The drive out to West Texas was pretty uneventful. We won't go into the drama at the hotel. Suffice it to say that nobody got much sleep.
The NGYCP-Texas Youth Challenge facility is a school turned TYC turned military-style youth rescue compound. Amazingly, I didn't get any pictues of it! DUH! I'll be sure to do better in January when we drop her off for the start of the program. I did get some of the scenery along the way, though. It's really a whole bunch of nothing but scrub brush and distant hills with roads cut through it all -- including the hills! LOL!
After the orientation session we dropped My Girl off in San Antonio. She was very obviously glad go see me go, but what bothers me more is that I was glad to be gone. And what hurts my heart the most is that despite my best efforts I don't know how to reach her. I don't know how to help her grow out of the childish, imature, grossly age-inappropriate behaviors that will be so life limiting for her.
I guess I could just quit trying. I guess I could let her continue on the path she's chosen and assume that eventually she will grow out of it. But that would require that she find somewhere else to live because I can't watch her do it to herself. Oh, wait. That's what she's done. So why am I agonizing over it? One good reason: I'm afraid of losing her. I'm afraid of failing her. I'm afraid of pushing her too far away and of holding her too close.
My fears don't really matter much, though, because no matter what I do she pushes me away. No matter how hard I try, what test I pass, what hurdles I jump, there are more trials, more tests, more reminders that I'm not her real mother; that her real family are the people who refused to give her a home and unconditional love and support when she needed it most. Then my hurt turns to resentment which turns to sniping. It's a vicious cycle that is slowly killing our relationship. So, now I have no choice but to walk away for a while. Maybe the separation will do us both good. I'm not going far. She can get to me when she's ready. I'm going to leave it up to her to decide how long or, like Martina McBride sings so beautifully, How Far...
My Girl has been accepted back into the National Guard Youth Challenge Program. We will be leaving tomorrow to take her to West Texas for orientation. Then we will be dropping her off in San Antonio to stay with her other family until January when the program officially starts.
She and I have somehow lost our ability to be in the room without sniping - or worse - over the last couple of months. We are both to blame, we both hate it, yet neither of us has a clue where to start to fix it. The best solution for now is for her to be elsewhere.
While I won't miss the daily cat fights, I will miss the beautiful heart that shines through now and then. I will miss the rare moments of light-hearted companionship. Even few and far between is better than nothing at all.
Truth be told, right now I feel pretty much like a failure in the Mom department. Why can't I just ignore her continual passive-aggressiveness? Why can't I find a way to teach her how to stop it?
I know that this is just part of the process she needs to go through to get to where she needs to be in life. I just wish it didn't hurt so much -- this struggle to accept that things didn't turn out the way I thought they would when we adopted her.
One day, with the grace of God, she will be grown and independent, and we will be able to look back and laugh. For now,
Peace, Blessings, and Pass the tissue box, please.
Wow! I cannot believe that it has already been five years since we stood in front of the judge and vowed to become a family. I'm still not sure you really wanted to make it legal. You had such hopes of somehow being able to live with your little brother. (I'm sorry we couldn't make that happen for you. At least we've been able to maintain contact and see him a few times a year.) I'm so glad you you didn't back out at the last minute; that somewhere deep inside you knew that in this family you would finally have a forever home.
What a rocky road we've had. You came to us so hurt by the life you'd already led. You were one angry, bitter, and often mean and cruel little girl who had built tall and thick walls around her heart to avoid being hurt anymore; who used emotions like a poisonous snake uses venom to paralyze anyone who dares get too close. But there were tiny slivers of cracks through which your true self shone so brightly that it was almost blinding. In those moments, when you let down your guard, Daddy and I saw a beautiful, loving, delightful spirit that we knew we had to free.
Now here we are, 6-1/2 years into our relationship, on the 5th anniversary of the day we finalized your adoption. It hasn't been easy, kiddo. There have been times when we wanted to turn tail and run for the nearest exit. But then we'd notice something miraculous: The cracks in the wall had widened a little more. With each catastrophic event came new insights. With each major blow-up came more cracks. With each heart-breaking, gut-wrenching setback came a few more steps toward you finding yourself.
Today, I can honestly say that there are more holes than wall. More and more the true heart of the little girl I fell in love with shines through.
