Tag Archives: Adoption

From Darkness to Light

07 Monday Sep 2015

Posted by in Adoption, Attachment parenting, Catholic Parenting, Change, Childhood Mood Disorders, Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder (FASD), Forgiveness, Parenting, Parenting a Child with Special Needs, Writing Goals

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , ,

“In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.” 
― Albert Camus

When tragedy falls upon us, how do we respond? When tremendous joy is off-set by excruciating trials, which wins over your heart? When your faith in God is tested daily and you feel your mind darkening and your heart hardening, how do you bring yourself back to a place of light and peace?

Lake Michigan's rocky shore.

Lake Michigan’s rocky shore.


These are the challenges of my current days. This year has been filled with the joy of welcoming a newborn son—the most joyful, sweet boy, and the pain of The Girl’s myriad of disorders, special needs, and past traumas affecting her ability to function in a normal place—one far away from our loving reach. My silence on this blog is time spent away caring for my family in a way I never imagined I would have to do, facing enormous decisions that debilitate me on my strongest days, and inviting forgiveness and healing into my heart and home, often, on a moment-to-moment basis.

Always in the back of my mind is my  commitment to writing and what’s pulling me away from my writing goals. So, I’m figuring out a way I can continue to write about this whole mess of a year–wading in the murk and turmoil, despite the incredible challenges, changes, and triumphs, amidst the melancholic tragedies–and trying to not forget or dismiss the golden moments, too. My hope is that I can discover a new way to write it all down in order that my words will count for something and resonate with a kindred spirit living a similar dichotomy of joy and pain; that my wordy reflections bring about peace and hope, shedding light and love back into the world.

Sunset on Lake Michigan

Sunset on Lake Michigan

In Gratitude for Adoption: Giving Thanks Day Six (30 Days of Thanks)

06 Wednesday Nov 2013

Posted by in 30 Days of Thanks, Adoption, Blessings, Infertility, Love, Miscarriage, Motherhood, Mothers & Daughters, Parenting, Personal health, Prayers

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , ,

However motherhood comes to you, it’s a miracle. ~ Valerie Harper, Adoptive parent

About nine months after my husband and I were married, we felt ready to begin a family. Unfortunately, our journey to parenthood came with unexpected struggle, a litany of infertility issues and repeat miscarriages. (We lost our first four children in that time: Agnes Elizabeth, April 2004; Julian Olivia, June 2005; Max Kolbe, April 2006; and Catherine Teresa, December 2006.) During these years of trying to conceive again and again in hopes of finally carrying a child to term, I went through the ringer to become a mother.

During those trying years, my arms became permanently black and blue with bruises from the countless multiple blood draws I endured to check hormone levels and to rule out other serious health issues. I became an NFP charting expert and obsessed with the healthiest, most natural ways to eat, take care of my body, and become pregnant.  I had laparoscopic surgery and was diagnosed with Stage III Endometriosis. Soon thereafter, I started a regime of Clomid and trigger shots of hCG to boost my body’s ability to ovulate and produce the hormones it was lacking to sustain a pregnancy. During those cycles I swallowed ovulation-inducing medicines and became a pro at hormone injections, I gained weight and felt ill most of the time. Down went the pills and painful injections were endured–graciously, in fact–all for the sake of becoming a mother.

Because I reached the maximum dosage without a successful pregnancy, I had to stop the Clomid and trigger shots of hCG. Shortly thereafter is when I found a disturbingly large lump on my right breast. After seeing my doctor, I was sent to the women’s clinic for a full work-up of tests and procedures which ultimately resulted in a biopsy of the lump. Not only was I dealing with infertility and losing babies, I now had my first breast cancer scare. (Thankfully it was only a cyst, but even the surgeon who operated on me was seriously concerned. In the years since, I have found two more lumps.)

To compound the pain and the struggle we were experiencing for the sake of parenthood, my immediate and extended family were suffering greatly, too. In the span of three years, we lost my father to his sixteen-month long battle with small-cell lung cancer, and said our good-byes to two uncles, and my maternal grandparents, as well. It was a somber time.

Through it all, The Husband and I kept hoping and praying for children. We certainly discussed adoption, but had not explored it until one fateful September day when the answer to our prayers came in the form of an evening phone call. A familiar voice spoke to us on the other line. A child needed a loving home and were we open to adoption? Miracle of all miracles, our answer was an exuberant, “Yes!” Nine months from that incredible phone call, we would be fostering to adopt The Girl. We were full of gratitude and joy to be given this chance, and to open our hearts and home to this child in need.

