A letter to my son's mother,
The life you made is beautiful. He is the gleam in my eye. He bows my mouth into broad smiles. He dances for me, just for me. He lights up when I clap for him. His chest puffs out, he is proud to know he has pleased his audience. I am the mother who puffs his chest out. I am the lucky receiver of his hug attacks. I will be the witness of his life. I am lucky that you have given this to me. I am keenly aware of the magnitude of what you have done for me, and saddened by what it means for you. It means your gift of him will be missed by you. I see you in him. He looks just like you. I see you looking at me through his eyes begging to be loved. I promise to love you both.
He is so happy, so full of joy, so full of love. I feel guilty that it is for my family and not you. My greatest hope for him is that he can be reunited with you in heaven. I would love see the joy that might bring to both of you. This is what I pray for, for both of you. I am guardian, caretaker, and mother of his soul brought to me through you, to be given back to you some day.
Thank you. Thank you for giving him life when ending your pregnancy made more sense. You had nothing for him but love. I know you tried. I know you wanted what was best for him, you proved this in the most courageous way. I admire you. He is lucky to have two mothers that love him; one in heaven and one on earth.
<3 comment-3--="" earth="" mom="">
Wednesday, August 6, 2014
Gains and Losses
"I feel so bad for him."
"Really? Why do you feel bad for him. The judge did the right thing."
"I know he did. I just feel so sad. J's dad was so upset."
"Oh, you know that was for show, right?"
But what if it wasn't. What if this man's angst, and anger were real? I know for sure that they were real to him at that moment. Js dad took the stand to defend himself. He really couldn't. In fact he took accountability, in many ways, and I admired that. He said some very painful things aimed at us while he was up there, but I couldn't be angry with him. He was trying, desperately, to remain the father of his son. J doesn't know him. He wouldn't be able to pick J out in a crowd, but this doesn't make his pain any less real. He may not know his son, but he knows what it feels like to lose him. A feeling I hope to never feel. This is why I feel for him. As he talked I studied him. I committed myself to absorbing every detail about him so I might one day tell his son everything I could about who his father was and what his father looked like.
-Son, you have your father's deep, soulful, throaty voice. A voice like Louis Armstrong. You have his sturdy, well muscled frame, and broad shoulders. He fought for you. He wasn't ready to care for you, he admitted this, but he still fought for you. Otherwise, my dear, you look exactly like your mother, and you have her sweet demeanor.-
So, Js dad's rights were terminated. I should be happy, and I am, but I also mourn. I mourn for the loss, yet another loss, that J doesn't know he has suffered yet. When J realizes this loss, he will surely mourn. I mourn for the loss Js dad has experienced, a loss he felt acutely. Whether it was a show or not, he felt loss. I have to think that even if what he felt was a mirage of a true feeling, he knew, intellectually, the implication of the ruling. Otherwise he wouldn't have been able to put on a show in the first place.
Even if the permanent separation of a family is in the best interest of the child, as it is in this case, the situation is still a tragedy. Children are meant to be raised by their parents. If they can't be raised by both biological parents, it is best for them to be raised by one of them. Every child yearns for this. It is only in extreme cases that a child cannot be reunited with their parents. In these cases both child and parent suffer such great loss, the death of a primal relationship.
I can say this to Js mom, "you got your wish my dear. Rest peacefully. He will know how much you loved him."
"Really? Why do you feel bad for him. The judge did the right thing."
"I know he did. I just feel so sad. J's dad was so upset."
"Oh, you know that was for show, right?"
But what if it wasn't. What if this man's angst, and anger were real? I know for sure that they were real to him at that moment. Js dad took the stand to defend himself. He really couldn't. In fact he took accountability, in many ways, and I admired that. He said some very painful things aimed at us while he was up there, but I couldn't be angry with him. He was trying, desperately, to remain the father of his son. J doesn't know him. He wouldn't be able to pick J out in a crowd, but this doesn't make his pain any less real. He may not know his son, but he knows what it feels like to lose him. A feeling I hope to never feel. This is why I feel for him. As he talked I studied him. I committed myself to absorbing every detail about him so I might one day tell his son everything I could about who his father was and what his father looked like.