My sweet little Girl, I want you to know that we have never stopped believing in you. No matter how hard things got, your dad and I have never (for more than a minute or two) been willing to give up on you. And we never will. And, until you can start believing in yourself enough to stand on your own, we will believe enough for you and be there to help you stand. Together, we will tear down the rest of the bricks and free that beautiful, loving heart for good and ever.
Please remember, honey, that you will not always be 17, with 17-year-old angst, hormonal upheavals, and fluctuating brain function . One day you will be a woman with an open and secure heart. And though I will ALWAYS be your mother, I will not always have to mother you. I look forward to the day when my daughter becomes a woman whom I will be honored to count among my best friends.
I love you, you sweet, ornery, uplifting, disheartening, insightful, stubborn, delightful pain in the butt. Thank you for being mine.
Laying side by side in the wee hours of the morning, her in her hospital bed, me on my roll-away, Mother and I talked quietly about our life together.
“Were you ever sorry you adopted me, Mom?”
“Yes. If I thought I could pull it off, I’d have given you to the first gypsy troop I could find heading out of town.”
“It was when you found out about Bob*, wasn’t it.”
She laughed in that sweet, half-giggle way of hers and said, “Well, yes, that was one of the worst of them.”
“Them?” I replied in mock shock, knowing full well that during my teenage years I’d given her plenty of reasons to toss me in the nearest Dempsey Dumpster (or gypsy wagon) and run for her life. She was right about one thing, though: my first fully involved sexual relationship had nearly killed not only her soul, but also her spirit, and very nearly her body as well....
I met Bob a month or so after the beginning of our sophomore year. He was a new kid. I knew what it was like to be the new kid and never allowed another new kid to feel left out. We had science together and, since none of the “cool” guys would lower themselves to be lab partners with a new kid, I took the job on myself. It wasn’t long before we were a couple. When Spring break came, we couldn’t bear the thought of being apart for a whoooole weeeeeeeek, so we devised a plan for him to spend lots of time with my friend Sally’s boyfriend who just happened to live only a few blocks from me. Coincidentally, Sally* would be spending most of Spring break with me. Both of our mothers worked full time, so they loved the idea of us keeping each other company. They had no idea just how much company we were going to be keeping with the guys.
On Thursday of that week, after Mother left for work at 7:00 a.m., Sally and I went to work primping and preening. We shaved our underarms and legs, checked each other for unsightly blemishes, did each other’s hair and makeup. Around 10:00 a.m. two totally clueless boys arrived and were presented with what we were sure would be the best surprise of their lives.
The following week at school, the boys broke up with us. Devastated, Sally and I wrote notes back and forth trying to figure out what had gone wrong. We didn’t understand how they could be so cruel after we’d been soooo kind. Being at that “it’s none of your business, Mom!” stage of teenage pseudo-independence, I sulked and grouched around the house so much that mother was finally compelled to go on a scavenger hunt in my room to try and figure out what was wrong with me. She didn’t have to look long to find one of our notes wadded up in the trash.
As a 15-year-old, I was outraged at her invasion of my privacy. Now, as the mother of a teenage girl, my heart physically aches at the thought of her sitting there in shock and horror as she read the words that no little girl’s mommy ever wants to read. I can hardly bear to think of how she looked as she read, but I will never forget the look on her face when she drove up to where a friend and I were walking in the neighborhood and ordered me into the car. I saw the crumpled paper laying on the car seat and immediately knew that she knew.
She’d actually taken off work early to come home and take me shopping in a surprise effort to cheer me up a little, but I’d already left the house when she got there. By the time she had me in the car it was about 4:00 p.m., however, she’d already called our family doctor, obtained the name of a gynecologist friend of his, and had an appointment scheduled for me at 4:30. It had been over 4 weeks since Spring break and she didn’t want to waste one more minute before making sure that I wasn’t pregnant or diseased. Or both. When I protested she growled, “You want to be a woman, this is part of it. And don’t you DARE put up a fight. You will do whatever the doctor needs you to do. Is that clear?” It was. I knew that if she had to get my dad involved it mean another beating and I would do anything to avoid that. Thankfully, so would she.
