Jul 222011
 

We’re at camp right now.

This morning, over breakfast at our little table, BigBrother asked a question.

“Do you think Munchkin will ever come to camp with us?”

hollow-rock-coffeeMind you, I had consumed some coffee before he woke up but not enough to deal with in-your-face grief and loss. I took another sip of coffee.

“Well, probably not, buddy.”

He took another bite of cereal, staring out the window.

“But why not?”

I stared out the window too. No one was out and about yet; the morning “up-and-at-em” bell hadn’t even sounded yet. I stared at a cottage across the sidewalk. I watched a hummingbird make its way to my mom’s flowers that she has planted along that side of our cottage. I looked up at the sky and wondered when this heat will break. I looked at anything but my inquisitive five-and-a-half year old.

“Well, different families have different things that they do in the summer. Munchkin is going to Canada soon to visit The Squatch’s parents with her family.”

Another bite of cereal.

“But isn’t the Munchkin part of our family too?”

I told you that I hadn’t had enough coffee for this conversation.

I looked at him. Big brown eyes looked back at me: my eyes, her eyes, his eyes. Another sip of coffee.

“Of course. She’s your sister and she always will be. But they’re busy in the summer like we are. You know, like we haven’t been home much at all this summer? With vacation and trips to YiaYia and Papau’s house and Nina’s house? And camping trips? And now we’re here at camp for ten days. It’s good to be busy in the summer.”

More cereal. More crunching.

“I just think she’d have fun at camp with us.”

More coffee. More inner breaking.

“I know, buddy. Me too”

Mar 232011
 

Loss is tough for anyone. Any kid of loss. Loss sucks.

A good friend came over today — because I kind of made her. I won’t share her story, but I’m sure that all of you recognize there are problems within the foster care system. She said goodbye to a beautiful little girl yesterday for reasons that I won’t delve into; it’s not my story. But she came here because she knew I would understand.

Unlike the people that have been trying to comfort her.

“It’s for the best.”
“I’m sure the new family is so happy.”
“You’re so good for doing this.”

My heart broke, of course, even more than it had with the difficult situation. It wasn’t long after she showed up in my living room before she said, “I don’t know how you do it. It’s been 24 hours and I want to kill people. You’re verging on eight. I don’t know how you do it.

Me either.

Okay, okay, not true. Some people still make comments that feel like a punch to the gut. But I’m far enough removed from the immediacy of the relinquishment to recognize good intentions for what they are. I’m still not quite sure why people flub up loss with stupid words so frequently as loss is such a part of life, but it is probably the most flubbed topic of discussion on the planet. People can’t even get “what to say when people die” right, so how on Earth are they going to get adoption loss issues right. They’re not.

But that doesn’t mean I am immune to dumb words. They hurt sometimes, more so on those days that I’m struggling (birthdays, holidays). So, yes, I understood where my friend was coming from… and I wished, so deeply, to take that pain from her. The pain of others words, the pain of loss, the pain in general. It’s not something I would wish on the most obnoxious people in the world.

I comforted her as best I could and left my house open to her for the rest of the week. I can’t take the pain from her. But like those who have opened their arms to me in my darkest days, I hope she knows I’m here for her.

Mini-Rose Bush

So, if you can, whether you’re touched by adoption or not, whether you’re a birth mom or an adoptive mom or an adoptee or an adoption worker… please think of and/or say a little prayer for my friend tonight. Loss is hard. She could use some strength to get through the muck of it.