The first Thanksgiving with The Girl in our home was a memorable one for obvious reasons. However, our joy increased a few days later when I discovered that I was, miraculously, pregnant again! A little over nine months later, we welcomed home The Boy. The Girl had a sibling! We had a son! Eight months after his birth, The Girl’s adoption was finalized. We felt blessed beyond compare to have witnessed two miracles in our lifetime, and that we were finally parents as we’d always hoped to be.

I touted over social media today that I was grateful for adopting my oldest child. She has stretched my heart and spirit by her love and many challenges. It’s not always “rainbows and butterflies” around here, but the trying times are the ones that increase our hearts, minds, and spirits tenfold. Adoption is a blessing despite the many challenges it brings. I would not have it any other way.

Honestly, I would go through the struggle over and over again—for her, for us—to start my family by fostering then finally adopting this amazingly complex, beautiful and gifted person–this daughter of mine–who herself makes me a better mom and better person, truly. If you ever had an inkling to foster or adopt, I urge you to look into welcoming a child into your home. Adoption can change lives for the better.

Simply, love

09 Thursday May 2013

Posted by in AD/HD, Adoption, Attachment parenting, Childhood Mood Disorders, Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder (FASD), Forgiveness, Love, Mothers & Daughters, Parenting, Peace, Stress & Anxiety, Tough days, Writing

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , ,

There are times when silence has the loudest voice. ~ Leroy Brownlow

“…Peace begins with a smile. Smile five times a day at someone you don’t really want to smile at; do it for peace…” ~Mother Teresa

 

Day and evening, I have sat diligently at my distressed white Queen Anne desk to begin writing about the past, the present, the dream of tomorrow, but the words lead me nowhere, and I give up mid-sentence. Word documents are left half-explored. Bits and pieces of something remain–and that something has to do with bitterness and defeat. Anger and despair can’t be the only source of my words, so I allow days to pass me by to seek a cure to my writer’s block. I read instead.

A pile of books loaned from Uptown’s public library; a few favored electronic books downloaded to my Kindle; a growing stack of periodicals in the wicker basket beside the French country cream and green checkered love seat in the living room. Covered in my favorite down throw, I seek solace in treasured reading time. If my words are halted, then I will fill the void with other authors’ stories. I think, maybe this reading-only plan will help me to regain the courage I lost over these last three weeks to forge ahead in writing my story. Vindicated after just a couple days spent getting lost in stories, I find myself less harsh, and eager to befriend my ruby-red laptop once again.

Tapping the keys can be a most profound stress reliever. Anger melts away toward a deeper perspective–one borne of rumination, not regret. Word count increases and I feel like myself again.

~

The last couple of weeks have not been easy around here. The Girl has had a fair amount of challenges at home and school and the ramifications are felt all around us, lingering like a storm that begs to break. There are some days when I don’t feel capable of giving her all that she needs, to listen to her constant emotional wreckage, to be present and calm with her nearby. Truly, there are times when I feel like I don’t have an ounce of strength left in me to be her first line of defense when fighting the constant battles she brings to the table. I’m left overwhelmed by the daily management of this child and it has left me drained–so much so that I have to shut down my mind come evening and just be still.

Most challenging at times is the level of patience and calm persistence it takes to raise The Girl. The discipline always seems clunky– not quite right–and the level of perseverance it takes to get through an ordinary day is exhausting. If the everyday occurrences of emotional turmoil, wreckage and hyperactivity were kept to a minimum or happened on occasion then maybe I wouldn’t be living in constant frustration of it all. Before I react or teach, I honestly have to remind myself that she needs me more now in her time of trouble than on an average bad day–especially when I am the main target of her fight. Yes, most especially when she fights with me for no apparent reason.

This morning was a particularly tough one. Already tired that this irrational fight between us was starting at such an early hour, I asked The Girl, “Do we have to do this today?” A shrug was the only answer in return.

“Can you tell me why you are fighting with me now? Why are you arguing with me?” Silence.

With a heavy heart, I turned away from her, hiding my anguished face and my overworked mind tired of trying to figure out what ailed her this day. Exhausted of figuring out if this was one of those “big deal” situations or just her typical moodiness, I just had to turn away. Day after day after day of troubles and heartache–hers and mine–gets old fast.

One day of simple–this is my Mother’s Day wish.

As I descended the stairs to ready my little ones for the quick drive over to The Girl’s elementary school for morning drop-off, I gathered those two–The Boy and Baby Girl– in overzealous hugs and kisses, taking in a deep breath that filled my lungs with their little kid sweetness. With that breath, also a prayer. A prayer that this downreaching yogic breath would sustain me through the morning with The Girl–in peace. Despite my natural inclination to be annoyed and angry back at her, despite her ability to keep the charade going, I was going to win this war–with kindness, a smile, not engaging her at her worst–fathomless breaths guiding me through. It was my prayer that we were going to finish out the remainder of the morning without any further argument, without turning the gray effect into black, without more hurt feelings or emotional pain.