-Son, you have your father's deep, soulful, throaty voice. A voice like Louis Armstrong. You have his sturdy, well muscled frame, and broad shoulders. He fought for you. He wasn't ready to care for you, he admitted this, but he still fought for you. Otherwise, my dear, you look exactly like your mother, and you have her sweet demeanor.-
So, Js dad's rights were terminated. I should be happy, and I am, but I also mourn. I mourn for the loss, yet another loss, that J doesn't know he has suffered yet. When J realizes this loss, he will surely mourn. I mourn for the loss Js dad has experienced, a loss he felt acutely. Whether it was a show or not, he felt loss. I have to think that even if what he felt was a mirage of a true feeling, he knew, intellectually, the implication of the ruling. Otherwise he wouldn't have been able to put on a show in the first place.
Even if the permanent separation of a family is in the best interest of the child, as it is in this case, the situation is still a tragedy. Children are meant to be raised by their parents. If they can't be raised by both biological parents, it is best for them to be raised by one of them. Every child yearns for this. It is only in extreme cases that a child cannot be reunited with their parents. In these cases both child and parent suffer such great loss, the death of a primal relationship.
I can say this to Js mom, "you got your wish my dear. Rest peacefully. He will know how much you loved him."
Tuesday, July 8, 2014
His mother
The full moon stared at me through my bedroom window keeping me awake wondering if you were looking at it too. I wonder if you are cold tonight. I wonder if you are hungry. I wonder if you miss your baby sleeping upstairs. I wonder how the same moon can mean such different things to us. I wonder why your family couldn't love you, you seem loveable to me. I wonder a lot of things about you. I wish I could love you back to life the way I have your son. I wish I could have been there when for you more. I wish someone would have told you that you could be a wonderful mother. I wonder if your defeat is what kept you from getting the help you needed. I wonder if you know I do love you. I wonder if you know that when I look into your son's eyes I see you, or if you know that when he is difficult I try to handle him with the patience and love you'd want for him even if you couldn't do it yourself. I wish you did. I wish a lot of things.
January 17 2014
"Hello?"
"Mrs. Gasway"
"Yes"
The voice on the other line is Mom's social worker, but something is wrong. Her stoic voice is unsteady. My stomach knots.
"Js mom is dead."
Silence. No air. Drowning.
"I am sorry, what?"
"She was murdered. This morning."
I gasp for air, "WHAT!"
Her voice softens. "They found her body this morning near the base."
The house suddenly feels incredibly empty and impossibly quiet. I begin to cry.
"I am sorry. I just am having a hard time processing this." The boys look at me curiously and concerned.
"Mom, what's going on. Is dad okay?" I wave at them to be quiet. This makes them even more worried.
"I never in a million years thought this would happen to her. Why her!?" and the flood gates open and I begin to weep, big heaving, air gulping, embarrassing cries. I think about J. How horrible this is for him. Even if he doesn't understand yet, he will some day. There is silence on the other end, and the I can feel that worker is bewildered by my reaction. She doesn't understand that I loved his mom, just as I love him.
"Me either Mrs. Gasway. It is terrible."
I suddenly feel aware of my nakedness and just want to end this conversation, "well thank you for calling me."
"You are welcome. I am sorry."
"Me too. I will talk to you later. I need to hang up. I am very upset." I can't stop thinking about her last moments. She must've felt so alone. She must've thought of her children. She must've worried about their futures.
"I understand."
"good bye"
"bye"
I hang up and explain what has happened to the boys. The first thing they want to do go upstairs, wake J up and hug him. I say okay, even though I know it's more for them than for J.
We hug him. The boys and I sleep together all in one room. I send Casey several messages hoping he will answer. I want him here with me RIGHT NOW, and not half a world away. There are so many things I wanted to ask her. I had always hoped that she and J would someday be able to have a relationship. Every child wants to know the woman that gave them life, even if they aren't raised by her. I mourn the fact that he will never get that. I mourn his loss and worry about the impact it will have on him when he is old enough to understand. I can never replace her for him. I can love him with all my mother's love, but he will still long for her. All adopted children long for the woman that gave them life, even if only to look into the eyes that look like their own. He does look like her. He will only know her in pictures and this makes me very sad. I can't stop thinking, my mind is so loud and only my husband knows how to quiet it. Exhausted.
