adoption, family

The Easter Explosion of My Prodigal Son

Well, it finally happened. Marcus got terminated from his Job Corps program. He’s not a licensed electrician. He didn’t finish with the job referral or the stipend to get his own place. He’s been kicked out for flying into a violent rage and (most likely) destroying property. He got into it with some girl at the program and lost all control. I’m so glad our conversations about respecting women had an effect…

All I know is that it isn’t about this girl. It isn’t even about this particular explosion. He was looking for a reason to sabotage himself even if he doesn’t realize it. This would have happened over the next thing to go wrong. A broken shoelace could have set him off.

This free program is now gone and an opportunity like this won’t come around for him again. This is Marcus. He won’t allow himself to have something good. He won’t allow himself to stay with anything or anyone. This is what he does.

Luke and I got the message from him today. It’s Easter. We were celebrating with the entire family except for Marcus. He wouldn’t come home this weekend because he wanted to sell his car and buy another. Instead of having the holiday with us, he is with his older bio-sister M back in the city. All he can talk about is “my car my car my car.”

M is recently out of the homeless shelter and in an apartment they procured for her. The program payed her a lump sum that was intended for a year’s worth of rent. I would assume she’s already blown through that money and now needs Marcus to live there. In the past he got a job and payed her rent. Eventually when he decided to move out she sold all of his things. However, she’s always looking to get him back. She’s always looking for that money.

Luke and I had been speculating that she would try to convince him to leave the program. After all, if he gets a job he can be with “his car.” He can pay her bills. He can party with her and all of the old crew from the city. He’s probably been thinking about this for awhile.

Marcus makes really dumb choices. He makes destructive choices. As far as we know he isn’t being arrested for anything he did. However, he hasn’t given us much information. I want to go up there and shake him. I want to yell at him and ground him and send him to his room.

I won’t do any of those things. It’s no use. It would do nothing to teach Marcus to make better choices. He wants to throw away his future so that he can have his car and get drunk with his friends. Eventually I hope he learns from the natural consequences of his actions. If not then I hope he at least makes friends with a bail bondsman.

All I can do right now is sit back and enjoy my mother’s famous cannoli cake. It’s Easter. Luke and I can’t quit on our holiday when there is so much joy here. I have no idea what tomorrow will bring but I know today brings cake!

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

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adoption, family

Dumb Mistake

I made the dumb mistake of attempting to clean out our memory drawer. For the last 5 years I’ve gathered a variety of mementos from my children. One drawer in our dining room buffet is stuffed with old school papers, art projects and letters. It has been bursting with treasures and trash for years.

I’ve been a little more mobile lately and thought I could sit down on the floor and sort through things. Some kind of cleaning bug has gotten into me this past week. I put away the Christmas decorations and now I can’t stop!

It was a dumb mistake. At first I lovingly sorted through birthday cards and letters that the kids made for us. I found some old photos and A+ tests. It was sweet to revisit how far these kiddos have come. My heart warmed when I saw a picture Marcus made for Mary during her first hospitalization in 2014.

Then I pulled out what felt like a deck of cards. It was actually a little book Sean made for me on Mother’s Day. The title is “52 Things I Love About You.” He took an entire deck of cards and glued printed statements on each one. The are connected with rings to make a flip-book.

I should have put it down but I didn’t. I read it. The book has boiler plate things to love such as “your smile” and “your hugs.” It also has some gems that are specific to me. “I love the way you sneeze twice and the second one is serious.” Some of it made me sad because he loved me for reasons like I provided food and bought his clothes.

I put it away but for whatever reason I couldn’t stop with that. There isn’t much of Sean left in this house. I reached behind the books in our bookcase to get the memory box we all made in 2015. I keep it hidden from myself.

Sean’s handwriting stared back at me on little colored scraps of paper. The things he enjoyed the first year home included, “The Worry Wall,” “The Cool-Down Corner,” “tuck-ins at bedtime,” “family dinner” and “being safe with big feelings.”

I crammed the pieces of paper back into the memory box through a haze of fresh tears. Still, I could not stop this car from wildly careening down memory lane. Urgently (and for no good reason) I went upstairs and dug into the filing cabinet until I pulled out Sean’s folder. It was a dumb mistake. Clearly I had no idea how much this would affect me.

