family, adoption

The Evolution of the Hug

When Carl first came to us at 8-years-old he didn’t know how to hug. He’d grab and pull or thrust himself at full speed into my arms. His expressions of love left red marks behind. He was a fighter. He would not be forgotten.

During visits with his biological mom he’d shove the baby away from her arms and forcefully climb into her lap. The social workers would say how sad t was that he was trying to get some kind of affection from her. Carl seemed to be always angry then or at least always on the verge of tears.

Before visits he would tell me that Luke was going to marry his biological mom and they’d be happy together with the kids. After visits he’d yell at me and tell me to get lost. Sometimes he’d tell me I was an awful mom and he knew I wanted to hit him. Carl would scream at me to just hit him already. He’d say he hated me.

But things would change before bed on those nights. I’d tuck Carl in and he’d dissolve into tears. The little guy would clutch me so tightly that little half-moon claw marks speckled my arms.

“Mommy?” he’d ask me, “Are we going to stay here with you and Daddy? If we can’t go back, I mean. Then can we please stay with you?”

He’d tremble and sob and ask me why she couldn’t take care of them. He’d ask if we could “play baby” and I could hold him. So that’s what I did.

Many times neither biological parent came to the visits. The office was so close to Bio Mom’s apartment that the kids would watch it out of the window, hoping to see her emerge. Often she didn’t.

Carl didn’t have as much anger on those days. Instead he was afraid. He’d clutch my left arm with his whole body. He was a solid 8-year-old but he’d ask to be picked up. Luke was the king of piggy back rides in those early days.

Eventually, Carl would come to me on his own for comfort. He’d climb into my lap and grab onto me roughly. He’d say, “You have to love me!” And I did. We dubbed him “The snuggle monster.”

When friends would come, when I’d watch TV, when I’d talk on the phone Carl would push his way in as close as possible and grab on tight. He might shout in my face or fist his hands tightly into my hair. His actions spoke so loudly to me. They said he didn’t want to be abandoned. They said he would get his needs met by force if he had to.

Carl always loved animals. He was so rough with the cats at first that he’d grab their tales or squeeze them too tightly. He seemed utterly baffled that they wouldn’t like that. He would be so rough with me even in the tenderest of moments. I had to wonder if he really knew how to do this. Was it possible he just didn’t know, “gentle?”

We taught Carl to be gentle as best we could. We’d make a game of it and practice a hug or an arm stroke. Then I’d ask, “Was that gentle or rough?”

By the end of the third grade Carl was the king of hugs. He replaced what we referred to as the “attack hug” (running at full speed and body slamming us) to a normal embrace. If he felt like he desperately needed the contact and we were busy, he’d use our code word, “applesauce.” Looking back it seems ages ago.

Carl became a warm and gentle snuggler. He’d lay his head on my arm and tuck his body into my side. He’d allow me to make phone calls without diving head-first into my lap.

He’s thirteen now. It’s hard to remember that he’s a teenager. He never cries “Applesauce!” anymore. I still have the urge to take his hand in a crowded parking lot, but I refrain! Carl is getting to an age where it’s probably uncool to snuggle with mom so much. He still won’t leave for school without a quick hug and an, “I love you, Mama!”

He’s getting older but I hope his hugs stick around. Perhaps a time will come when I am the one calling out, “Applesauce!”

**Names have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved.

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adoption, family

I Missed Open House…Again

I seriously, honestly, for real, no excuses planned to go to Carl’s open house this year. It’s a great opportunity to meet your child’s teachers and see their work. I didn’t make it last year. I’m pretty sure it’s because Open House conflicted with one of Mary’s visits.

This year I had it circled on the calendar. My best laid plans were derailed when Luke needed surgery. I still thought I could go if my parents could just drop Carl off at football practice, I could pick him up after the open house. In my imagination Luke went home to bed and slept without my help for a few hours. Since Luke needed to be in at 7:00AM the day of the surgery I was sure I’d be home for the 6:00PM open house. Wrong!