Fortunately, I survived the humiliation of that first gynecological exam even though I was wishing for death the whole time. It would take a few days for any test results to come in, though, so we were sent home to wait. And wait. And wait. And the waiting was done in tense silence with the barest minimum of contact between us. A few days later she got word that everything was alright. That may have been true medically, but relationally things couldn’t have been more wrong. She no longer knew how to relate to me. I wasn’t a baby anymore, but I was still her baby. I also wasn’t a woman who could be counted as her equal with whom she could easily converse about womanly things. I was a testy, withdrawn, and thoroughly nasty-to-be-around teenager. Years later she’d told me that because there was no one she could talk to about it all, she had fallen into such a deep depression that she came very close to ending her own life.
I realized that I had tears on my cheeks when the soft beep-beep of the morphine machine shook me out of my reverie as it released the much needed pain medication it hoarded like liquid gold. I reached across the dark void between us, squeezed her hand and said, “I love you, Mom, and I’m so sorry I put you through so much hell.”
As she once again drifted off into peaceful oblivion, she whispered softly, “You were worth it. I’m glad there were no gypsies.”
Now, nearly 25 years later, I am comforted by the fact that eventually this very difficult, painful, gut-wrenching, maddening, yet somehow wonderful job of parenting an emotionally damaged and behaviorally challenging teenage girl will be worth it. And I, too, am very glad there are no gypsies in town. Today.
The first time she ever saw her new daughter is a memory that is seared into the heart of most mothers. That feeling is no different for me even though the first time I laid eyes on my daughter she was already 10 years old. And belonged to someone else.
In 2001, as a worship leader at the church I’d attended for several years, I was never shy about talking about my life. I’ve always felt that God wouldn’t have put me through all of it – good and bad – if He hadn’t wanted some greater good to come out of it. That summer a couple who had recently transferred to Houston started attending our church with their 9-year-old son. The morning that I witnessed about the miracle of my own adoption, the mother (we’ll call her MR for now) told me the story of the adoption of their son. She began asking my advice on how to best help him overcome some of the pains of his past and I was honored to offer whatever wit and wisdom I could.
In December, the boy’s sister was brought to visit him by the foster family she was living with. She was cute and sweet with big hazel-green eyes that spoke such sadness that my arms ached to fold her in and never let the world hurt her again. I was glad to learn that the foster parents were in the process of adopting her. Soon she would never have to be hurt again because she’d have a family to love and protect her. I hugged her and told her that she and I had lots in common because I was adopted when I was 10, too. We were a couple of very lucky girls, indeed! She didn’t seem to know how to handle being hugged. I thanked God again that He’d seen fit to give her a home to get her out of the cold system that had left her so distant and withdrawn. Little did I know on that Christmas Eve that in just a few short months her whole world would again be shattered.
On Sunday, June 30, 2002, MR and family, including the girl attended church. I was surprised, but strangely excited to see her again. She didn’t remember me at all. After the service MR asked me to pray with her. In the prayer room, out of her son’s earshot, she told me that the foster family was considering returning the girl to Children’s Protective Services (CPS) custody. She had become so violent and aggressive that they just couldn’t handle her anymore. She was “visiting” with her brother while the foster family made their final decision. My heart broke and I asked what I could do. MR asked me if I would talk to the girl and try to help her understand that her life could be better, but she had to want it. I agreed to take her on an outing on July 4th.
We met at the church and the little girl shyly agreed to come shopping with me while her brother’s family went to some boring Boy Scout meeting or something. I told her that I needed help picking out some gifts for a friend and since I didn’t have little girl of my own, I was hoping she’d help me decide what would be best. (Of course, she didn’t know that she was picking out her own stuff.) After a couple of hours of shopping we stopped for lunch at my favorite Italian food place and we talked about life as a foster kid and about how hard it was to be separated from her brother. After lunch we went to Target where she found a sweet little silver necklace she wanted to buy. It said, “Daddy’s Angel.” She bought the necklace with her own money so she could take it home to give to her “new daddy” after the adoption was finalized. It took every ounce of self control I had not to break down and cry right there. She had no idea what was going on in her world and only wanted to be loved enough to be considered somebody’s angel.
It was almost time to meet MR back at the church, so we went by my house because she wanted to meet the crazy bird, Mikey, and Tessa, the wonder dog I’d told her about. This was the first time she would meet my husband, too. No longer nervous and shy, she bounded into the house and smiled the smile that won his heart forever. She sat and talked easily about her love of animals and swimming. We invited her back to visit any time she wanted to play with Tessa or practice her backstroke in our pool. And then it was time to let her go. That night Hubby and I talked about what a shame it was that God hadn’t seen fit to give us a little girl of our own.