There isn’t much there. A few report cards, a journal article he wrote about family titled, “The F Word,” and the report. The last thing I looked at was the meeting summary from his DCF report.

The horrible lies blurred on the paper as I cried. In it he accused me of abusing him physically and described never wanting to see us again. Those vile hurtful words swam in front of my eyes until I felt as if I couldn’t breathe. Had anything ever been real with him? How could the little book of love and those despicable statements have come from the same child?

I promptly ran into the bathroom and vomited the contents of my stomach.

Apparently this still hurts. Perhaps it always will.

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

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adoption, family

Am I Tough Enough For Tough Love?

I cannot say that I am surprised at the events of the last few days. Since Marcus moved back to the city where his biological family raised him, he’s been in a bad situation. We got a phone call  I’d been dreading since the day he left home. Marcus had been to the hospital with a broken nose and three broken ribs.

His car was stolen and found totaled. His phone appears to have been destroyed. The inexplicably large amount of cash he is carrying was taken.

According to Marcus he was simply minding his own business, delivering pizzas for work.  Then he was pulled from his car, beaten, and robbed by twenty guys. I happen to know more about this situation than he thinks I do. He’s associating with some very bad and dangerous people. He’s been up to some dangerous activities.

Marcus’ frequent companion is a semi-big time drug dealer in that city. This guy doesn’t just sell pot, he deals some of the harder stuff. Recently he has been breaking into the houses of friends and stealing items. As a convicted felon with already one drug charge, it’s only a matter of time before this man goes back to prison. I just hope he doesn’t take my son with him.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not oblivious. I know my son has chosen this career path before. Through social media I found that he is once again on this path. I don’t know how deep he’s in. I don’t know if he’s just selling or of he’s dealing too. What I do know is that Marcus’ best friend acts like a father figure while using Marcus as a runner. This man plays on Marcus’ secret desire to have his original father’s approval.

I would conjecture that the true events were somewhat different. Marcus was inexplicably flush with cash from some recent “deliveries.” I don’t know for sure, but it seems likely that a turf war broke out. Possibly some rivals sent a message by violently attacking a competitor and confiscating his things.

I was glad my son made a few good choices. Marcus did go to the police and report the incident. At least we have insurance on his phone. Originally we got it based on the number of phones Marcus has smashed or thrown when mad. Now the insurance is coming in handy.

Beyond calling in the phone insurance account, we are at an impasse. We’ve let Marcus know that he is welcome to come home and start over. He can save up for a new car. He get a fresh start away from this dangerous city where he is unfortunately notorious.

It doesn’t matter. He won’t leave.

What Marcus really wants is for us to pay to have his car fixed or replaced so he can continue the exact things that are getting him hurt now. We won’t do it. We can’t. I fought back tears in a phone call where I had him repeat to me that he knew he could always come home.

Apparently he’s been completely financially supporting New Girlfriend and Mystery Baby. We aren’t taking them so he’d have to leave them behind in another state. I empathized with what a difficult choice that would be. I can’t tell him what to do about New Girlfriend. I just affirmed that he loved her very much and this situation was hard.

I was able to validate his feelings with understanding. What I couldn’t do was agree to support this lifestyle by replacing the car. After some discussion he was able to hear me when I explained that he’s in a dangerous place doing dangerous things. He knows the path he is currently on won’t take him anywhere good.

Still, for now he chooses the girlfriend. They are staying with her cousin. He chooses employment with this “friend” who I will no longer allow onto my property or into my home.

Marcus has to decide on his own. Luke and I have already decided we will only take Marcus (not New Girlfriend and Mystery Baby) home. We will not finance his car problem. We will not support this new family he’s picked up.

Marcus is  not a baby, he’s a week away from 21. No matter what though, he’s my baby. All I want to do is rush to his side and care for him. I hope he eventually makes a good choice. He probably won’t. I know him too well.

Instead he chooses to stay at New Girlfriend’s cousin’s house. I’m not sure how long that will last if he can’t bankroll that family without his means of transportation. Regardless, he waits for a miracle to provide his car. We won’t be the ones to provide it for him. Giving this kind of tough love kills me.

I would do anything for my son. The question is: can I do this?