I didn’t make it. We got home around 7:00PM. Luke was completely blind and in pain. He needed me to take care of him the way he’s taken care of all of us a hundred times before. So I skipped Open House. Again.

Carl has two band events coming up that I can’t make, either. Worse, he can’t go because there are a lot of moving parts and tight schedules around my surgery. It really stinks. When we started the adoption process I didn’t see myself this way.

In my before-mommy strategies I saw myself at all of the PTA meetings and school events. I thought we’d go to all the outings put on by the foster care association. I’d volunteer for things. I’m a teacher so I assumed I’d be involved in all the school things.

Reality was different. I hope we didn’t let these guys down. I think it’s OK, though. Maybe I didn’t make it to every school function. Maybe I didn’t get to every sporting event. But I did other things. Luke and I sort of triaged what the kids needed at any moment. He’d take Marcus to another court appearance while I took Mary to another therapy appointment. Luke and I haven’t ever missed a week visiting Mary. We’ve never missed a PPT or a treatment meeting.

I manage to be there at the times my kids need me but maybe not all of the times both of us would like. Last night Carl was up on three separate occasions in the night. Sunday nights are difficult for him. I think he experiences anxiety about starting the school week again. The first time he woke up he was stressed out that Luke (in the shower) had left or decided not to wish him goodnight. Our kids are always freaked out about people potentially disappearing from the bathroom.

The second time Carl woke me up to ask for help. He was holding a wad of tissues to his nose and dripping red blood down the front of his shirt. A bloody nose had awoken him to a crime-scene worthy amount of blood on his sheets and pillow. He was understandably panicked.

I stripped the bed, and tossed the soiled sheets and jammies in the washing machine sanitary cycle. I cleaned up Carl, and put fresh sheets on his bed because he was shaking too badly to do it. Once he was calm we tracked down and plugged in his humidifier.

The third time Carl woke me up by banging against the wall in an urgent call for help. The insistent BANG BANG BANG(!!!) pulled me out of a deep sleep and right to my feet. When I got to Carl’s room he was hidden under a mountain of blankets, stuffies, and our 109 lb therapy dog.

He poked his head out and tearfully told me that the power had flickered. To Carl this automatically means the power will go out which he places right next to “terrorist attack” and “nuclear bomb detonation” on his fear scale. He needed a battery powered nightlight. He was frozen in terror at the thought of being alone in the dark.

Even at 13, my teenager needs me to chase away the nightmares. So here I am. I didn’t make it to the open house (again) this year but that’s probably OK. I show up when it counts.

**Names have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved.

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family

Wherein I Support My Own Rock and ALMOST Murder a Nurse

I have honestly never seen my husband this way before and it is terrifying, After an 11 hour day at the hospital today I was finally able to bring Luke home. His vision will completely recover but for now he cannot see anything. I am told black-and-white will come back before color does.

When I was finally allowed into the recovery area I almost didn’t recognize him. I’ve been with this man for over a decade, through more than one surgery, and I have never seen him like this. He was huddled in the hospital bed, shaking. Normally I find this guy joking with the hospital staff and giving nurses advice on finding a good vein in someone’s hand.

The scenario today was nothing like that. One eye was bandaged up and he was silently crying with tears streaming down his cheeks. “I just really need you,” he said. “I’m scared.”

My heart seized up and skipped a beat. I can tell you that Luke has cried maybe three times in span of eleven years. It’s just not his way. He doesn’t scare easily. He’s not an anxious person and he is most certainly not rattled by medical procedures. He’s fascinated by them. He wants all the gory medical details because he’s a paramedic and they go nuts over that stuff.

He’s my strength, my steadfast place to land. Luke is my rock. Today I needed to return the favor.