At 2am he finally calls, my sweet husband. He talks to me away from the edge of an exhausted anxiety induced break-down. At 5:30 he demands I call someone to come and help. I am slurring my words in my emotional and physical exhaustion he says. I don't hear it. I refuse. He tells me to sleep, but the kids are about to wake up. He asks to speak to Cooper. Alone. I overhear him telling Cooper to take charge until someone else gets there to help. I am offended. I think I am stronger than I am. He asks one of the soldiers to call his wife and send her over. It is 6:30 when she arrives unexpectedly. My husband knew I would refuse her help. I don't want anyone to see me like this, but she is sweet and comforting. I do not feel judged by her. She let's me sleep and feeds the boys. She was wonderful. For the next few days I am afraid to leave the house. I don't who the killer is. What if it is the guy from the library?
**I'd find out the day of our March court date that during that last torturous visit she would tell her worker (and later, the grandmother of her oldest children), "He picked that woman. He loves her. She is mommy now. I don't want anyone to take him away from her." She loved him so much. She loved him selflessly.
"Mrs. Gasway"
"Yes"
The voice on the other line is Mom's social worker, but something is wrong. Her stoic voice is unsteady. My stomach knots.
"Js mom is dead."
Silence. No air. Drowning.
"I am sorry, what?"
"She was murdered. This morning."
I gasp for air, "WHAT!"
Her voice softens. "They found her body this morning near the base."
The house suddenly feels incredibly empty and impossibly quiet. I begin to cry.
"I am sorry. I just am having a hard time processing this." The boys look at me curiously and concerned.
"Mom, what's going on. Is dad okay?" I wave at them to be quiet. This makes them even more worried.
"I never in a million years thought this would happen to her. Why her!?" and the flood gates open and I begin to weep, big heaving, air gulping, embarrassing cries. I think about J. How horrible this is for him. Even if he doesn't understand yet, he will some day. There is silence on the other end, and the I can feel that worker is bewildered by my reaction. She doesn't understand that I loved his mom, just as I love him.
"Me either Mrs. Gasway. It is terrible."
I suddenly feel aware of my nakedness and just want to end this conversation, "well thank you for calling me."
"You are welcome. I am sorry."
"Me too. I will talk to you later. I need to hang up. I am very upset." I can't stop thinking about her last moments. She must've felt so alone. She must've thought of her children. She must've worried about their futures.
"I understand."
"good bye"
"bye"
I hang up and explain what has happened to the boys. The first thing they want to do go upstairs, wake J up and hug him. I say okay, even though I know it's more for them than for J.
We hug him. The boys and I sleep together all in one room. I send Casey several messages hoping he will answer. I want him here with me RIGHT NOW, and not half a world away. There are so many things I wanted to ask her. I had always hoped that she and J would someday be able to have a relationship. Every child wants to know the woman that gave them life, even if they aren't raised by her. I mourn the fact that he will never get that. I mourn his loss and worry about the impact it will have on him when he is old enough to understand. I can never replace her for him. I can love him with all my mother's love, but he will still long for her. All adopted children long for the woman that gave them life, even if only to look into the eyes that look like their own. He does look like her. He will only know her in pictures and this makes me very sad. I can't stop thinking, my mind is so loud and only my husband knows how to quiet it. Exhausted.
At 2am he finally calls, my sweet husband. He talks to me away from the edge of an exhausted anxiety induced break-down. At 5:30 he demands I call someone to come and help. I am slurring my words in my emotional and physical exhaustion he says. I don't hear it. I refuse. He tells me to sleep, but the kids are about to wake up. He asks to speak to Cooper. Alone. I overhear him telling Cooper to take charge until someone else gets there to help. I am offended. I think I am stronger than I am. He asks one of the soldiers to call his wife and send her over. It is 6:30 when she arrives unexpectedly. My husband knew I would refuse her help. I don't want anyone to see me like this, but she is sweet and comforting. I do not feel judged by her. She let's me sleep and feeds the boys. She was wonderful. For the next few days I am afraid to leave the house. I don't who the killer is. What if it is the guy from the library?