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

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adoption, family

When the Chickens Don’t Come Home to Roost

I’ve heard that every night chickens come home to roost. Mine do not seem to have this homing instinct. Early trauma and adoption have taken such a toll on my kids that I’m not sure they understand the concept.

Mary isn’t home. My little girl is flourishing in her residential therapeutic school. I am so glad she is making progress. I am also so heartsick that she couldn’t get better here in our home. It shouldn’t matter as long as she is healing, but somehow it still matters to me. I am grateful but I am also resentful.

It isn’t as if they are doing anything different than we ever did. It isn’t as if they are even using a different treatment model. It’s literally the same language, same sensory tools, and the same coping strategies. It’s just that when she’s removed from the pressure of a family structure, Mary is able to respond to treatment. I can’t even put into words how much that hurts me. Aside from this blog, I’ll never even try.

Marcus still hasn’t returned home for his visit. At this point he’s refusing. Now he’s got some kind of extra person he’ responsible for. He seems to be somehow taking care of his new girlfriend’s baby and one of her friends with no place to go.

I get the impression they are all living in his car or in motel rooms when they can afford it. He doesn’t even know these people and yet they are more to him than his real family right now.

At this time he’s refusing to visit us unless we allow this extra person into our home. I dug in my heals. I know how poorly he decides who to associate with. I am aware that he is dealing some low level drugs in his current city.

His last Toxic Girlfriend was an addict who stole, lied, and showed up unpredictably high anywhere. I cannot let people like this into my home. I cannot re-expose Carl to the scenes that comprised his early childhood.

Maybe I’ll except the girlfriend and the baby. I don’t know if I can but I will try. I won’t take the stray unpredictable new friend into my home. I’m trying to accept some of the people he associates with. I just know too much about some of the people he associates with.

We also have some hard and fast rules about no fire arms or drugs in the home. Older associates know this, at least the ones we allow here. I wonder how I would feel if my daughter someday brought home a person like Marcus as a date?

I tried to make a compromise. I offered that we could meet him at a neutral location halfway between the states. He could bring this random friend and girlfriend and baby and we’d buy everyone lunch. If anything inappropriate goes down or anyone is high we can take Carl and leave.

If all goes well we can celebrate our oldest son’s 21st birthday and give him his gift. He’s a survivalist. He’s coming for the gift. A large part of me just really wants to throw it at him.

The only consolation here is that my mom thinks this is a good compromise. She’s pretty good at this parenting stuff so if she approves my plan then it must be worth something.

I want to scream and yell at him that he should care about this family. Check on us. Come and see us. His real and actual family that has been through so very much recently!! But Marcus doesn’t really get family. He thinks he is protecting his “family.”

I try so hard but sometimes I don’t want to. It sucks and I hate every picture perfect Facebook family. Well, at least I hate them until I realize I post the same shiny family to the rest of the public.

I just want to give up sometimes. I really do.

However, I have to let the wayward chickens find their way home as they will. For now I should snuggle into this mostly empty nest and hope that Carl stays.

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

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adoption, family

I Am the Bionic Woman

OK, I know, I get it, not everyone wants to look at my skeleton. X-ray pictures might seem gross to some but they totally fascinate me. In these pics my spine looks so super-strong that nothing could topple it. Of course some of that is due to the fact that this time around the surgeon used extra large screws made of a special material. This was in order to prevent the reaction I had last time.

The first time around my body didn’t respond well at all to the stainless steel hardware. Rather than grow bone material (called fusing) I grew an excessive amount of scar tissue. During this time my entire body was left without support due to the instability of my spine.

Some of the problem was obvious in the form of a hard outward lump the size of a ping-pong ball. It made all kinds of doctors (even an allergist) say things like, “Wow, come look at this! I’ve never seen anything like this!” They also said, “Hey can I write about this in a medical journal? This condition is really rare.”

The pain I felt in my nerves and in my spine was obvious to anyone who looked at the outward mass of scar tissue. It didn’t show everything that was going on inside, but it gave an indication. Clearly, something needed to be done. I needed help.

My kids are like this sometimes. We cannot see all the ways that early trauma, foster care and adoption have affected them deep inside. One or two angry interactions show us that they are experiencing some kind of emotional pain. We’ll never really know how deep that scar tissue has formed. We can’t truly understand how it affects their ability to navigate in the world.

