Only Break For Us Is Heart Break

I crack myself up, finally getting around to answering some comments, sometimes when folks comment on a weeks old post, I've totally forgotten the incidents of that day. Commiserating with her, I found myself typing on about the heart break.

I'd made a similar point with Paloma's therapist. He understands the stress load, they have a large staff on call, they get to go home at night to their undamaged families, they get a break.

We don't.

We adoptive parents of severely traumatized children live deep within the trenches, bombs exploding all around us, shrapnel hitting and scarring us for life. Yes, sometimes we can briefly get away, but that usually just means there'll be hell to pay for our admission ticket into normality.

I'm not even stressed out at the moment, although thinking of what I've endured does stress me more than a bit. It's so much easier for me nowadays than it was just a few years ago, but that some of those severely disturbed kids are creating havoc elsewhere is of little comfort. Two in prison doesn't make me proud.

May I again indulge in a kind of girly self-reflective moment, even to gush a bit? 15 years ago when I was ten days past my loss of my younger sister to breast cancer, I held my grandson-son when he was a couple of minutes old and he rocked my world. Without his birth I might've then crawled into a hole wallowing in grief over my sister, my best friend, my confidant and my biggest critic, but tending to a newborn kept me focused.

I didn't know then that I'd have two more newborns, plus half a dozen traumatized toddlers on the way to add to my schedule, I had a baby or two on my hip for the next decade with clamoring toddlers everywhere, we called 'em lap babies, as they clung, demanded and thrived,

Now they're all teenagers, some had major issues to evolve and resolve, some have been fantastic human beings, fun to get to know, and to live with each day.

Along with all those toddlers were their older siblings who were generally just glad not to have to keep on taking care of demanding toddlers, then feeling free to express and release their own issues and inner challenges,

The last 15 years have flown by, I've been busy certainly, an understatement, I've been happy and sad, proud and frightened to pieces, blown away by what I've seen and done, I wouldn't trade it in, nor would I wanna go through it again.

I'm where I am now with my children only by unique and God-driven circumstances.

Happy Birthday Dubs, thanks for being a beacon of normal, for pulling Martin along with you, keeping his head literally above water, he's older, but no less in need of your emotional strength and calmness. You both have been delightful, now 15 and 17, not many mothers of teenagers can say that out loud, right? You've also soothed Chuy's deep anger issues with your calm spirit and usually quiet nature. I know this hasn't been easy for you, but, Honey, talk about stepping up to the plate...

Martin came here at age 3, on Clonidine. What the heck? His foster mom said he was hyper. Well, you're supposed to be hyper at three. I took him, one of his brothers and his sister off these meds immediately, and they've not ever needed psychotropic medications, even though 3 out of 4 of the kids have significant diagnoses, meds weren't the answer. Martin's been behaviorally wonderful. I adore him totally.

That reminds me of text from Daniel yesterday when Freddie Gonzalez got ejected for the first time, hardly on track to beat Bobby Cox and his infamous tally, but glad to see him standing up for his players. I'd read it aloud to Sarah who'd informed me she'd seen on Facebook that Daniel was at the game in Atlanta.

Seriously? Without Mama? JK, I know he had fun.