The nurse at the station was complaining loudly about protocols, the wrong IV bags, and the crazy day she was having. She quite clearly would not answer the patients trying to get her attention. After a few minutes of me cradling my whimpering husband she came over and scolded me, “Well you snuck over here! I didn’t see you come in!!”

The rest of the conversation did not go so well. If I can give any advice to people dealing with me it would be DO NOT MESS WITH MY FAMILY!!!! And if you’ve ever seen a family member in pain you may understand the instant flood of rage that filled me with, “I-will-hurt-whoever-caused-this!!!!”

Me: Hi. Umm..he is not doing well. What’s going on?

Inside my head I said: Why the hell did you make my husband cry? He NEVER cries. He is the strong one!

Nurse: He’s fine! His vitals are OK.

Me: (looking dubiously at Luke’s shaking form) No, he’s not looking so great. I think you need to give him some pain medicine.

Nurse: Well he just had surgery. He’s fine. I don’t know what you expect. We already gave him medicine. He has to go home.

Me: Yes he needs to come home. What medication has he had?

Nurse: (rolls eyes) A lot. (Walks away)

Needless to say I did some shaking myself but more of the rage variety. Eventually I realized that he couldn’t see out of either eye and it was scary. He was also in a great deal of pain.

After a few deep breathes I re-approached Nurse Ratchet again and said in my assertive teacher voice, “I have questions. You will answer them like a nurse in your profession should do. I am asking what medications my husband has been given. Go ahead and get a chart if you need to but you will tell me specifically what he has been given.” Then I turned on my heal and went back to Luke where I sat pointedly looking at her with one eyebrow cocked.

She was able to manage her job after that. I got the information I needed. Apparently she was angry with Luke because he had been nauseous for hours. She said that his dry heaving was, “too loud,” and it “disturbed the other patients!”

While I was taking care of Luke, my parents were taking care of Carl. My mom got him to football practice and back again. The great thing about having my parents is that they were able to put together Luke’s special “face down” chair and help with Carl. They also make me feel calm and happy. The bad part would be that Carl was reading my mom’s text messages to her while she drive. He just so happened to the text I sent saying, “This nurse is a raging b**ch!”

I’ve never been happier to get out of a hospital, including after my own back surgeries.

**Names have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved.

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family

When it Rains it- it’s a Freakin’ Hurricane!

I just can’t win for trying around here. Everything was all planned out for my back surgery at the end of this month. We had support for the kids, Luke was ready to cover all of the Mary visits and the driving. We were ALL SET. That’s when the figurative torrential downpour started.

I am looking at my life today thinking…what happened?!??

A few weeks ago Luke mentioned he needed to see the eye doctor. He wanted to wait for my employer to deposit their contribution into our HSA. Yesterday morning he woke up and couldn’t see out of his left eye. He can’t make anything out at all unless he is using peripheral vision with that eye. Our optometrist opened her office up just for him (thank goodness) even though it was her vacation.

After examining him she showed us a picture of an alarming amount of fluid build up behind his left retina and a possible tear. She called a surgeon and we left her office to go straight there! I called my parents to be there when Carl got off the bus, and possibly through his in-home counseling appointment.

As it turns out Luke needs ASAP eye surgery in two days but his vision should come back. However, he has to be out of work for 3-4 weeks and during that entire time he is supposed to be lying face down.

???!!!???#@#?!

I’m ashamed to admit that I cried about it. I didn’t cry for my poor blind husband, like a good wife. I cried because I was afraid he wouldn’t be there for my surgery when I woke up. I need him. Luke is my touchstone when I am scared. My parents will be traveling out-of-state until after my surgery. I mean I really really really need him!

I cried because I didn’t know who would visit Mary at RTC. If Luke can’t go then she’s left to feel abandoned by yet another set of parents. I cried because I didn’t know who would manage the cooking and the cleaning. We were going to hire someone but not if Luke isn’t collecting salary for a month! Was I going to have to run Carl’s 13th birthday party alone? All by myself????

