Category Archives: healing

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Not Alone.

They were any other family.  Active, loving, playful.  They, the mom and the dad, were beautiful examples of all that God expects of those that he makes husband and wife, mother and father.  Their bond was strong, their love even stronger.  Their children, siblings, bicker and squabble, but their bonds, too, were growing stronger and stronger.  Sisters, leading, following.  Brother, teaching, learning.  They worshiped together, prayed together, lived together, love     together.  This family that God created.  This family that embraced all that God offered; their love, their each other.  She was any other child.  She shined with the joy of play, the shimmer of love and the brightness of childhood.  Her eyes sparkled, bright blue, full of wonder, amazement and curiosity.  She embraced life, although at her tender age she couldn’t know that’s what she was doing.  She was the reflection of God’s pure love.  A loSunflowerve that doesn’t go untested.

If you saw her, you wouldn’t know.  You wouldn’t know the evil that lurked just beneath the surface, right in the heart of all that makes her go.  The growing, changing evil, bent on taking her life.   If you saw them, you wouldn’t think that anything was different or special about them.   You wouldn’t think that they would soon be spending their days encouraging, loving, comforting this little one, the one in the middle, the one with the sparkle in her eyes.  You wouldn’t think that they would soon be spending their nights in silent, tearful prayer for the life of their daughter, knees red, swollen, sore.  But they are.  And she is.  As mother and father reach out to those who know, love and care for them, they unwittingly tap into a well of prayers and love so deep that only God knows.  No, they are not alone.  Not alone in prayer for their daughter, not alone in sorrow for what she has already lost, not alone in compassion for what she has to endure.  Not alone in their battle for her life.  Not alone.

We are the ones they don’t know.  Our names are hidden from them.  We are any other people.  We are any other families, with husbands and wives and children.  We are beautiful examples of all that God expects of those who call him Father.  By his grace we are not praying for the lives of our children, laying silently in hospital beds while drops of poison are forced into already weakened bodies.  By his mercy we go to soccer games, baseball games, end of summer picnics.  We buy school supplies and agonize for our children about the expectations in school.  We bring them instead, to ballet lessons, piano lessons, Sunday school.

But God hears our prayers.  God hears us cry out for the innocent children who suffer daily from the evil of cancer.  Take a look, here.  This is any other child.  Her name is Kate.  She is 5.  She has a brain tumor.  Now, please, take a few moments and pray for her.  By His mercy and grace she is not my child.  But my tears are real, and my heart aches as if she were mine.

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Bottle of Wine

There is a bottle of wine in my fridge.  It doesn’t quite fit, and frankly, I don’t want it there.  It annoys me.  Honestly, I hate it.  I despise it.  I resent it.

Yeah, I know, I’m talking about a bottle of wine. But it’s what it represents to me.  There are alcoholics in my family.  I’m not one of them.  As a matter of fact, I don’t drink.  (And it has NOTHING to do with my feelings about alcohol, it’s simply because I don’t like it.)  But seriously, to me it represents dysfunction.  It represents sadness. It represents the demolition of a family.  It represents horror.  These are the things it represents to ME.

Disclaimer:  I do not believe that alcohol should be banned or that it is the cause of every bad thing that happens.  This is just MY view.  End Disclaimer.

Every time I open the fridge, this awkward bottle stored in the door wobbles to one side or the other and makes it’s presence known.  I sneer at it, threaten to toss it out and then slam the fridge door closed behind me.  It’s not mine.  I can’t just toss it out.  I have to continue to store it.

So, like the bottle of wine, there are things in my life that I just don’t want to store anymore.  Things I despise and resent.  Things that represent dysfunction, sadness and horror.  Difference is, they are mine, and I can just toss them out.  But I don’t.  They wobble around in my life because they just don’t fit anymore.  I sneer at them and then slam the door closed behind me, leaving them right where they are.  In some ways, it seems like if I get rid of them, there will be something missing from my life.  There is a bizarre sense of comfort that comes from having them there.

For a long time, I didn’t know that I could get rid of them.  I thought that since they were a part of my past, that I had to carry them around with me forever.  But I don’t.  I know that I can, at any point, simply put them down and walk away.  I don’t have to look back.  I don’t have to worry that I have “illegally dumped” them because in the Kingdom of heaven, there is no wrong place to dump things.  You just do it.  And mysteriously, God makes the trash disappear.  But then He does something even more profound.  He replaces them with things that I need; love, compassion, mercy, acceptance.  Things that fit perfectly into my life.  Beautiful things that I want to look at over and over; things that I would NEVER slam a door on!

Every day is trash day.  One by one I’m going to take things out and dump them.  I’ve done a lot of that already, but I have more to do.  Anyone care to join me in de-cluttering?

