Friday, May 31, 2013

Looking back...

I have spent the last couple of days looking back over my blog at all the ups and downs and ins and outs of our adoption journey to bring home A and B.

I now kind of wish I would have been able to find the words to talk about the process of life since then... but honestly I am not sure what I would have shared. Still trying to figure that out.

It could be that I just don't have the words. We were so excited about bringing them home. Wondered and prayed and begged and fumed and cried. I feel like God knew what he was doing in making us wait... He knew what we would be dealing with and was trying to prepare us... I sort of feel like He was up there looking at us, listening to our pleas saying "really.... just wait... it's not gonna be easy kiddos. TRUST me on this one" then like any good parent He finally gave in and was like "ok... I warned you"

Many of you know Jen Hatmaker and read her blog, cause she's good!! Here is a post at their one year mark

We are still in Stage 2...
"Stage 2: Spaz Out (4-6 Weeks – 3-4 Months)
Who knows what the straw on the camel’s back will be – maybe one more food he hates, maybe one final conversation he can’t decode, a moment of discipline, just a smell might trigger it – but something will happen, and your little one will finally lose it. Honeymoon is over. Once the damn has broken, it will flood for months.
There is screaming, kicking, hysterical hysterics. There is wailing and tantrums and full-out meltdowns. You may chase your beefy 8-year-old down the street where he ran screaming barefoot into traffic, throw him over your shoulder and lug him back home where the two of you hunker down for the next two hours, drenched in sweat, while you hold him tight and whisper love into his ears and he thrashes and yells and finally passes out. It is so helpful that your husband is out of town on this day.

Your sweet one is grieving. This is sorrow and loss and fear and trauma; it is visceral. It is devastating. You and your spouse are haunted, unshowered, unhinged, unmoored. You stare into each other’s eyes, begging the other one to fix this: What have we done? What are we doing? What are we going to do?

The house is a disaster. Your bios are huddled up in the corner, begging grandparents to come rescue them. You can’t talk to anyone. Everyone is still beaming at you, asking: “Isn’t this the best thing?? Is this just the happiest time of your life?” You are starving for truth-tellers in adoption.You scour blogs and Yahoo groups, desperate for one morsel of truth, one brave person to say how hard this in and give you a shred of hope. You only find adorable pictures and cute stories, and you despair. You feel so alone. You’ve ruined your life. You’ve ruined your kids’ lives. Your marriage is doomed. Your adopted child hates you. You want to go back to that person pining away in the Pre-Stage and punch her in the liver."

I do kind of wanna go back and punch me in the liver... 

Some of the trauma things I just can't post. The ways it have manifested in our home I can't share. The way they have left me curled in a ball on my bed sobbing uncontrollably. We have chased down the street, held 13 yr olds as they raged and other things we hadn't truly believed we would have to do. Naive I guess? 

Did we think we would be having all sunshine and rainbows with dancing unicorns? Oh heck no!! Did we know it would be hard? Yes we did. Hard to prepare for the reality. Hard to look back at those sweet smiling faces and remember the joy and excitement we felt. 

Third Day's song Tunnel comes to mind.... praying for a light. 

Knowing that there is one... 

And promising I DO have other good stuff to share ... coming soon!!!


Abbey said...

God doesn't call the qualified, He qualifies the called... It will get easier. Love you.

Anonymous said...

I want to say something supportive and nothing seems to be right; don't want to be flippant or suggest I can relate totally, because I know I cannot.

Anytime I suggested something was remotely difficult, certain friends/family would say or imply that I asked for it and therefore didn't have a right to feel that way. They really shut down that route to support. I pray that you can still share with a few close to you who can be truly supportive.

I can't fully understand or relate, I know that. I do, though, empathize and pray for things to improve. If there is another concrete way that I can help, let me know. I'd love to be of service, no additional work, no judgment.


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