There is a small-hearted, selfish part of me that is looking out for my own interests. I was so wrapped up in panic, I forgot that a decent human being would care about her husband. Instead, I was mad he didn’t schedule the eye appointment earlier. After all, emergencies are supposed to fit into my meticulously calculated schedule! Detours from the plan are not allowed!!

Today I woke up with a new outlook. I’m ready to do some planning. I’ll try to pre-prepare a bunch of meals we can just re-heat while Luke and I are recovering. I called friends and arranged rides and child care. Luke is going to the hospital with me. He wants to remain there, face down, for the duration of my surgery. I won’t be alone. My parents are going to visit Yary in our absence. With Nana and Papa she won’t be alone.

Today I want to be more empathetic. Today I’d like to type with fewer exclamation points needed. Today I want to be sweet and loving to my poor broken spouse. Today I am going to try to be more like Luke.

**Names have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved.

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adoption, family

On the Frontlines of Food Insecurity

I heard the most ridiculous thing at a training given by the Department of Children and Families. The session was about health and safety for kids in foster care. The speaker was a registered nurse whose job it was to approve all medical treatment for the foster children in her region. Don’t even get me started on the times she described vetoing a medical doctor’s recommendation based on her shoddy anecdotal evidence.

The comments that irked me into feelings of mild violence were her views on food insecurity. “Oh that’s not really a problem. I don’t why people come to me with this. Just offer a variety of foods at dinner time.” She called this a “food tour” and opined that it always worked.

Seriously?! Ummm…no.

All of our children, to some degree, suffer from food insecurity. Because they spent large amounts of time without food, without enough food, or without appropriate nutritional fare, they have food insecurities. Two of our children don’t even feel safe unless they have a stash of non perishables in their bedrooms.

When the kids first came home, Carl couldn’t handle family meal times. His behavior escalated to what seemed like bizarre levels. We would sit down to a meal and politely pass the food around from plates in the middle of the table. Carl would grab between 3 and 6 dinner rolls and then scream at anyone else who tried to take one.

“Stop it! There will be none left!!!”

Carl would sit on his feet in a crouch with his arms protectively over his plate. No amount of cajoling or reminding got him to sit on his bottom would last for more than 30 seconds before he hopped up and perched protectively over his plate again.

His pupils would dilate and his heart rate would pick up. His voice got louder and his words were more oppositional. It was like watching someone handle being the victim of a hostage situation. Pure panic.

Inevitably the dinner stress would be too much for Carl. He would start by complaining he hated the food and would never eat it. This would progress to trying to grab all of the remaining food on the table. ALL of it. At some point after that he would throw his plate/cup/meal directly at me and run away screaming that we were starving him. Sometimes he would punch me.

At the same time, Sean would gobble huge amounts of food as if it were a race while Marcus and Mary sat turned away from the table, staring at the floor. They would not respond in any way, even if spoken to. It was as if they weren’t even there.

After everyone left, Mary would take her plate underneath the table, or to the floor, and finally eat her dinner. Marcus would eat whatever was left over when he awoke in the middle of the night.

None of it made any sense to me at the time. We did everything we could think of to manage this behavior. We put limits on the amount of ___ the kids could put on their plate at one time. We proactively switched over to paper plates and disposable plastic cutlery. My apologies to the environment but experience has literally shown me it’s better to have a plastic knife hit you in the face than a steak knife. After Carl’s outbursts he’d have to finish eating in his room. I didn’t know at the time that he felt much safer eating there.

Eventually we learned that our kiddos had a past history of stressful mealtimes. We already knew they spent a lot of time fending for themselves as toddlers and young children. Hence, Mary developed a taste for dog food and would sneak it whenever no one was watching. Apparently when bio mom was manic she’d begin cooking at 2 or 3 AM. Then she’d wake the kids up and insist they eat. Other times they existed on the Monster energy drinks and Jolly Ranchers they stole at the local corner store.