As I remained strong-willed in my efforts to remain calm, rising above the blackness of mood threatening to take over, my prayer was answered almost immediately. Just when I needed it most. Ironically, The Girl must’ve been doing her own deep breathing upstairs as she awaited my call to gather her belongings and head to the van. Because, once she descended those stairs herself, her entire demeanor had changed and I actually received a half-hug–her attempt at an apology. Her posture and presence dramatically morphed from bitter anger to a softer, calmer, kinder state. In thankfulness, I melted into that awkward embrace, my rigidness relaxing, too.

Thank you, Lord. Thank you for answered prayers and reminding me that I am not alone and neither is she. 

Upon locking the front door, I inhaled a triumphantly deep yogic breath of gratitude. It might not seem like much that The Girl quickly changed her attitude, but to me it was a sign of hope. Truly, a small miracle so desperately needed to sustain both of us after weeks of struggle. At the very least, I knew this change of heart meant The Girl’s morning at school would go smoothly. It also meant that she is growing in her ability to take responsibility for how her words–or lack thereof–and actions affect others. She is developing empathy, I think. This alone is a triumph worth celebrating. My hope is that the turn-around points to her learning how to be sorry. At this point, I’ll accept any attempt at reconciliation from her for a fight that I never saw coming–one that seems to resurface without any apparent pattern and typically without warning. I’d love for this recurrent fight to end so that we can forge ahead in love.

I’ll never stop being her advocate at school, with doctors, or in the community-at-large. But, the ever-present struggle between us at home has to end at some point. All I want for our family is true love and peace–in us and between us. All I want for The Girl is the ability to feel truly loved by us, the knowledge that she belongs here with us, and that she is alright just as she is. All I want is calmer, easier, better days ahead.

One day of simple–this is my Mother’s Day wish. 

Fighting the good fight

22 Friday Feb 2013

Posted by in AD/HD, Adoption, Childhood Mood Disorders, Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder (FASD), Love, Parenting, Snow day!, Tough days

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , ,

Enjoy when you can, and endure when you must.  ~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

We awoke to a text alert that our local school district had cancelled school due to inclement weather. Snow and ice on these Ohio roads, the kids and I will be stuck at home most of the day, or at least until the roads have been cleared and it’s safe to venture out again. The alert goes until noon today, but I’m not one to take risks when driving is concerned—especially when the kids are involved. So, at home we will stay at least until after lunch. I can’t say that I am overjoyed by this prospect, only because I’ve been stuck inside the confides of my house for nine days straight now, tending to one sick kid after another with no reprieve in sight. I’m spent and feel like I haven’t had a moment to myself, am desperate for some alone time or the chance to chat with a friend over tea. But, this is just one small moment in time and I know that the bleak forecast outside won’t last forever in nature or within my heart.

Upstairs, safely confined to her bedroom, The Girl (my oldest, 8 years old) is having a fit of epic proportions because her schedule has been thrown a curve ball for which we did not prepare her the night before. (Husband and I were unaware of the incoming ice and snow until after tucking the kids in last night.) So, we hadn’t told The Girl that there was a chance school would be cancelled. And that, my friends, is all it takes to throw her into an intensely wild mood coupled with the attitude that somehow not being at school right now is my entire fault.

She was in the process of breaking something in her room (I guessed her American Girl Doll school desk, but luckily I opened the door to her room as I heard the telltale noises of destruction going on, and I was able to get her to stop mid-rage before doing something she would later regret.) Just yesterday, after spending two hours cleaning her soft lilac painted, butterfly and art decorated bedroom, I threw away one full bag of trash filled with bits and pieces of paper, plastic, wood, pencil sharpening flakes, broken jewelry and more that I found strewn throughout, on the floor, under the bed, ground into the sand brown carpet. Silently, I prayed that one day The Girl would be eclipsed of this horrible affliction, or at least spared it on most days. My prayer continued that she would one day learn to control her moods and anxiety, her impulses and energy and use the tools we’ve paid therapists to teach her, the ones we reinforce at home so that she can spare the life cycle of the toys and gifts, books and all that she values most. Mostly, I prayed that she would be able to stop herself from destroying her property and her inner-spirit and learn to make better decisions before continuing to break anything of worth—sentimental, monetary, or emotional.