**I'd find out the day of our March court date that during that last torturous visit she would tell her worker (and later, the grandmother of her oldest children), "He picked that woman. He loves her. She is mommy now. I don't want anyone to take him away from her." She loved him so much. She loved him selflessly.
December 7th 2013
10:30 am. The phone ring paralyzes me. This is normal now. It is the land line. This means it is either a social worker or a doctor. I don't want to answer it anymore. "Hello, Gasway's" The boys are doing their school work at the table a few feet away. They pretend they aren't listening, but I know that they are."
"Mrs. GAsway, I was wondering if you would be available for a visit today."
"Of course."
"is 1:30 pm at the library okay for you?"
"I can't be there until 2, well I have to drop one of the boys off somewhere at 2, but I can drop him off early, and try to be there before 2. I can't promise I will, but I will do my best."
"Well, mom has to be some where at 2:20."
"I will be there as soon as I can."
We hang up and I put J down for a nap. I hope that he can get enough sleep before he sees his mother. I want him to be well rested and ready to play. It has been 9 months and she has only asked to see him a handful of times, and only once did she actually show. That was in September.
1:15: I wake him up. I dress him in a pair of overalls, and a longsleeve t-shirt. He looks adorable. I doubt this is how mom would dress him, but I am not sure. I wonder if this will upset her, remind her that another woman is picking out his clothes, changing his diapers, wiping his tears. The thought crushes me. We all put on coats, hats, and gloves and pile into the car.
I can feel the familiar pressure building in my throat as I park the car in the library parking lot. I want my husband to be here with me. Why do I have to do this alone?
1:50pm: As we approach the library Mom, and her social worker meet us outside. Mom is wearing the same clothes she wore to court two days ago. I don't think she has washed her hair since either. This makes my heart ache for her. She reaches for him and he turns away from her. I pry him off my chest to hand him to her. She smells of cigarette smoke and fried food, "how is mommy's baby? Did you miss me? I missed you". He looks for me over her shoulder. This was hard, but is nothing compared to what is to come. I am not his mother.
When we get inside there is a strange man smiling at me. He is obviously with mom. He was at court too. Is this Js dad? Is this mom's pimp? Who is this man? Why is he here? Is he dangerous? We head into children's section. Mom walks far ahead of us with J and I hang back to talk to the worker. We are engrossed in a conversation about future visits, when J comes running out of the play section and slams into my legs. He begs to be picked up. He is terrified of this stranger, his mother. Regardless, she is his mother and I am not, and the only way for him to become familiar with her again is for him to spend this entire visit with her. They both need this. I grab his hand and head towards the table where his mother sits looking defeated. She looks completely broken. J complies until he realizes where we are going. I get a few feet from his mother and he throws himself onto the ground, kicks his feet, flails his arms, and starts screaming a scream he has only ever screamed when he was physically hurting. My tears come without notice, and I swear I hear the crackling of my heart as it wretches in my chest. I step over him, and look at mom's worker, "I can't do this". I walk to the other end of the library. He continues to scream for the next 10 minutes. I weep. I weep for both of them, but they cannot know. I send my husband frantic IMs on Skype hoping that he will get them and respond. Though I doubt it. I feel a twinge of guilt because Army wives are supposed so suck everything up and not bother their husbands with stress from the homefront during their deployments, but I decide I don't care.
"Annie?!"
I look up from my Ipad, and let out a relieved, "Nancy."
Another homeschool mom, a friend. Relief courses through me and I let out a long sigh, followed by uncontrollable sobbing that shakes my entire body. I feel weak to cry in front of anyone.
"do you hear that screaming?"
"yes"
"That is J. He is visiting with his mom."
"Oh, annie I am so sorry."
She hugs my shivering body. I feel so frail in her arms. She hands me a tissue and that's when I notice him. The strange man that came with mom. As Nancy and I talk he circles our table and leers at me. I feel like prey. I am so thankful that Nancy decided to come to the library at this exact moment, and I know that it wasn't a coincidence. I say a silent prayer of thanks.