Marcus is this way. He will blow up, become angry, break things, yell, rant, really try anything to push us away. His last leaving was like this. So was the one before and the one before that. Like my medical-journal-level scar tissue, these are the outward signs of his problem. I cannot say how much I wish that I had my surgeon’s specially formulated tools and extra-long screws coated in healing solution. I want so badly to fix these internal wounds for him.

I can’t. Obviously, I cannot heal for him but what I can do is try to weather the storm. He called this week and asked to come home for family dinner. After I missed his visit the day of my surgery I was jumping for joy (metaphorically) and shouting, “YES!!” I gave him the obvious news that this wouldn’t be one of those family dinners where I baked homemade bread and his favorite cookies for dessert. I’m recovering, Luke is rather blind at the moment, so pizza ordering is our dinner go-to.

He messaged back a bit later that he was on his way and I shouldn’t be over-doing it in the kitchen. The very fact that he is thinking about what might be best for me is progress from his sulky teens. He was stuck in survival-mode we met almost five years ago. When he thinks beyond his own needs it truly is progress.

However, he informed me that he “had someone we needed to meet.” It’s a girl. It’s always a girl. I agreed just so long as it wasn’t Toxic Ex-Girlfriend. Marcus let me know this was someone new. Then he also let me know she had a baby. Could she bring her baby? Said baby was already in the car.

Have you ever watched a horror movie where the clearly-about-to-be-dead character slowly opens the basement door to go and “check things out?” That’s the way I felt as I attempted composure while asking if this was Marcus’ baby. He took his time  responding while I sat clutching phone thinking, “Why did I have to check in the creepy basement?”

In the end, Marcus denied the child was his. It belongs to his girlfriend, but they also have “something to tell us.” I checked her out on social media. She looks young. She poses with her middle finger up or her backside out towards the camera. I suppose everyone looks young to me. Marcus is about to be 21 so presumably (hopefully) she is around that age as well. It is taking every super-power I have not to pre-judge this situation and start heavily disliking this baby. I mean, it’s just a baby for heaven’s sake. I need to get it together!

In the end, Marcus cancelled dinner. He asked to reschedule in a few days because he “got called into work.” A part of his pattern is to get close and then rapidly retreat so I’m not all that surprised. This will give me a little more time to work on my “what a cute baby!” as opposed to “Leave that in the car!” greeting statement. I should also work on holding in comments like, “Marcus you aren’t emotionally stable enough to be hanging out with babies. That’s a huge responsibility. Please start taking care of MY baby (Marcus) first!”

Luke is wiser and more patient than I am. He says we have to understand that our son will make choices we may not agree with. We have to guide him as best we can while continuing to support him. Without us, Marcus wouldn’t have the support network he so clearly needs. Luke is also blind at the moment, so no matter what I’m probably going to tell him it’s not a very cute baby. I am a horrible person.

So here I wait. I summon all the strength I can from my newly bionic spine. My prayer goes something like this:

Please let me stand tall no matter what my son might be facing.

Please let me be less judgmental. (Because I am on a SERIOUS path of prejudgment right now and it’s not a good look.)

Please do not let me be a grandmother right now.

Please let me lend the support that is needed.

Please help me to stand tall and strong like the bionic woman I am.

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

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adoption, family

Acceptance

Acceptance. It’s a hard word for me these days. It is hard to accept and let things happen. I am trying to understand that my children operate within their own emotional states. I cannot save them from this. All I can do is support what they need in the moment. All I can do is try to accept where they at, emotionally. It is hard!

It seems as though Marcus has moved in with his biological dad. We did pay for his car to get towed there, because at the end of the day we are his safety net. It’s hard to accept that he honestly can’t comprehend this. At least he is with Bio Dad in a house and not parked in a cemetery and sleeping in his car. BD is a mechanic and that is what Marcus believes he needs for survival. He’s safe(ish) where he is.

Accepting that Marcus wants to live with BD for now is OK. I think a lot of young adult adoptees want to find their roots and figure things out. He is 20, so he needs to be able to explore his connections. I think it’s hard to accept that he can’t have both families. He isn’t speaking to us right now. His car insurance notice came in that they were canceling because he owed over $700. I hope he goes to his court date but since he isn’t talking, I don’t know. I have to try and accept that Marcus can’t manage two sets of parents right now. That’s hard.

