Sunday, June 10, 2012
Working Through it
A really good mom recently told me she was giving up her long held dream of adoption, feeling she couldn't love any child as much as she loves her adorable birth kid. I argued with her, explaining that adopting an infant was exactly the same, as I'd raised 3 darling babies from Day One plus my birth child. I have others within our family that I love very, very deeply, that I couldn't imagine not being their mother.
For this woman though, if she were to adopt older children, her birth child would certainly pay a price. This I know for sure. Even if Yolie were to adopt an older child, her birth children would pay for it, even though Yolie herself was once a foster child, any kid she adopted wouldn't stop that fact from easing their inner fury at what has happened to them. I get that, I really, really do.
It's raining...therefore a long post will erupt from within a housebound mama.
Plus I'm inspired, having already benefited from a wonderful church service this morning.
On Facebook this prudish ole woman shakes her head in what's either surprise, maybe dismay, and certainly consternation at moms posting pictures of large margaritas or of full wine glasses. Yes, women of a certain age are allowed to drink, I'm just a teetotaler, but I also know that no amount of alcohol is safe for women due to breast cancer risk. Maybe I'm reactionary from having lost my sister, but shouldn't I also be allowed to make a correlation?
Again, just because I don't drink, smoke, cuss or chew, nor run around with other women's husbands, just because I clearly don't do the big sins, doesn't mean I don't struggle with other sinful emotions like anger, and even malice at times.
It's been extraordinarily difficult to absorb the rages of others and not take it personally. The older I get, the harder it has become for me to not sink into disillusionment.
Or pointlessness. Why did I even bother?
I couldn't get across such simple concepts as honesty.
Maybe I'm just too old? So born up out of the calm 1950s when none of my siblings would've ever stolen from me, they still wouldn't. It's who we are, straight-up honest, and I remain incredibly appalled at the amount of theft I've witnessed here.
Recently asked again by adoptive moms, "What about when the birth families show up?'
And they will.
Thanks to Facebook, social workers and former foster parents who've told the birth parents exactly where we live and who we are, the birth parents find us.
I used to feel a bit of irritation as I'm rejected yet again by those I've raised.
Nowadays it doesn't bother me, knowing how much my kids deeply need to hear from their birth parents. Sadly, I rarely see it turn out well for them.
Maybe this won't be a long post as I feel frustration again rising up in me as I contemplate theft, destruction, oppositional behaviors, and outside irritants that seemingly want to make a tough life even more difficult. I don't want hatred rising up in me, nor resentment. Revenge is unacceptable in God's sight as is retaliation, or even me voicing my fury, therefore it again behooves me to get out the broom or the vacuum cleaner, a paintbrush or spackling compound, and to get busy, knowing I can always dispel my negative feelings via hard work.