After roughly 10 more minutes, Mom, the man, and her social worker appear in the hallway that connects the children's section to the adult section. I ask Nancy to wait for me, and she says, "Of course". What a wonderful human. I meet them. Mom wont make eye contact with me. J is wandering about the stacks alone and she seems completely uncaring and detached from him a shift from how she entered the building. I run and pick him up. He smiles at me, and I know that he is okay. The man keeps rubbing Js head, and trying to play peek-a-boo with him. I feel complete molested. They leave, but the worker stays.
We walk back to the toys and I put J down. I am a little worried that they will come back and steal him. I know it's irrational, but I can't help it. The worker begins to talk to me about our March court date. "I am going to recommend a straight goal of adoption at our next court date."
"Okay, are we going to continue visits?"
"Yes, I'd like to try to have a visit a week. That is, if mom shows up."
Really? We are going to torture this poor kid! I know that he will adjust and that if she shows they could build a bond.
"That sounds great to me. Though I would like for her to arrive before we have to show up so that if she doesn't come we aren't left waiting on her. I think it is best if Js life is disrupted as little as possible."
"I think that is reasonable."
We leave. On the way home Casey call's me. I begin to sob. I tell him how awful she is. How terrified J was. I tell him about the strange man and how I feel molested and completely vulnerable. I tell him that I wish he was at home because I would feel safer. I am sick of doing this alone. I think I might lose my mind. I didn't know this was the last time we would see her. For the next 7 nights in a row J wakes up with night terrors several times a night. I wonder what fears the visit triggered.
"Mrs. GAsway, I was wondering if you would be available for a visit today."
"Of course."
"is 1:30 pm at the library okay for you?"
"I can't be there until 2, well I have to drop one of the boys off somewhere at 2, but I can drop him off early, and try to be there before 2. I can't promise I will, but I will do my best."
"Well, mom has to be some where at 2:20."
"I will be there as soon as I can."
We hang up and I put J down for a nap. I hope that he can get enough sleep before he sees his mother. I want him to be well rested and ready to play. It has been 9 months and she has only asked to see him a handful of times, and only once did she actually show. That was in September.
1:15: I wake him up. I dress him in a pair of overalls, and a longsleeve t-shirt. He looks adorable. I doubt this is how mom would dress him, but I am not sure. I wonder if this will upset her, remind her that another woman is picking out his clothes, changing his diapers, wiping his tears. The thought crushes me. We all put on coats, hats, and gloves and pile into the car.
I can feel the familiar pressure building in my throat as I park the car in the library parking lot. I want my husband to be here with me. Why do I have to do this alone?
1:50pm: As we approach the library Mom, and her social worker meet us outside. Mom is wearing the same clothes she wore to court two days ago. I don't think she has washed her hair since either. This makes my heart ache for her. She reaches for him and he turns away from her. I pry him off my chest to hand him to her. She smells of cigarette smoke and fried food, "how is mommy's baby? Did you miss me? I missed you". He looks for me over her shoulder. This was hard, but is nothing compared to what is to come. I am not his mother.
When we get inside there is a strange man smiling at me. He is obviously with mom. He was at court too. Is this Js dad? Is this mom's pimp? Who is this man? Why is he here? Is he dangerous? We head into children's section. Mom walks far ahead of us with J and I hang back to talk to the worker. We are engrossed in a conversation about future visits, when J comes running out of the play section and slams into my legs. He begs to be picked up. He is terrified of this stranger, his mother. Regardless, she is his mother and I am not, and the only way for him to become familiar with her again is for him to spend this entire visit with her. They both need this. I grab his hand and head towards the table where his mother sits looking defeated. She looks completely broken. J complies until he realizes where we are going. I get a few feet from his mother and he throws himself onto the ground, kicks his feet, flails his arms, and starts screaming a scream he has only ever screamed when he was physically hurting. My tears come without notice, and I swear I hear the crackling of my heart as it wretches in my chest. I step over him, and look at mom's worker, "I can't do this". I walk to the other end of the library. He continues to scream for the next 10 minutes. I weep. I weep for both of them, but they cannot know. I send my husband frantic IMs on Skype hoping that he will get them and respond. Though I doubt it. I feel a twinge of guilt because Army wives are supposed so suck everything up and not bother their husbands with stress from the homefront during their deployments, but I decide I don't care.