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Life since High School

Recently through facebook I have  been re-connecting with some old classmates, so I’ve been thinking a lot about the twists and turns that got me where I am.

Summer between sophomore and junior year of high school, my parents divorced and we moved to the east coast from the mid west. Life wasn’t easy. Here’s the rundown in fast forward:

Struggled with the new social rules and language, joined the swim team, made varsity, went out for softball and blew out my knee triggering all the surgeries, worked at Wendy’s, finished high school, worked at an electronics manufacturing plant, got pregnant, had an abortion, married the guy, had a ruptured ectopic pregnancy, divorced, worked, worked, worked, moved to California to be a ‘nanny’/Auntie to my beautiful nephew and niece, started a long distance relationship with Mr. Right, moved to Michigan, moved to New Hampshire, married Mr. Right, built a house, got a puppy, started taking classes to change careers, got another puppy, moved to Connecticut (hated it), adopted another young dog (bringing the total to 3 dogs at 1yr, 1 1/2 yrs, and 2 yrs old.)  Moved to Rhode Island, met my father-in-faith via the internet and was led to Jesus, found my church family, started a new career as a tech writer, fostered a child, adopted that child, waiting to hear about fostering another; this time a newborn.

There…that about covers it.  Looking back, there were defining moments: parents divorce, moving away, abortion, ectopic pregnancy, divorce, that really changed me, and one defining moment that really confirmed Me.  I’m not proud of what I did.  But I’ve been granted the forgiveness and mercy that helps me to learn and move forward and beyond those moments.

As difficult as it has been at times, God knew all along the path I would have to walk.  He wanted different things for me however I made choices that changed the path.  But never the goal.  God made sure of that.

UPDATE:

As of December 2009, we are foster parents to a first grade boy!  The newborn we were waiting for was placed elsewhere due to his medical issues.  But once again, God showed us that His plan is perfect and sent this wonderful, challenging, articulate, fun, loving little boy into our family for how ever long he needs to be here!

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Surgery Update II

Well, I survived the weekend.  I don’t know how, but I did.  The shot given to me in the OR on Thursday wore off by Friday night, and I spent the rest of the weekend wondering what the heck happened.

So here it is Monday, and things are a bit better.  Not as good as Friday, but better than Saturday evening.  I start physical therapy tomorrow, and I’m hoping that there will be some relief there as well.

Stitches come out the end of the week.  Check it out:

Not too bad, eh?  I’m loving the blue sutures. And yes, those are band-aid marks.

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Last Letter

My Dear Children,

The day has arrived for me to let you go.  I have not wanted this day to come for obvious reasons, but I have been waiting for it for so many years.  The sun is shining brightly this morning, and the sky is crystal clear; just the kind of day that makes the earth look happy.

This is going to be my last letter to you.  Not because I don’t want to write to you, but because in saying good bye, I need to close the door behind that keeps me in this prison and cross the bridge to a new life, one without regrets and without sorrow over you.  One that rejoices in knowing that you were, even for a few brief moments, lives that had meaning, purpose.  Lives that will not be forgotten but will be remembered with joy rather than shame, guilt and sorrow.  I want that so badly, and I’m sure that you would want it to be that way as well.

I wish that I could share with you the joys of earthly childhood; the meaning of a mommy wiping a tear, or the feeling of climbing into a welcoming lap when the world has beaten you down.  I wish that I could see your faces, and hear your voices.  But it was not meant to be in this lifetime.  I can look forward to seeing you, hearing you, holding you, knowing you in the kingdom of Heaven!  The anticipation is great, but please know that the love is greater.  The love that keeps me right where I am, giving to the little girl God has given me all the things I would give to you, but knowing that she is not you, and you are waiting for me!  In her, I will continue to see you, and through loving her, I will be loving you.  She is my purpose, and a gift from the God that loves and cares for you.

I know that letting go of you is not going to be easy.  I know that there will be tears.  But I also know that when I have really let you go to the One who created you and loves you more than I can fathom, I will be free to cross over the bridge to a better place in my own life.

Please know that this is a bitter sweet day for me, one that will not be forgotten, just as you are not forgotten.

Love, Mommy

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On being 18 again

My high school class reunion was last weekend. The planning committee put together events for Friday night (a group of seats at the Boston Red Sox affiliate team the Lowell Spinners), Saturday night (the official reunion dinner), and Sunday (a family day at a large park in the city).

