It’s o.k. to put my thoughts and feelings out there, isn’t it?
I feel like I don’t want to burden my husband or my family anymore than I already have.
I just finished reading a book called, An Unlit Path. It’s the story of a family who adopted some very hurt children and their story. She went through so much more than we have. Yet, she glossed through years in just a page or two. She didn’t touch on the transitioning of placements. She just talked about the happiness of most times.
I honestly think that if I were to write a book down the road, I could just as easily gloss over these years. I’m sure that time will change my perspective. I’m sure that my wounds will heal. I’m sure that these days will amount to nothing. But, it just doesn’t feel like that now. As we were making the decision to disrupt and to have our youngest two foster children moved, I reminded my husband how bad the first few days, weeks, months were with Daniel and David. And they really were *that* bad. One day, I remember parking the car in a gas station lot and just getting out and crying on the curb in front of the car. The boys were inside happily listening to the radio. I knew they were safe and I knew I needed to get out some of the pain. They’d completely distroyed a playroom in a matter of 20 minutes while I’d been doing the enrollment paperwork for Head Start. They’d literally taken every single toy, book, block, shelf, part that they could reach down. And it took me nearly an hour to put everything back where it was supposed to go.
Looking back, I’d totally overreacted. Nobody was hurt. Nothing was lost. It was o.k. But, that day I had a big old mommy melt down. I’m sure that we’d been having behaviors at home. I know that they wore me down.
That’s where I am right now, too. I’m not quite healthy. And neither are the kids. They all have runny noses, or coughs, or fevers, or a combination. Brian is doing his best to avoid it, but he’s already had one pretty rough bout with it.
And there’s still uncertainty. It’s certain that these children will be leaving. And, it feels like, there’s certainty about where they’re going. But, nobody will say the time and day. And I need to know.
I hate myself for not being sad about them leaving. But, at this point, I’m just ready for the move. Yet, I know that when they’re gone, I will mourn for them.
There’s so much that needs to be done. There is laundry and cleaning and packing and organizing. There’s just playing and being a mom. There’s planning meals and planning for a trip. But, I find myself just shutting down. So I sit her crying.
Right now the little ones are sleeping, getting the rest that they need to let their bodies heal. Littlest girl has done some acting out today, more “stealing” food, more changing clothes, more just not listening… She is feeling the strain, too. She is just beginning to feel comfortable here and she knows that there will be changes. I try to talk to her about what’s happening, but her vocabulary isn’t very big and it’s hard to know what she understands. I feel like she will do so well in the next home. I feel like she will be an amazing little girl in such a short amount of time. I just know that she needs to move. And I hate to make her.
I think that guilt is a huge part of what is weighing me down. How do I let go of that? How do I cope? I know that time will ease this pain. Just as sure as I am that the sun will come up tomorrow, I am sure that our family will come through this stronger than we were a few months ago before we started this latest chapter in our book. I just wish that knowlege was enough to give me the peace that I need so desperately right now.