Mother's Day As I Know It

This isn't one of those posts that I'm spinning.  I'm kind of raw--letting it all flop out there.  It's supposed to be therapeutic to write, but I wonder if it really just showcases what a basket case I can be.  For Mother's Day this year, it might be worth my kids' while to just circumvent the whole process and put me in a home now.  Kind of my gift to them and theirs to me.  You know--Halloween was supposed to be fun but has turned into yet another holiday in which I have to "perform":  for the kids, for the teacher, for the neighbor kids.  And it is no longer sufficient to just give out crappy candy--it must be the good stuff with really awesome costumes instead of the ones you found in your Mom's closet.  And lets not forget the horrible images that have turned from fun to downright evil feeling.  So that's kind of what Mother's Day has become to me.  It's my all-time "hate" holiday.  It's a big serving of guilt (mine) followed by hysterics (not mine).

I'm not just a "normal" mom.  I'm mom to children who have been hurt.  The process of choosing to adopt and grieving (not mutually exclusive nor inclusive activities), your personal life on display, and the endless parade of "you should's" that are given to you come with the territory of adoption.  I'd choose it again, of course.  But it gives rise to the endless guilt.  Guilt about what I should be doing.  Guilt about not being there in the beginning.  Guilt about your shortcomings.  Guilt because you're just tired and you missed it.  Guilt for not seeing it.  Guilt for not finding the answers to it.  Guilt for feeling hurt by the entity of the fantasy parent.  Most of all--guilt for not being perfect and the possibility that you might have added to their pain.

The hysterics come because Mother's Day is hell for a child who has been hurt.  Who wouldn't be feel that way?  A holiday to celebrate the woman who pinch hits for the one who should have been there.  No matter how much I love my kids--I get that I am always second best.  Not second rate, but second best.  First best being bio Mom and Dad keeping it together and being great parents to their children.  I know that there are plenty of women out there who have lovingly placed their children for adoption.  I have been the beneficiary of their selflessness.  Frankly, I think most of my parents are selfless to some degree or another.  At any point, there was always abortion.  Instead, they gave birth to a life that I celebrate.  Make no mistake--my kids are all amazing--but unless I'm ok with second best, they aren't ok with sharing their thoughts and dreams and wonder at the people and world from which they came.

But if I tell the truth, and I promised to on this blog, I'm tired.  My very soul is tired and pained.  I've got PTSD and insomnia and a host of other labels, I'm sure.  I've a special kind of pessimism born of sleepless nights wondering if my child has a roof over their head, if they are safe, if they have food, if they are even alive--and yet optimism, because I still see the miracles that they are and the person they can become.  It's an exhaustion that cannot be appeased by sleep.  Its a fear that rises in your throat every time the phone rings or someone comes to the door that you do not know.  It makes you afraid to pick up the phone, yet you are too afraid not to and sleep with it under your pillow. It is giving your health, peace, wellness, safety and every dime you will ever have to a child who cannot love you back.  I ache and cry with and for them.  I beg God to take away their pain and protect them.  It's a knowing when that call comes from the hospital and you already know what the answer to your "Hello?" is.  I ask Him for strength just to keep breathing and to look--at e-mails, texts, or facebook--hoping you will see and hoping you will not.  Its the shearing of the soul and knowing that one small puff of wind might be the small gasp that makes you fall.  And yet...

Tomorrow I will get up and look again.  I will try and find another answer, another program, another therapist, another doctor.  I will look for answers where I am told they do not exist.  I will tell my child that I love them enough for both of us when their voices spew violence and hatred, yet their souls cry for love and healing.  I will continue to thank my Heavenly Father for the gift each one of them is.  I will tell them I love them, knowing I will not hear back.  I will keep breathing because I simply do not know how to quit. Once upon a time, I was told that God knew he could depend on me.  That means I cannot stop.  Most of all, I will keep seeing them:  separate from what they do, whole and shining for I know their souls.  Someday, those chains that bind the heart will fall away when He heals them, and they will stand beautiful and holy and magnificent.  And I will know that I was blessed to know them that way all along.

But tonight, I am tired. I will crack with the whisper of a breeze.  I am worn.  I am awake.  Still searching.

Updates--The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

It's been awhile.  I've been thinking about updating, but haven't known where to start--and getting a request to do so seems like the obvious.  I want to report that everything is perfect on this journey, because then I would have beat it.  But....people still offer all kinds of answers.  I have learned the truth.  There is no cure.  I'm going to live with this for the rest of my life.  But I can learn and grow and have amazing experiences and have a great quality of life.  I'll take it.  So here we go!  In reverse order.

The Ugly - My hair is still only half there but with a LOT of good hair spray and other "Big Sexy Hair" products, unless I'm directly in the sun and you can see through the razzle dazzle, I can fake it.  My finger nails still crack and bleed down into the nail beds, so I have gone to fake nails.  Which I hate.  I hate the maintenance, I hate trying to do things with my hands, and I hate typing.  But...beats the alternative.  My feet still hurt every day and crack and bleed into my shoes--when I wear them.  I still have bags under my eyes I could bring groceries home in.  I still get asked how much older I am than all my sisters--certainly not a reflection on them, but definitely not the thing you want to hear.  They have awesome genetics.  It's not the being older question that bothers me--its the "how much" older.  How much are we talking here?!  I'm still battling my weight.  At times the schleroderma is bad enough in my esophagus that I eat a liquid diet.  I try and eat all whole foods, mostly raw, but getting enough calories turns out to be a chore.  And if you don't get enough, your body thinks its kinda the same thing as eating too much.  Really--these are all superficial things I don't care that much about, except they are indicative of what's happening underneath.

The Bad - I still have MCTD and though when you have MCTD you don't have all the individual diseases--they're all lumped into that diagnosis--I have schleroderma, reynauds, lupus, fibromalgia, degenerative diseases of the muscles and joints (various), arthritis, lung issues...  I could probably pull out a few more, but what's the point?  I still have MCTD.  That kinda' sums it up.  It still hurts.  Terribly.  It still exhausts me.  Endlessly.  It still robs me of my days and many of my nights.  The "Crash and Burn" has to be planned for after every full day, event, or trip.  It still requires me to work at it and to schedule around it.  I still have MCTD.

The Good - I am learning how to live.  And I have been blessed.  I have found nutritional help.  I have found natural medicine help.  I have learned to prioritize.  I have learned to be ok with less than perfect...sometimes.  But most of all, I have learned to rely on my Heavenly Father and His spirit.  I have learned to be ok with what is.  My Dad's definition of a miracle:  It is the response of a loving Heavenly Father to one of his children in need.   I have learned to be grateful because even in the darkest moments, there are miracles everywhere.  And I have learned to serve--no matter the situation, no matter the circumstances, I can serve.  And that, in itself, is a miracle.