I didn’t go. To any of them. I couldn’t. I started at that high school as a junior. Everyone had their friends and as the new kid, they were not really interested in me. I joined the swim team and met some of my classmates, but still, I wasn’t as good as they were and I always felt like an outsider. I never really fit in anywhere. Oh I tried! I played sports, got injured and had to quit all but one. I got invited to a football game once and went. They all went drinking afterward and I didn’t go. I think that event is what set me apart from them…forever.

I was just reading one of the e-mails sent out since the reunion that was speaking to how the reunion made him feel. My classmate wrote, “I must admit that I am caught up with a feeling of nostalgia – the feeling of being 18 again, the feeling of being able to do anything.” Well they did “do anything”. There are stories, awkwardly humorous ones, about how even now, 25 years later, the cops were called to the after party. One female classmate (National Honor Society, Harvard Graduate, now business owner) commented “Here we are, 43 years old and still…” I know I wouldn’t have been invited to that party. We would have gone, had dinner, and returned home. We might have gone to the family day and heard about the party, and then I would have felt resentful that I wasn’t invited, just like I felt when we were 18 and I wasn’t invited to ‘their’ parties.

Although I would love to share in a wonderful feeling of nostalgia of being 18 again, for me that time was anything but a time I want to remember. Every family has their moments, and for my family, those years were it. I know there was an impact on my brother and sister as well. And I also know that I am not alone. Most of us endure things during those years that are difficult to remember. For me, that time lead to a series of events that are now haunting me. God is healing me, but reading through the reunion messages sprinkled with friendship and idealistic good memories I mourn the loss of those innocent years of being almost an adult, carefree and blessed with many friends. I sit, again, outside the window looking in.

I am going to walk away this time with my head held a little higher. Yes, I have made mistakes, big ones. But by the grace and mercy of God I am forgiven. I can now stand in a new ‘class’ with new friends and family and say “THIS is where I finally belong.” I have graduated again. This time I am in the Heavenly Honor Society!

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Journey to Family part 5

We paced about the house, watching anxiously out the window for the car. Finally, it arrived. We could tell it was them because the car was going slowly. As it pulled in the drive way, we cautiously walked down the front walkway to greet our new house member. She bolted out of the car and exclaimed “I can’t believe I get to live here forever!!”

A year’s worth of things have happened in the 7 months that Mary has been with us:

Thanksgiving (spent at our home this year with family coming to visit)
Rich’s Birthday
Christmas
New Years
Valentines Day
St. Patrick’s Day
Easter
Mary’s Birthday (a huge event celebrated with friends and family!)
Memorial Day
Mother’s Day
Father’s Day
End of school, start of summer camp
My Birthday (coming up soon)

And we have had some other milestones as well, such as loosing a couple teeth and a visit from the tooth fairy, acomplishments in school, report cards, school pictures, as well as a myriad of hand done pictures, drawings, paintings, books and notes! We have lived a lifetime in these short months and it has been wonderful!

In the mean time, there was still work to be done legally. We didn’t enter into this thinking that we would adopt Mary right away, rather that we would foster until her birth parents could get themselves together. But the state had different plans. It wasn’t long before they moved to change the foster care goal from reunification to adoption. We didn’t initiate it, the state did. We were surprised to learn that the state had been involved far longer than we thought. We learned a few more horrifying details of her past life, and knew what we had to do. There was no doubt that the occasional visit (which were scheduled monthly but didn’t happen that way) was difficult for Mary. Although she didn’t act out as some children do, her school work suffered. We noticed right away how her quality of work took a nose dive. The artistic child turned to scribbling and destroying pictures she had drawn. Her overall behavior became a little out of control, and it was months before we saw the happy child again. And the weekly phone calls were difficult too. She would usually talk for just 5 or 10 min. Once we had to end the call because her birth mother burst into tears on the phone and saying things that a 6 yr old just doesn’t need to hear.

During this time, we spent time praying about adoption. We had made it through the first battle of getting her placed with us and now the next battle loomed: how to go about adoption.  We met with a mediator on a couple of occasions, and even one round table with the birth parents to come to an agreement for open adoption.  We felt that this was the best route given that we have known the parents for so long, and didn’t want to gamble that a court could order more visits per year than we were prepared to deal with.  Naturally, they didn’t want to give up their rights, and I felt, in a way, criminal asking them to. It’s a difficult place to be; wanting to have this child, not wanting to hurt the parents, wanting to protect the child, not wanting to hurt her by taking her from them. Millions of emotions that go back and forth. Wondering on some level if it is the right thing, but knowing on every level that her needs are paramount.  Our agreement was achieved, and we successfully drafted a plan that we felt kept Mary’s interest at the front.

After 1 or 2 more court appearances, and a foster care review board meeting, Mary’s birth parents signed away their rights in court in March.  It was a bitter sweet day for all of us.