Don't forget the pain

I have never been pregnant. I have not given birth. I have heard women who have birthed their children say "You forget the pain". It is their testimony to love and bonding that when you hold that tiny babe in your arms, the love overshadows the pain and you forget it.

I can not let myself forget the pain he brought into our home.

Now, we visit him at his facility home. He smiles and hugs us. He says he loves us. He acts like any other child. He isn't. It's the peace of proximity. I find myself enjoying his company. He is, at times, fun to be with. I let my guard down... just for a second and BAM!!! He strikes. Like a hypnotic cobra. It's as if he is waiting and watching until I am not. I can't allow him to get too close. I can never entertain the thoughts of him returning home. He can't come back.

I regurgitate the memories from deep down in a lost place. I pull them up, one by one until my soul shudders at the sight of them.

I play them out ...

He is leaning off of his loft bed, hanging onto the light fixture and pulling it from the ceiling. My heart jolts me to action and I run to turn the power off before he electrocutes himself.

He is mad because I don't give him the answers to his homework. He starts to walk out of the room. I turn... I didn't see the chair. He grabbed it and threw it so quickly and fiercely that no one had time to duck. Thank God it missed his brother's head by a couple of inches. The lamp is dead.

He is stuffing things into the electric heater. I have to turn it off and restrain him. The heat leaves the house much too quickly and we all pay the price.

He is mad at me (Why?) He is across his room from me as I try to help him calm himself and process his feelings. He jumps once and bounces off the window. I try not to react because to react might make him more agitated. He jumps again and I move toward him... not fast enough. He jumps a third time and throws himself into the window. I didn't know Plexiglas could shatter. He has cuts but it could have been worse... I think.

He wants more at dinner. He has had three helpings and I need to save some food for my husband. I know he has had enough but he doesn't. He reaches into the pan on the stove scooping out a handful of the food saved for his dad. I reach out and grab his fist. The punch comes swiftly and unexpected to my face. It stings and shocks me to the core. He hit me!! It's not the first time.

I hear my oldest scream. I run and find him sitting against the wall with blood encircling his nose. It's a bite mark. It looks like someone has tried to bite his nose off. I turn and he is playing... quietly and completely uninterested in the pain. He caused it but it effects him not. My heart is chilled at the sight. It won't be the last time.

He is two and he is the Tin Man. Stiff to hug and in need of a heart.
He is three and he never sleeps. He climbs around during the night and we are scared.
He is four and he looks at dead things. Chops up lizards and tells me he wants our house to burn.
He is five and throws things. No warning. Sometimes in anger, sometimes to play with us.
He is six. He runs faster than I do. He has no fear of consequences. I am terrified he will be hit by a car.
He is seven and punches his baby brother in the head, just to make me angry.
He is eight and he watches me all the time.
He is nine and he has mastered the game of cat & mouse.
He is ten and too dangerous to live with.

I hold onto these memories like a well worn scrapbook. They are our life with him.

He is a boy who was robbed of his life before he entered it. We are a family who was robbed of the joy of his presence. ... the thief comes to steal, kill and destroy, but HE came to bring life... and that more abundantly.

We have all paid the price.. for what? How does God use THIS? How does He work all of THIS together for the good of those who love him. I LOVE YOU LORD!! How will you make this work out for our good?

The pain is all I have of this child. I can't forget the pain.

Two years

It has been two years.

Two years since the shadows wrapped them selves around our hearts and tried to pull us under.

Two years ago my 10 y/o tried to kill my 7 y/o. My heart was broken my soul was shattered, my life haulted. I didn't believe we would make it.

We made it.

Trapped on The Rollercoaster

That's where I'm at.

I'm trapped on a wild roller coaster and no one can turn it off or slow it down.
The only respite is in the seconds when it climbs slowly upward preparing for another descent...but it's not really a respite because I know the drop is coming, I see the signs and have no choice...no power to stop it.

There's no break from the fear and stress.

Even the people who like roller coasters are scared and tired and screaming to be let off...for those of us who don't like roller coasters the experience is too much to deal with.
The constant twisting and turning, climbing and dipping affects my whole body and I feel sick and lose perspective.

I can't tell up from down any more. I'm forgetting what life is like on the ground.

Someone pull the leaver.

