Today marks 5 years since our first 3 kids were adopted. A teeny baby girl and two older but small boys became officially ours. Since then we added two more little girls to our family. Adoption days are complicated anyway without our added family trauma. In the past, we have had a special meal or gotten ice cream. This time last year our oldest wasn't with us. He had been in residential treatment for a while by then but I was still so deep in my grief over what he had done, and the fallout from it, the adoption anniversary didn't feel worse than all of the other days. Now that we all have truly begun to heal in earnest, today feels like a punch in the stomach. I find myself reliving the moment I found out my oldest son had broken our family. Facebook shows memories of 5 years ago, our beautiful, happy, smiling family. Instead of being thankful I have childr...
Hope was a thing with feathers Perched deep within my heart She sang a tune a bit off-key A mine canary’s art Her brave porcelain composure Wafted down amid the gloom Her voice shoving out the darkness Like a lantern in a tomb But the years advanced with violence And her fragile body broke When the darkness grew in size Cutting air off like thick smoke But she never perished, no Just reduced down to an ember That would not give up or go out Growing cold in deep December As she started to recover She grew keratinous scales And her bones became less brittle And her song was more like wails She eventually found her perch again Swinging gently in the soul But the treatment poor hope had received Made obvious its toll Instead of buoyant flutters Trilling chirps and happy song She was trembling and whimpering Too afraid to sing for long No more cheerful blue adornment Just dark eyes now filled with fear She could only now imagine The next ...
If there was a song dedicated the end of myself reliance, to its being lit on a funeral pyre as it floated out to sea, it would start with a low whispered sticato of no no no no no no. The crescendo would lift into a loud, long high pitched wail and fade eventually into soft gutteral sobs of acceptance. I have always been a pull yourself up by your bootstraps person. Not so much out of choice but of necessity. I would encourage anyone who listened to get the help they needed while silently, slowly bleeding to death. All of that started to change when we first became foster parents. Being an island just wasn't an option. Too many people routinely in and out of our lives to do it on my own. The day, however that I finally broke, that my stubborn will and stubborn heart finally shattered was the day I found out my worst fears had been made real. My worst case scenario was one of my children being molested. Not only had that ...
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