After returning from school and going up to put in her required 20 minutes of reading, she noticed that I had replaced all the books, Highlights magazines, and artwork to their properly labeled spot on the pink organizing shelf against the wall underneath the trophy display in the room where she spends most of her quiet and calming time. She took note that her school yearbook from last year was back in the magazine box, too, but was torn away from its cover, some pages askew, some ripped or bitten off. She was so enraged by the very fact that the yearbook was in disarray and again, blamed it all on me (just because she knew I had been in her room—nobody else cleans in there.) After her screaming fit with punches and kicks against the furniture, violent pulls against pillows, slams of the clothes closet door, and finding anything else to knock in sight of her wild raging episode, she angrily hurled herself on the twin bed which had been carefully made with a quilt of bright flowers, matching pillows and soft blankets piled neatly in display. Atop the flowery bedding, she sobbed more because now she remembered that it was her, in fact, who destroyed the yearbook. Waiting until the tears subsided, I simply asked The Girl if she was done for now, calmed down and ready to talk? Shaking her head, “Yes,” but still holding her face in her hands with the nails chewed down to the bed, we had a loving, but tough discussion about why she was placing the blame on me for a poor decision that she made during an angry fit. She said she didn’t know why she blamed me and wished she could stop ruining her things when she was mad. As my heart softened to this child of mine, the one we’ve loved since our first visit, the one that struggles with so much from within (none her fault) she proceeded to cry again, and I held back my tears of despair for the plight that is hers. With trembling wails, nose running, fists clenched, The Girl’s voice now escalating from the onset of tears, sobbing out that she just wants to put the yearbook back to the way it was before. After trying to calm her without success, I promised that I would try my best to make it so. Closing the door behind me, I reminded her to take “bubble breaths,” counting to ten, breathing in and out to help stop the emotional turmoil bubbling up from inside, stemming from regret. She screamed, “That doesn’t work!” But, I knew she would at least try. Ten minutes later, she was back downstairs joining in the energy of family life, no trace of tears down her cheeks, voice now steady and confident once again.

Often I rehash our conversations, rewriting the past, dreaming of  what it would be like to have a normal conversation for once. If only The Girl could only learn to say what a typically developing child might say in a similar instance, perhaps something like this, “Mom, I tore apart my yearbook yesterday when I was mad at you. You sent me to my room because I yelled at you when you were helping me with my math homework. I was so mad and I ripped my yearbook. Do you think you could help me figure out how to fix it?” Oh! How much simpler life would be without all these highs and lows, and the extra, unneeded drama! The Girl would walk with a visibly calmer way emanating from within her being, and that calmness would radiate throughout this house and make for a more normal life. But, calm does not come easily to my oldest child, and each day is a challenge in profound ways. So, we ride out the storms of her emotions as they come on like tidal waves, tornadoes, and icy winter storms, and try to relish the better days, no matter how few we get to enjoy.

~

These unscheduled days off are always the worst kind around here. Upon awakening to the snow day alert from the school district, I’m quickly filled with anxiety about how I’m going to manage The Girl’s day, her temperament and energy levels all the while making sure I get to my normal, daily chores and responsibilities, and caring for my youngest two children (The Boy, four years old and Baby Girl, two years old) who are affected as well by their oldest sister being home when she typically is not. These are the days that feel the longest, and I wish I had a perfect answer, a solution that works—truly works–for her, for me, for all of us. Surprises are typically out of the question because they cause more anxiety in her, and become less of a thrill after putting out the effort of sharing where we might be going. It’s safe to say that The Girl hates surprises because they are akin to throwing her off the curve of a typical, assured schedule. It’s sad that I can’t say, “Hey, let’s all go to the library after lunch!” The Boy and Baby Girl wouldn’t bat an eyelash for they’d finish their lunch and be ready to go. The Girl? Well, she would first object, “No! I hate the library! I want to go rock climb.” And when I tell her why rock climbing isn’t an option, and ask what she’d like to do instead, she will answer with the impossible, “I want to go play outside and go visit Nana.” I’ll respond (for the fifth time now), “I’m sorry, but playing out in the ice and snow isn’t an option right now because first, it’s not safe to be out there and secondly,  I really don’t want you to be out in this weather since you just got over having a bad chest cold and you missed school for a week. Nana has plans with your aunt today, so we can’t see her, but we can definitely make plans with her another time soon—probably in just a few days. So, let’s go to the Library! It’ll be fun and you can even borrow some videos. How does that sound?” Cheers will come from the littlest two as they love going to the Library (and so does The Girl, but she just can’t give in to anything I recommend for the very reason that the idea came from me). So, The Girl sits with arms crossed, head to the side looking sullenly out the window towards the ice-covered trees and overall grayness in sight, rolls her eyes mocking me and keeps up the fight. It’s the same every time.

~

Long ago, Husband and I gave up the wish that The Girl would be other than she is, and we love her in spite of herself. We love her so much it hurts.  Her good days come as quickly as they go, but we cherish them and know that if anything, the roughest days are the ones stretching our hearts and minds, and that she is worth the fight. For her, we’ll never stop trying.