To this day, when Carl is feeling stress or anxiety it flares up. He will binge eat in the middle of the night. There is a far off, unfocused look that comes over him while he stuffs huge amounts of food into his mouth at an alarming rate. He’s often crying at the same time.

Have you ever seen a hamster stuff it’s cheeks full of food? This is sort of what it looks like. Carl will swallow without chewing. His cheeks swell to an unusual size yet still he keeps going. He stuffs more and more food into his mouth even before he swallows what’s already in there. This leads to choking and vomiting. As soon as Carl finishes puking, he immediately resumes guzzling food. Then he vomits more and eats more and so on. He chokes a lot when he gets like this because he forgets to breathe.

Last spring he suffered scratches to his esophagus because of the sharp edges of un-chewed food (think crackers or nuts.) He had also vomited so much that the acid was eroding soft tissue in his esophagus and stomach. He threw up so many times a day that eventually he was vomiting blood. The wait to see a specialist for pediatric GI took forever. We ended up in the emergency room at the children’s hospital four times in one month.

In the meantime we would wake up in the morning to find vomit, blood, and food wrappers of one kind or another all over the house. It was terrifying. This is when we got combination locks for the fridge. Our cabinets were already locked overnight to keep Mary out of the cutlery. Finally we got him in to do a series of tests, including an endoscopy.

The specialist concluded that Carl was reacting to his past, so it couldn’t be medically treated.  He asked me, completely straight-faced if we’d ever considered Cognitive Behavior Therapy. He told me that sometimes children who were traumatized need therapy. I burst out laughing. Yes, we’d been working on that for 4 years.

After the first winter together, the snow melted and revealed a surprise. Carl had buried all of his school snacks in the snow. Every day at school he would tell the teacher we refused to give him snacks. Meanwhile, he built up a stock in case he ever ran out of food again.

Carl would ask strangers for food at the store, at parks, at the lake, basically anywhere. While I stood behind him with a rescue-bag of goldfish in my hand I would hear him beg strangers desperately.  “Please,” he’d urgently whisper, ” Can I have some of that? My parents NEVER feed me. I’m starving!!!”

Once a well-meaning older lady kindly explained to me that children cannot go for long periods of time without eating. She kindly suggested that I consider snacks for the children. In response I pulled gently on Carl’s outside coat pocket. Imagine her surprise when three granola bars and a bag of almonds fell out!

Some things have helped. We developed a calm dinner routine where we take turns appreciating one person at the table for something they did that day.  Our goal was for Carl to feel safe at mealtimes. His therapist, L, helped him develop a self-talk manta. It goes, “I will have enough to eat. I will have these foods again.”

We let him keep boxes of power bars and granola  in his room. For years he slept with them in his bed. This was preferable to the chicken drumsticks and other perishables he used to hide in his pillow case!

We got frozen pizzas that Marcus could prepare and eat in the middle of the night. We stopped buying “high-value” foods that would trigger Carl into a binge. This included peanut butter, Nutella, candy of any kind and cream cheese. During the stressful spring season we padlock the fridge to prevent Carl from getting hurt while out of control at night.

Some things have never changed at all. For example, Mary literally does not know how to drink water.  If a glass is placed in front of her she will chug it as fast as possible without breaking. It doesn’t matter how much liquid you put in front of her. I tried to give her a huge water bottle once to see if it would slow her down. It didn’t. Instead she threw her head back and guzzled until I was sure she’d drown.  Instead she began choking and crying while continuing to gulp. Mary wouldn’t put the bottle down until I physically pryed it away from her mouth.

When chugging her water Mary still tilts her head as far back as she can. She also flings her left arm out straight to grab and hold onto whoever is nearest. She will clutch onto them until she is done rapidly swallowing everything in front of her. It looks exactly like a baby drinking from a bottle. Mary is stuck in this phase.

