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Times Like These. And Those. And This One Over Here.

And yes, folks. As a comment asked. Thirty full days of this. It’s okay. I cry writing them. You can cry reading them. We can be snot-laden together. Snot is the new black.

Today: Times Like These by Foo Fighters.

First and foremost, I mostly feel this way about this song when I listen to the acoustic version. I love acoustic versions. In fact, back in the day, if a man could play an acoustic guitar, well, my heart would swoon. And while this is a particularly beautiful version of the song, the acoustic nature seems to hit me deeper. Perhaps the softer music lets me think a bit more deeply about those things… these things… plus, the yell-singing at the end over an acoustic guitar is fun to immitate alone in the car. Or the shower. Or right here on the couch with BigBrother looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.

The part of the song that simply clinches the beginnings of our open adoption, the phyiscal relinquishment, and the advice that well-intentioned but uneducated people hand me when “things get tough:”

I am a little divided
Do I stay or run away
And leave it all behind?

Again, I can see the hospital. I can see myself being wheeled out, holding the Munchkin. I can see the thought bubbles above my head and they’re full of conflicting thoughts. Divided indeed. Do I stay, or, rather, do I keep her with me? Or do I get up out of this wheelchair and walk out the automatic doors of the hospital into the bitter cold December air, my coat flapping around me as I was still unable to button it around my belly, and leave “it all,” meaning my daughter, behind with her new family.

Obviously, I went with the latter.

I’m faced with these choices presented in the lyrics again and again over time. As we were starting to develop our post-placement relationship, I didn’t know what do, really. The agency and others were saying that I should be getting over things and moving on. Certain family members told me to let J and D live their lives as a family. Without me. I had to make that decision whether to walk away or to stay, but this time, I chose to stay. I make that choice every time things get hard. I make that choice every year when her birthday throws me for a loop and I’m unable to function. I make that choice every time someone tells me that I’m of no use to my daughter. I stay because I think it benefits her. I stay because I said I would stay. I stay because leaving is harder than staying.

And so:

It’s times like these you learn to live again
It’s times like these you give and give again
It’s times like these you learn to love again
It’s times like these time and time again

I don’t want anyone to mistake me in my feeling about these particular lyrics. The placement of my daughter didn’t give me a chance to “start over.” I don’t believe that any birth parent gets that “clean slate” that agencies tout. I was forever changed, forever altered. And every time things get really hard, and I make that decision to stick through the muck, I learn to live again. I am reminded what I’m living for and what I’m going through this pain for. (My daughter’s well being.) During these times, I learn all about giving when you feel like you have nothing left to give. It’s at those times that I really learn the meaning of love and how self-sacrifice for the well-being of someone else. (Again, my daughter.)

And, in open adoption, it is times like these. Time and time again. Even though our open adoption is what most would call “optimal,” it’s not easy. We put in a lot of hard work on either side. There are times that it would look easier for me to just walk away. But, I stick it out. (As do her parents!) We work through these times. Again and again. Because we know what’s best for the Munchkin.  We endure the “ick” because we know that better things lie ahead.

Ah, day two. Done!