I have to accept where Mary is in her healing. She is working to get off-grounds privileges at the her RTC school. She earned horseback riding lessons that she can attend weekly if she is safe. The program there is amazing. They are so good with complex trauma and attachment issues. Mary, however, has a hard time believing she deserves any of these things. Instead of making it to her first horseback riding lesson, she had a violent incident the day before. She was so excited (and possibly anxious) that she sabotaged the moment.

We haven’t been able to take her off-campus since Thanksgiving. It’s hard to accept that she isn’t ready to be away from the safety and structure of the RTC. I have to work on accepting that she needs this level of restriction right now. It’s hard to accept that my little shadow is not able to get in the car and take trips with me.

Harder still is accepting that Carl is struggling. He is our most successful child. Carl is a gentleman who holds the door open for ladies in public. He carries my bags and hugs me in front of his middle school friends. It’s hard to accept that he also yells at me for hours and smashes his room to bits. It’s hard to accept that right now we need the emergency mobile psychiatric service team to come out 2-3 times a week for deescalation. It’s hard to reconcile the boy I know to the tornado of his emotions. I am trying to accept where he is emotionally at the moment. It’s hard to do.

In all my worry I turn to Luke. Late at night when my back hurts, or I’m filled with doubts, he wakes to hold me. Luke tucks me in close to his side. He shelters me from the storm of my own emotions. Never once has Luke told me I cannot feel what I am feeling. Right now I am in a space where I occasionally need a 2:00 AM snuggle session. He never questions why. This is acceptance.

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

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The Prodigal Son is Homeless

He’s been sleeping in his car, apparently in a cemetery. Marcus is in another state, in a slum, sleeping on the street in his car. I cannot understand this choice for the life of me. Why does Marcus prefer living in his car to learning or skill to help him get gainful employment? He honestly can’t visualize his future at all.

He’ll say/shout, “I told you what I want for my future. I want MY CAR! I need to work on MY CAR! That’s what I need for my ‘future.’ I don’t have a future if I don’t have MY CAR!!!”

It baffles me and I feel as if we are always speaking a different language. Either way, we aren’t supporting him financially so that he can buy more pot and “soup up” the rusting Honda Civic from the 90s that has become his whole life.

I made a throwaway comment the day that he left. I sent him a text message (because he refused to talk to me) trying to convince him to go to his interview with Job Corps. I was so mad that he blew it off to work on his car. I said, “Unless you want to LIVE in your car…blah blah blah.” I didn’t mean that Marcus should literally live in his car. He did it anyway.

Marcus took off. I only saw him once since then. One Friday morning I found him asleep with some guy, in his car. He’d spent the night in his car, in our driveway. His bed was right there and he chose to sleep in the car. Marcus was wrapped up like a burrito in the fuzzy purple blanket I bought for him when he was a teenager. He didn’t really pack anything from his room but he took that blanket with him when he left.

Now, he calls because his car has been towed in the city where he’s been staying. He didn’t switch his license plates over from his first junker to his second. This means he was (recklessly) driving  an unregistered car when he got pulled over.

So, now he is sleeping…?

Marcus called begging for us to pay for the car to be towed to his biological dad’s house. His BD is a mechanic and tries to help Marcus on occasion. Marcus had no plan to go to his court date for this infraction, or register his car, or deal with his overdue emissions. As usual he had no plan for the future, no matter how immediate. It wouldn’t be so bad if he’d let us help him plan these things but he refuses to plan. Instead he calls and yells awful things at us.

Despite the fact that he called swearing and cursing me out, we knew he needed help. Unfortunately we couldn’t quite understand what he needed through all of the yelling and the obscenities. He is, of course, still refusing to come home. Marcus is clinging to the  phrase, “I was kicked out!”

He still won’t agree to any certificate program or apprenticeship. He is determined to…? His only plan is about his car. He says he needs to, “Get MY CAR back!”

Luke says that Marcus is like the fox. He heard a quote by Voltaire (and I am heavily paraphrasing here) that fits our son perfectly.  Marcus is like a fox you’re trying to free from a trap that bites you:

“It’s difficult to free fools from the chains they revere.”

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

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