Unfortunately this also makes her vomit. Because of how unpleasant it is for her to chug liquid down and then puke, she usually refuses it entirely. She claims she is “allergic” to water and it always makes her sick. She physically cannot sip from a cup. That skill simply isn’t in her repertoire.

Eventually we learned to pour out two fingers of liquid at a time for her to drink or else we’d give her a straw. She was able to appropriately use the water fountain at school.

My point is this: food insecurity is terrible.  If a professional gives advice on this they should have some actual experience with kids exposed to starvation. Healing takes hard work and years of patience. Even then, that trauma is always with our kids to some degree. Because, really a “food tour” is NOT going to fix the problem.

**Names have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved.

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adoption, family

Report Card for a Trauma Mama

On the last day of summer vacation I brought Carl to the lake, all the while keeping a diligent eye on my son. It was hard to peg him at a distance. Carl spent the summer outdoors baking in the sun until his brown skin perfectly matched the dock color.

I hate to admit it but I panicked a little. Where did my kid go? I could see the headline now: “White Mother is Complicit in Hispanic Son’s Drowning.”

He kept bobbing in and out of sight as he swam away, and then back to, the dock. Drowning statistics were running through my head. Doesn’t it only take 30 seconds or something? The peaceful water lapping at the sand became suddenly ominous.

Through my sunglasses I glanced at a sign that read “Children under 13 must be accompanied by an adult.” This gave me pause. I realized in a flash that Carl turns 13 in two weeks. He will be a teenager. He can technically, by the law of the lake, swim alone in two weeks. What on earth was I panicking about?

Also, what could I even do if I saw him in distress? Paddle slowly over to him at the speed of an octogenarian or snail? I certainly couldn’t pull or drag him to safety. My back injury would completely sideline me on a rescue mission. So basically, I spent a good hour on the possibility that I might just watch my son drown. In this situation my mom skills were nonexistent.

I settled back in my ergonomic beach chair to contemplate my role as he ages. The house seems strangely quiet these days. Out of 5 children only one remains at home. Soon he will be a teen. I think it’s time to re-evaluate my skills. Let’s face it. I am most certainly not always up to the task of parenting. Sometimes I am magical and wonderful and thisclose to being Mary Poppins. Sometimes parenting adopted children from trauma gets the best of me. My report card is as follows:

Areas where I am crushing it:

  • Persistence- I don’t give up on my kids. I advocate in schools, in psychiatric hospitals, RTCs, therapists offices and so on with the persistence of an emperor penguin. No, seriously, an emperor penguin. These animals are persistent AF. Google this!
  • Scheduling- I can remember to throw laundry in overnight on the delay timer setting. I switch it over in the morning and go from there. I can rotate chores, emergencies, sports schedules and my medical treatment like a boss. I should probably admit here that Siri helps me.
  • Using Siri-I am totally counting this in the mom-skill plus column. Yeah, she can do anything. Enough said.
  • TBRI- Its a form of therapeutic parenting known as “Trust Based Relational Intervention” and I’ve gotten pretty good with this over the years.
  • Research- I’ve read books, taken classes, and done many a webinar on developmental trauma. I can quote Deborah D. Gray, Bassel Van Der Kolk, Karyn Purvis and Heather Forbes verbatim. I LOVE reading.
  • I bake my own bread- Yes, this one is real. It’s also not as cool as it looks. I have a bread-maker so I just add 4 ingredients in the morning and set a delay timer. Voila! Fresh homemade bread for dinner and it is hot out of the…er…oven.
  • Crockpot Usage- I am a crock-pot ninja.
  • Saying “no”- I don’t mean to my kids. I mean to everyone else who wants something from me.  My kids have worn me out with trauma drama. I’m sorry. I can’t volunteer for you. I just don’t want to.
  • Naming and validating feelings-If you’re having a tough day then I am here for you. I won’t advise. I will name and validate your feeling and then ask you (therapeutically of course!) how you think you might handle the situation. I can validate your feelings like a boss!
  • Apologizing- I’m not above it and I need to do it a LOT.