The next Sunday MR came to me crying saying that it was over. The foster parents had made the decision and as soon as it could be arranged they would be relinquishing her to CPS. By the following Sunday, it was done. I was devastated by the knowledge that she was about to become a statistic. A child lost in a system with no hope of getting out without a miracle. I knew then and there that I was supposed to be that miracle. Back at home after the service, I told Hubby what had happened. His first question was, “What do you want to do?” My response was swift: “I want her.” And without hesitation, he said, “Then let’s go get her.”
I’d love to be able to tell you that we rushed out right then and brought her home, but that would not have been a mature and responsible way of dealing with the situation. Believe me; the last thing I wanted to be was mature and responsible. I knew in my heart that the little girl God had meant to be my daughter was out there somewhere alone and hurting. Like any mother, the only thing I wanted to do was to get to her as fast as possible. However, I knew rationally that this decision would alter our lives forever. Hubby and I had to make sure that we were willing to take on a child with all the baggage this one carried. For nearly five years it had been just the two of us; free to come and go as we pleased. Were we truly ready to get back into the parenting game? On top of all that, the last thing we wanted to do was to take her and then end up having to give her back like all the others had. We spent several weeks praying about it and investigating the situation more. Finally, with August nearing its end, we knew that we were ready to accept her into our hearts and our home. I called CPS the next morning and learned that getting her home would be an uphill battle.
“Why would you want her? She’s already failed out of two adoptions.” was the first thing out of the case worker’s mouth when I told her that I was interested in this particular child. I’d already spent over an hour in long distance terminal hold and transfer hell just trying to get the case worker’s name. Now, I could not believe what I was hearing. “Why the HELL would you even ask me a question like that right off the bat?” I screamed back at her. I’d introduced myself and explained my relationship with the child. I’d already given her a brief synopsis of my history and life status. She’d listened without saying a word, and then THIS came out of her mouth?? I was furious to say the least.
Knowing that screaming at the woman wouldn’t help any, I took a deep breath and said “Tell you what, why don’t you give me your supervisor’s name and I’ll deal directly with that person since you don’t seem to want to do anything to help me, OK??” Despite my best efforts, it was dripping with sarcasm and venom. Dang it! I really hadn’t meant to sound so rude, so I was surprised when she immediately backed down and decided to start cooperating. She explained everything that we would have to go through to get approval to adopt. She said that she would send me the forms I needed to get started. Two weeks later, the forms still hadn’t arrived and I realized when she wouldn’t answer the phone or call me back that the case worker had no intention of allowing the girl to be placed in our home. She obviously had no idea with whom she was dealing. I picked up the phone and instead of calling her CPS office, I called my local division and asked to speak to the regional director. Finally, things started moving.
At the first meeting with our local people I explained that I wanted my daughter home for Christmas. They looked at me like I had three heads and said that things just didn’t happen that fast. It was already the second week in September and there was no way that we could get everything done and have her living with us in just 2-1/2 months. That was the first time that I said what would become the words that case workers, court clerks, and office staff members learned to hate: Don’t tell me it can’t be done. Tell me who I need to talk to to make it happen.
It took a monumental coordination effort involving three different government offices being required to play nice. And in truth, I think they were more scared of me causing some major trouble than they were concerned about my daughter’s well being. I didn’t care. My goal was to have her home by Christmas and I wasn’t letting anybody tell me that it couldn’t be done. We would take the required parenting classes in one county, have the home and personal investigations done through our local county, and schedule visitations with the girl through the county in which she lived. None of them liked not being in total control of the case. My standard response was: Tough cookies. I want my daughter home for Christmas.
On Christmas day, 2002, the child of my heart came home for good. Though the initial decision period is only supposed to be 6 months, Hubby and I refused to give in and allow her to be removed from our home when we weren’t ready to finalize in that short period of time. There were days when we truly doubted our sanity, but we never doubted that she was supposed to be ours. Nearly 16 months later, on April 7, 2004, we stood in front of a judge and committed to becoming a forever family.
Don’t get me wrong: this is not a fairytale ending where we ride off into the sunset with the birds singing and butterflies fluttering as the music crescendos to a rousing finish. It is a hard journey. It is a road that I would not recommend others walk unaware. But it is the right road for us. And even on the hard days, we bless the broken road that brought her home to us.
