Letting go of The Hard. Good night.

Why couldn't I just leave it here, unfinished? I don't know. Yet, it haunts me.

This year, I become aware, one of the things I really needed to do was "Let go of the hard". 

The adopting process was hard. The learning curve: hard. The first 2.5 years of becoming a mother: H.A.R.D.

Big hard. Heavy, hard. Guilt riddled, hard. Questioning of all that I thought I knew, hard. 

I dug in. Dug in to survive. "Just get through. Just keep going on 'survival'. " That's what your friends how've BTDT will tell you. And they are right. I dug in. And dug. And dug. I built a big rut that we moved along in.

That rut was deep. For a long time I couldn't even see over out of it. But the truth is... it was all I knew for a long time. And I didn't fight my way out. I stayed right there. "Just get through. Just survive" I told myself.

I'm not there any more. I don't even know if I recognize that person who was.

I'm now in a place where I fucking adore my family. I want to be with my kid all the damn time. Seriously. I recognize how obnoxious that is. Totally. I own it. And I still will say it over and over again. Because, honey- it wasn't easy getting here.

*******

Looking back- I can't remember the beginning.

Not really.

My minds eye sees it as if, I witnessed it all. Not experienced. Watched it. A level of seperation. It was someone else.

How did I choose Ethiopia?
I don't really know.

How did you choose to adopt?
I don't really know.

In truth: I was a different person who began here. Who began in 'our forum'. Who sat in the home study agencies office asking questions. That wasn't me. Or maybe it was... but I don't recognize that person in me anymore.

I'm a mother now. It is truly defining. I know- it is but a season it will be the prevailing descriptor and soon, far too soon, another will come along. But for now. I move on. As a mother. A mother NOT lost.

When I look back at this blog, over the years, there is much I've deleted. I'm learning where to go for guidance and support. For the sake of my child, who is now a young boy, growing to a young man- I've learned to work my own issues and struggles as they are MY OWN and not place the pressure to change on HIM.

I regret viewing his personality traits and physical needs as needing to be 'fixed' or 'coped with'.

I was the one who needed to mature and use coping tools. You see, at 40 years old, the skills of developing an attachment with another human, who relied on me, had escaped me.

I was the one who broke, and needed fixing. Slowly, with tears, snot, vomit, shit, laundry, paste, paint, glitter, blood, pancake batter, sand and a bucket load of Grace-- the good Lord is putting me back together.  He's not done yet. I hope he never is.

I'm letting this go. Letting go of the hard and heavy. I'm leaving it behind and moving forward. Goodnight sweet friend. You've been good to me.


PS- I'll write from time to time elsewhere. If you really want to read it let me know. I don't know why you would, but...

Some days, I should refrain from reading....

I sometimes get back 'there'.

The "there" of the first year and a half two years of being a mother.

The hard "there".  

I was learning. But it was painful growing. It was h.a.r.d. 

I'm now at a place when I can put this in context of my experience and its different. I have tools. I have history. I have peace and a bit of perspective (albeit lost from time to time)

And yet....

Sometimes. Sometimes all it takes is an article. An article spelling it out. Resonating and shaking the core.
Yes.
Triggered and all the anxiety and painful past comes back and it's as if I'm in it. As if WE are back in that thick heavy hard season. My heart races. My shoulders rise. Jaw clenched. and... I have to remind myself of the reality. Reality of now.

So different.

But MAN!  Sometimes trying to learn to be a better parent. To read more about therapeutic parenting, is simply too over-whelming. Some times. My heart. just. can't. take. any. more.

I remind myself to fire up the Photobooth and have some silliness overload fun.

Bruised Reeds...

He was speaking about broken children. Children torn apart. He was speaking of the addicted ones. The juvy detention ones.

I was hearing it in context of my child.

Isiah 42:3
Bruised reeds. He will not break the bent ones.

"My job is to speak the truth. Speak it in love. And let God take care of their hearts."

Sometimes, I get in the way. I try to fix, and heal. Figure out the past.

Cause a momma's heart want to go back and take away that pain. A momma's heart wants to be there with him through it all. Make it not hurt.

Hubris.

The pain is not mine. The past is not mine. The healing power is not mine. Let go and let God. (How many times have I had to relearn? How many more?)

Mercy.

Grace.

This is not about Gun Control

This isn't about gun control.
But, it is.

This isn't about mental health, health care, or stigma.
But, it is.

This isn't about God not being allowed in schools.
Because, of course, she is there.



A friend once told me about her middle school experience. Apparently one of the students was dealing drugs in the school. He kept the drugs hidden in his hat. Once he was caught, there was uproar. Demands that something be done! Keep our children SAFE! NO DRUGS.

So now, kids can't wear hats in school.

It's not about hats.
It's really not.



One fool tries to blow up his shoe on a plane. Although we whine and mutter about it, each of us remembers and knows why. We 'know' this ridiculous stocking feet routine is at least 'doing something'.

It's not about shoes. Or even bombs in our shoes.
It's really not.