Areas where I need to take the remedial training:

  • Naming animal facts- see above under “persistent.”
  • Sports- Umm, I can totally get you there but I don’t know what you’re doing. Hooray for ball points!
  • TBRI- Hey, some days I’m a therapeutic master and some days I am back to grasshopper status.
  • Research- I’ve read everything I could find. I still don’t have all of the answers when it comes to helping my children heal from trauma.
  • Making dinner- OK, being the queen of the crock pot and the delay timer on our bread maker are my ONLY cooking skills. The stove and I have a tumultuous relationship that once ended up with me melting a leggo on the back burner.
  • Saying “no”- When it comes to a therapeutic recommendation or treatment for my children, I have a hard time saying “no.” Even if it isn’t evidence-based or isn’t helping I’ve given just about everything a try. This has the unfortunate effect of working me to the bone while the children either ignore or actively evade the treatment.
  • Naming and validating feelings- I forget my own all the time. I think our entire family would be better off if I could admit to having feelings rather than waiting until the boiling point.
  • Apologizing-  I just HATE to be wrong. I’m sorry, Luke. See? I can do it.
  • Letting go- This is the hardest one. I can’t actually do the healing for my children. At some point I need to give them more freedom to make decisions and hope they make the right ones. You don’t want to go to therapy (Carl) anymore? OK well then it’s up to you to practice the skills you’ve learned. I’m not staying up with you until 3:00 AM because there might be maybe a bug alive somewhere in the world. You want to live in your car (I’m looking at you, Marcus!) for no apparent reason? I’m going to sleep in my nice memory foam mattress and love you from over here.

All in all I think my report card breaks even.  I’ll just give myself an A and pick up takeout.

**Names have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved.

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adoption, family

Putting Humpty Dumpty Back Together

“Maybe he gets better. Look at Mary. She’s getting better!”

These are words I didn’t expect to hear from Carl. We were, of course, watching Once Upon a Time. It is rife with both redeemable villains and impossibly terrible adoption stories. Thank you, ABC! I was making some comment about a villain not being worth all the trouble. This was Carl’s reply to me.

After everything he’s been through with Mary I am so thankful his heart is still open. I often wonder how we will ever put Humpty Dunpty back together again. How can we transition her home from residential?

We all suffered a great deal of trauma from Mary’s instability. This past year that she’s been gone is the safest we’ve had in awhile. No more bruises. No more blood.

Yesterday Carl chose to come with us to visit Mary. We took her off grounds and we had lunch followed by some window shopping. She was making a Herculean effort to include Luke and Carl in conversation.

For the most part Mary only wants to talk to me. Her love twists into something possessive and controlling. She feels she needs to have a female figure (any female) to belong to her alone. Any gap in attention from this female figure can spark rage and dramatic violence.

However, she’s been open to talking about this a bit. The last few months have seen an increase in this Mary-Mommy only dynamic. She was only calling me on the phone unless she couldn’t get an answer. Then she’d call Luke and ask “Where’s Mommy?”

During a meltdown at school she mentioned missing me and Sean as the reason. After that we had a tough conversation where I told her in no uncertain terms that it will never be just the two of us. She needs to accept the entire family. It’s an all or nothing kind of deal. Mary didn’t like the conversation but I could tell it got her thinking.

Fast forward to yesterday’s visit. She would start a sentence with, “Mommy guess what?” Then she would quickly add, “and also Daddy and Carl. Guess what?”

The four of us really did have a great time. It’s been over a year-and-a-half since we’ve all gone out somewhere together. The best part for me was that Carl seemed more relaxed. He didn’t have his guard up. I didn’t notice any flinching or defensive body posture from him. Mary also made an effort to let me talk to Carl which is something I told her she would need to accept.

I am so hopeful that this continues. After all, like Carl says, she’s getting better.

**Names have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved.

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