole thing. It took about ten minutes for me to join him in the devastation of it. We are sending a 4 year old boy who has tried for months to "get sent away" into a place where we will not be. Of course I know we're doing it because we love him and want him to have a chance at making it here in our family. But will he know that? Of course not. If he doesn't know after the last year that "being bad" doesn't get him "sent to mommy's house cause her's bad too" why in the world would he believe us now?
Am I relieved that help is on the way? Unbelievably. Did it just occur to me that our little guy will spend nights in a place where there is no mom singing lullabyes and no dad coming home from work? Yup. Might it be weeks before it hits me that he may see this as abandonment when we are giving it our all? You betcha. Once the relief wears off and I'm getting the help I need to make it home, will it split my heart in two that he may actually miss us and feel scared? Unspeakably.
And this is how it goes, with the ups and the downs and the doses of reality that God gives ever so slowly ... For our Creator is smart enough to give only doses. If ever the whole picture was presented at once; the highs and the lowest lows required on the journey... Would we ever really take these baby steps? I think not.

Irrepressible Enthusiasm?

I used to be quite Pollyanna-ish. You know her, right? She's the center of a "heart-warming story of hope and happiness... Pollyanna is the timeless tale of a little girl with an irrepressible enthusiasm for life ... Pollyanna plays the 'Glad Game' -- in which everyone can find a silver lining in even the darkest cloud, and her sunny nature, good humor and determination to look on the bright side of life prove to have an astonishing effect on those around her." I have tried, more than once, to fake myself out and pretend I still possess that pollyannistic (now that's a new word eh?) self. And then I wake up.

And then I feel sad that I'm not like that. Then I get mad. Maybe Pollyanna didn't have enough hardship to really test her. Or Heaven forbid... Maybe I don't have enough faith or umph or stamina to keep finding the silver lining. Or worst of all, maybe there isn't always some freeking silver lining. Oh it's tiresome to even wonder. All I know is that I've become a lot more comfortable not saying "wonderful" or even "fine" when asked how things are. Granted, if I am graced with an unbeatable sunset, an infectious baby-laugh, the swelling and smell of saltwater, a hysterical joke, or a brown squirrel doing acrobats on my tree, I can see it. I can smell it, taste it, feel it- I can take it in. And I am grateful. But I'm learning to be more honest in my acknowledgement that these graces do not make everything fine. It is not always fine. It has been quite obviously not fine for my family for going on two years.

Sometimes, I want to scream, THIS ISN'T ME I SWEAR! I want to post a disclaimer somewhere that says I am not a martyr. That I don't enjoy being dramatic or cynical. That I'm not exaggerating our circumstances. That I do know there are silver linings... But that my head is in the toilet bowl right now, and so if you could just give me some time to pull it out, I will acknowledge all those beautiful things just as soon as I get showered up, get my hair dried out, and get the crap out of my eyes. Then maybe Pollyanna will grace me with her presence.

And in the meantime, I will try to recall that Ms. Pollyanna was paralyzed, and she was discouraged, and her infectious optimism was returned and then some at the appreciation at what had been lost. And I revel in the parallel. My body is healthy, but my dreams, my life, seem to be paralyzed, and anyone who smiles non-stop and plays the glad game without ever a tear while paralyzed would scare me to death. And so I think for now I'll have to be okay with that. And someday, I will think to myself, MY how beautiful this life and these dreams are...

"Pretty soon, they say, I shall go home. I wish I could walk all the way there. I do. I don't think I shall ever want to ride anywhere any more. It will be so good just to walk. Oh, I'm so glad! I'm glad for everything. Why, I'm glad now I lost my legs for a while, for you never know how perfectly lovely legs are till you haven't got them-that go, I mean. I'm going to walk eight steps tomorrow.
With heaps of love to everybody, Pollyanna" (Eleanor Hodgman Porter 1913)