"Annie?!"
I look up from my Ipad, and let out a relieved, "Nancy."
Another homeschool mom, a friend. Relief courses through me and I let out a long sigh, followed by uncontrollable sobbing that shakes my entire body. I feel weak to cry in front of anyone.
"do you hear that screaming?"
"yes"
"That is J. He is visiting with his mom."
"Oh, annie I am so sorry."
She hugs my shivering body. I feel so frail in her arms. She hands me a tissue and that's when I notice him. The strange man that came with mom. As Nancy and I talk he circles our table and leers at me. I feel like prey. I am so thankful that Nancy decided to come to the library at this exact moment, and I know that it wasn't a coincidence. I say a silent prayer of thanks.
After roughly 10 more minutes, Mom, the man, and her social worker appear in the hallway that connects the children's section to the adult section. I ask Nancy to wait for me, and she says, "Of course". What a wonderful human. I meet them. Mom wont make eye contact with me. J is wandering about the stacks alone and she seems completely uncaring and detached from him a shift from how she entered the building. I run and pick him up. He smiles at me, and I know that he is okay. The man keeps rubbing Js head, and trying to play peek-a-boo with him. I feel complete molested. They leave, but the worker stays.
We walk back to the toys and I put J down. I am a little worried that they will come back and steal him. I know it's irrational, but I can't help it. The worker begins to talk to me about our March court date. "I am going to recommend a straight goal of adoption at our next court date."
"Okay, are we going to continue visits?"
"Yes, I'd like to try to have a visit a week. That is, if mom shows up."
Really? We are going to torture this poor kid! I know that he will adjust and that if she shows they could build a bond.
"That sounds great to me. Though I would like for her to arrive before we have to show up so that if she doesn't come we aren't left waiting on her. I think it is best if Js life is disrupted as little as possible."
"I think that is reasonable."
We leave. On the way home Casey call's me. I begin to sob. I tell him how awful she is. How terrified J was. I tell him about the strange man and how I feel molested and completely vulnerable. I tell him that I wish he was at home because I would feel safer. I am sick of doing this alone. I think I might lose my mind. I didn't know this was the last time we would see her. For the next 7 nights in a row J wakes up with night terrors several times a night. I wonder what fears the visit triggered.
December 5th 2013
The waiting room provides no comfort. Long wooden pughs, pastel blue walls - a feeble attempt to calm us. I am not calmed. I pray she doesn't come. I love her. I want her to get well, but I don't think she will. I have been sitting here for nearly an hour as social workers, parents, foster parents, public defenders, and off duty police officers filter in and out. I wait anxiously to see her. The mother of my foster son. I love him too. I have good days where I thank her for all she has done for him, and I want so desperately for her to be reunited with him for them to live happily ever after. I have bad days where I want to punch her in her face for all she hasn't done for him, for all the struggles he faces because of her. I am the one to help him face those struggles, and it hurts to see him try so hard to overcome. Babies shouldn't have so much to overcome. She was just a baby when she first became a mother. The cycle of life for some, and this is where I always end up. Wishing I had a magic wand.
Black hoodie, dirty hair blonde on bottom black on top drawn up into a hasty bun on top of her head. She isn't alone. Who are these people. I feel the breath drawn involuntarily out of my body. I can't breath. They call his name and we all get up to head into the courtroom. As I stand up I cannot feel my legs. They are unreliable and I am so thankful that my mother in law has come today. I will need her.
More long wooden pughs. The only seat is next to her, and her companions. I find out later that I sit next to her sister. We are so close our thighs share space. "Your honor, I recommend the goal of Adoption." They gasp and I feel their eyes on me like erasers trying to rub me out of reality. It hurts. I don't want to cry here, not in front of them. I want to wait, but I feel it rising up inside of me. "I approve the concurrent goals of relative placement and adoption." I feel her heart break. I feel it inside of me as if it is my own heart and I am not sure I can keep these tears from falling. This is not what I wanted for her. I want her to hope, to work hard to be the mother her son deserves. I know she wants it. I feel her desire. I also feel her defeat.
