June 15, 2003
It was a warm and breezy Sunday afternoon. There was excitement in the air. We had spent the day before cleaning organizing and shopping for our 2 new house guests. Sunday after church we arrived home anxious and excited. We all wanted everything just so. We wanted the first impression of our family to be a good one for these 2 little angels coming to stay. I remember Madison perched in the front window watching impatiently for the car to pull in the drive. It was hard to believe the day had finally arrived, the day we all prepared for all the training hours the 10 weeks of classes the 30 hours of paying for a babysitter. We then survived the stress of our first of many home study visits and inspections we had received our license a few months before. All this anticipation and waiting for the unknown. We had explained to the children that a child coming into our home would likely not be Caucasian, would likely be handicapped in some way or maybe sick. After all when we had filled out our paper work this was a preference. Any race and disability in fact our only rule was the child had to be younger than our youngest.
Imagine our surprise when we opened the door to see 2 frail looking Caucasian children.
The older of the duo was a girl. she had a baby face but years of life lived in her eyes. The younger was a boy, 8 months old and not healthy looking. Pale. very thin.
The things we learned that first day no class could have ever prepared us for. To see a child who was 2 and half years old believe it was her sole responsibility to provide care for her baby brother. To see these children tremor and shake shivering from withdrawal. Shudder at the slightest movement in their direction as if they will be hit at any moment or maybe every moment.
As we made our way through those first days and weeks we realized how sick these children were. One was hospitalized both were diagnosed with asthma bother spent many hours in the doctors office. One was seriously delayed in overall milestones the other had a language vocabulary that would make a sailor blush.
Over time we found doctors to help therapists to work with us and teach us how to work with the children. for 23 months we worked with the birth family for reunification. 4 times a week for 4 years we did OT, PT, speech therapy with the baby. We made progress.
The older one slowly began to trust and allow herself to be loved. Her angry outburst became fewer and further between.
Adoption day arrived. What a bitter sweet day for us. Closing the book of their traumatic past and Opening the new book of a bright future.
Multiple diagnosis had been made during the 23 previous months. We worked diligently to change those. Daily therapy at home weekly therapy outside of the home. PRAYER lots and lots of PRAYER.
Looking at these children today it is difficult to believe they are the same traumatized, frail, sick, broken and scared children who arrived in our home 9 years ago.
Over the years we have taken many classes read many books and sought the help support and advice of many professionals.
I have road the roller coaster of emotion. Recently I have learned that bio parents are actually doing well now. They are no longer married but doing well independent of each other. I struggled for about 8 months on whether it is a good idea or not to make contact. The decision was made easier by circumstance that we have no control over.
Time has not been kind to our boy. He has always struggled with behavior, self control and sensory things. But things began to spiral out of control about 18 months ago prompting us to seek professional evaluations and intervention.
It is heart breaking to see this sweet boy and his big beautiful brown eyes. Looking so sad and filled with turmoil. To see him impulsively lash out and injure a sibling then show no remorse what so ever. to see him smile so rarely that every time he does smile it brings tears to your eyes.
He is struggling daily and sometimes hourly to control his actions thought and words. Temper is an understatement, he is filled with a rage that is unimaginable.
Last week I sat in the office of his therapist begging for guidance, for a secret way to reach through all the stuff in his heart to help me find that sweet wide eyed little boy I know is hiding in there somewhere.
Through tears and a choked up voice I begged for answers. When finally I raised my eyes to look into hers I saw a sadness that surprised me. When she spoke it was in a low even voice saturated in sorrow and regret.
As she explained to me her thoughts I found it difficult to concentrate. There were moments when the room seemed to be off kilter and her voice warped. Due to incredible level of drugs that had remained in his little system even at 8 months when he arrived in our home, due to the alcohol consumption while inutero, due to the traumatic events he witnessed and experienced from conception to removal. There is little we can do. These facts exposures and events caused damage to his developing brain.
damage
irreversible
damage
altering his brain forever
we have a vegetable soup of diagnosis and absolutely no plan or inkling of a plan of action to help him make progress. He has injured 2 siblings in 4 weeks. The level of rage in his little body is unreal. He has injured himself. He lives in a sate of hyper vigilance that he feels the need to protect himself at all times.
I have learned that no matter how many classes I take I am no where near knowledgeable enough to properly parent this child. I need help I need more classes more books more discussion.
And today I find myself angry. ANGRY. very very angry.
I am angry at his bio mom for taking drugs while she knew she was pregnant, they planned this pregnancy for crying out loud. The LEAST she could have done was stay clean for the pregnancy.
I am angry that they lied about what they were involved in during and following the pregnancy.
I am angry at her for drinking even after being counseled of the damage it could cause her unborn child.
I am angry that such things and choices could be made and imposed on an unborn child who now is forced to learn how to walk through life with the affects of those choices.
I am angry that my sweet boy rarely smiles, struggles daily and fights just to make it through each day.
I will find a way.
One thing is sure. This kind of anger in me acts as fuel to motivate me to find resources and help for my boy. I will call, travel, read and take any classes seminars any time any where. If it would give me a chance of helping my son find his way out of his turmoil and into a smile....