Drugs are in our schools. They are. Outlawing hats does not address the problem. Plans are being made to blow up planes. Some will succeed. They will. Doesn't matter how many of our shoes are x-ray'ed or how many of us are felt up during TSA checks. It makes 'us' feel as if we are in control. "We are 'doing something' about it."  But are we?

We fight because we feel powerless. We fight to get that power 'back'. We think, that will somehow make us feel safe once again. Truth is, we never had it. It is always just a facade.

If we really are, there should be no reason to fear, right? Now that there are police at school drop off. To 'feel' like we are doing something. Do we suddenly feel safer, and have no twinge of fear at that wave goodbye and blown kiss.

The stigma of Mental health needs to be addressed. Promptly. Respectfully. Immediately. Help for children with mental illness. YES!

The stigma of MEN seeking medical help for any health issue needs to be addressed. Promptly. Respectfully. Immediately. Personally I think there  find a vast difference in how men and women perceive illness and thus seeking medical care. This is also true for other demographic sets and, YES needs to be addressed.

Gun control. Oh my freaking word. YES. You can spout 2nd amendment to me all day. This is what I see in that particular amendment. I see family men who remember living in fear, of their families being threatened and those men, in turn, made ... perhaps the first documented error of "fighting for control" where perhaps that wasn't really the issue. The issue was independence and right to protect their property. It's perhaps possible that is EXACTLY what the forefathers intended. Own a gun in your home. Protect your family if invaded. GUN CONTROL YES! And this from a constitutional conservative. (note: not political one... big giant difference. )

This isn't a post about all the answers. I think the problem is, we are jumping to answers, without really asking all the questions. I don't think, mental health, health care or gun control are going to fix this. This is not a 3 prong issue.

If someone wants to shoot up a school, blow up a plane, or sell drugs to kids...  Here's what I know. If they are determined enough and smart enough-- they will. It doesn't matter how many doors are locked. How many police are in the building. How many items of clothing you are wearing or need to strip off. Bad shit happens.  Shitty people do shitty things. Mean people are mean. Crazy people are crazy. Bombers bomb. Dopers dope.

I want more questions. Not necessarily more answers. Its starts at home. What am I? Who am I when the bad shit flies? Who are we raising our children to be?  I don't know the answers. I suspect, we haven't found them yet. I'm scared. I'm nervous. And having gun wearing officers at an elementary school does not alleviate that fear. My biggest fear, is that we'll screw up school, learning, children... by 'doing something'.

Oh- and THIS! Yes. This.

Contact...

Joyfully,
I see the smiling faces peering at new photos.
I see the littlest ones joyful smile, just peeking in at the corner of the photo. Familiar. Reminiscent of her brothers.
I see bright, seemingly new clothing!
... and then I recognize...
Recognize that clothing from years past, had been drying on tree branches. They were.... Sunday clothes.
Recognize everyday shirts and pants show beneath these special day clothes.
Recognize those everyday clothes are the same from last year. And the one before. More weathered, faded, worn.

I notice the feet. Are they a pathway for parasite and disease?
I notice growth and lack of. A brother of ten as tall as the five?
I notice the the frailty. Frailty has returned and taken over another. Skeletal shadows show, again.
Sickness in time of harvest.
Malaria.
Sick.
Fucking mosquitoes.

My privilege reads debates on "Access and Affordability". Seriously? Are you fucking kidding?

Sick.
Heart sick.
It's familiar.
This knowing and not knowing.
This heart in another place.


I have to find a new stable. A new stable point of this knowing/unknowing of being the new normal. Of being in this privileged America and having family... not. Privilege is not transferable. My heart is unsettled.

We are here

We are here. Somewhere. We've been many places since the middle of June.

We sold our house. For the first time in 100's of years, that back yard belongs to someone outside my family.

After bouncing around a bit we've found a soft place to land. For a bit anyway. I'm having some feelings about it all. But we are together. Thriving. Trusting. Some days more than others.

I hope to be back here, writing again. Listening. Asking questions. It's not always about having 'my voice' heard. Mostly its about asking questions and processing the information. Sometimes- it's too important not to add your voice. Everyone's voice matters. It's powerful. It an be costly too.

Puddles. Quack.

Making the best of what's before us! All joy. All joy.

Then. Now. Future...

It won't be like this for long. This I know. Right now they still play well together, mostly. They are close in size, but their formerly defined roles are beginning to be challenged. The differences on how they are being raised, will begin to be even more challenging as they begin school. It's been a good 2 years for these two. Bumpy times are beginning. More will come. But such is the life as cousins. It is the way it has always been.

Lanky Ethiopian

Strong. Lanky. Golfing. Ethiopian. Love. Him. Beyond. Words. Heart. Bursting.

We have lift off!!!

Flight!!  Do you see it?

Let me make it easier...

YES YES YES!! FLIGHT PHASE!!!  For those unaware:  'running' actually must have a flight phase, a point in the motion where neither feet (nor any other part of body, obviously) are touching the ground.

Actual running. Oh how he shines. My heart is full full full. This is but one little teeny tiny thing of the hundreds of things filling my cup these days. Hundreds. Thousands? Millions? Maybe!! This little tiny physical triumph is just a reflection of much healing in our family.

God is so gooooooood.