We share the elevator on our way out of the court house. The silence is like concrete pressing down on us, engulfing us, drowning and paralyzing us. Finally her sister breaks the silence. I am grateful. "How is J anyway?" "He is great. He is teething, so he is crying a lot. But he is healthy." I want to ask why she, and his mom didn't come to the hospital for his open heart surgery, or to visit during the 5 days he was recovering, but I don't. I have so many questions. EDIT: I found out much later that sister didn't come because she was giving birth, and mom didn't come because she was terrified her baby would die during the surgery. This makes me glad that I reserved judgment, even if everyone else told me I was naive.
Black hoodie, dirty hair blonde on bottom black on top drawn up into a hasty bun on top of her head. She isn't alone. Who are these people. I feel the breath drawn involuntarily out of my body. I can't breath. They call his name and we all get up to head into the courtroom. As I stand up I cannot feel my legs. They are unreliable and I am so thankful that my mother in law has come today. I will need her.
More long wooden pughs. The only seat is next to her, and her companions. I find out later that I sit next to her sister. We are so close our thighs share space. "Your honor, I recommend the goal of Adoption." They gasp and I feel their eyes on me like erasers trying to rub me out of reality. It hurts. I don't want to cry here, not in front of them. I want to wait, but I feel it rising up inside of me. "I approve the concurrent goals of relative placement and adoption." I feel her heart break. I feel it inside of me as if it is my own heart and I am not sure I can keep these tears from falling. This is not what I wanted for her. I want her to hope, to work hard to be the mother her son deserves. I know she wants it. I feel her desire. I also feel her defeat.
We share the elevator on our way out of the court house. The silence is like concrete pressing down on us, engulfing us, drowning and paralyzing us. Finally her sister breaks the silence. I am grateful. "How is J anyway?" "He is great. He is teething, so he is crying a lot. But he is healthy." I want to ask why she, and his mom didn't come to the hospital for his open heart surgery, or to visit during the 5 days he was recovering, but I don't. I have so many questions. EDIT: I found out much later that sister didn't come because she was giving birth, and mom didn't come because she was terrified her baby would die during the surgery. This makes me glad that I reserved judgment, even if everyone else told me I was naive.
Monday, November 18, 2013
The storm
It is late and I should be sleeping. This memory, this beautiful memory haunts me. The steamy summer storm raged outside. We had the windows to the porch open wide to let in the thunder. We loved storms. The angrier the better. We sat on the couch, your hands on my belly, waiting to feel the life inside reach out to you. Only a few more weeks. I was terrified, and you were impatient to meet your first. The sirens went off. The sound sending us outside in mad anticipation. I couldn't get my body to leave the porch. I stood there in bare feet. The rain whipping about me, the wind pulling at my sundress, as you ran to the street to see if it would come. The rain falling so hard I could barely see you just a few dozen feet away.
I wanted to go too. I was paralyzed by my biology. Then I heard it. The familiar freight train roar growing louder that meant it WAS coming. And I yelled to you, "we have to go to the basement" but you didn't hear me. I could barely see you. Panick set in. I had only experienced curiosity, wonderment, and excitement in times like these, but now I wanted to run away from the noise. Then came the so-loud snapping of the oaks in the park on the other side of the narrow street. I yelled a yell that hurt, "we have to go inside, right now!" And you yelled back, "no, I won't, but you probably should". I thought I might puke. I could feel the fingers of it clawing at the inside of my raw throat.
Some readers will judge me for what I said next. My wet sun dress clung to my swollen belly, as I screamed, "I am NOT raising this baby without you! If you won't go in neither will I." So I stood on that porch drenched, being beaten by pellets of rain, that might have stung if I could have felt them, as the sound of trees snapping traveled down the park, now made invisible by the rain. The sound traveled parallel to our row of houses and into the distance. The park lost over 50 trees that day, but I learned something about us.
I would rather stand with you in any storm then stand alone in safety. I would rather enter the fray with you than be without you. This life, this military life, of forced separations is hard because you enter storms and I cannot come. I have to stay behind. But even so, know that when you think you don't see me there standing next to you in the rain, I am. I am definitely there. I made up my mind on a hot steamy summer day long ago that no matter what, I was weathering every storm WITH you.
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