Please...make it stop!!!

On My Soapbox

No more than we can bear...YEAH RIGHT!

So help me, if one more person tells me that God will not give me more than I can bear, I will spew...and not just spew, but will make sure it is particuarly NASTY!!!!

Let's review this, shall we?...

The Word (of God) says this...

1st Corinthians
13No temptation has seized you except what is common to man. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it.

What is this talking about? Idols, sin...our walk with God. It is NOT reffering to (are you listening) PROBLEMS!!!!!!!

Let me be dirrect here...I don't even believe that a lot of problems come from God...who do they come from. Well, let's see...who is the thief, who seeks to STEAL, KILL and DESTROY?...hmmmmmmmm?....Who is it?????????...could it be....

SATAN!!!!!!!!!

Bingo, Sparky!

Satan gives me more than I can bear. He gives a lot of people more than they can bear. If we could bear it we wouldn't be leaning on the everlasting arms, would we?

Now...who is it that gives us the strength we need so that we might do ALL things...hmmmm?....yes THIS will be on the test.

JESUS!!!!!!!...You know, the king of Kings, the Lord of Lords, the redeemer, the Word...etc, etc...

Oh, by the way...he is the one who comes to give LIFE and to give the everlasting.

But wait, you say...doesn't he say that we will suffer trials and tribs? he will work all things for my good (only if ya love him)...and doesn't he say He will never leave us...yeah yeah yeah...it does, and he meant it. But he didn't cause it so don't tell me again that he won't give me more than I can bear ...

Because I have been on the "More than I can bear" cycle for about three years now!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Roll over Sparky.

On My Soapbox

Labels...

Yes, we don't want our children labeled. We can't have them cursed and under a tag that will hang around their neck for the rest of their life!!!!!

No, I guess what we *want* to do then is bury our heads in the sand and just treat the symptoms...right?

Isn't that what we get so mad at physicians about? We (parents) don't want to take our children into the Dr just to have them feed antibiotics over and over in an effort to corral whatever the problem might be.

We want a Dr to examine our children...to see the problem...to hear the symptoms...to find the reason...to tell us what we can do to fix it.

We don't want our little cherubs to suffer with strep throat while a Dr treats them for cold and flu.

Yet we will refuse to allow a psychiatrist to examine, and diagnose because we don't want to label our children.

Fine...go ahead...let me know how treating a Bipolar child as if he has clinical depression, works for you. You can call me, or better yet, don't, the first time the child has a psychotic reaction to an antidepressant. How about we treat them all for ADHD, that ought to be fun with a child who has Reactive Attachment Disorder! That little remorseless control freak will fry you up and eat you with catchup, while laughing out loud at your reward charts and check lists.

As for me and my family we want a diagnoses...and a correct one and we want it NOW!!!!

I have been told that most therapist, psychologists and psychiatrists will just slap the diagnoses de'jour on whoever walks in their door, but I have yet to find these proffessionals. The people I take my children to are a little too far right of careful for me. They are not wielding a giant ADHD or Bipolar stamp ready to brand a wee forehead, no they want to wait (FOR WHAT?). They don't want to label a child with an incorrect diagnoses...WHY NOT!!!!! The professionals seem to have and inability to commit. They don't diagnose unless under duress.

ACK!!!! Label my child already. They have a problem!! It is not a secret!!! They need help...and they need the right kind so quit wasting my time by being careful. While you are trying to take care of the child that God gave ME!! My child is growing up and losing more and more ground because we can't pursue correct treatment.

Why can't we pursue correct treatment? Because YOU great and mighty psychiatrist hold the power to give my child hope and a future or not (God complex?...GET OVER IT!!!)

It is my understanding that a boat that's in the water already, even if pointed in the wrong direction, is easier to turn than a boat in DRYDOCK!!!

You don't treat Near sightensess with Insulin, you can't cure cancer with a cast...DO NOT tell me that a stimulant will help my PTSD child handle emotional triggers better...it won't. But do step out and diagnose. Quit worrying about a law suit while my child's life is scarred, destroyed and tossed aside.

Who went to medical school here...get a clue, get a DSM-IV!! and give me a script!!!

I sold my dreams today...

The two checks that arrived in the mail today, mark the end of our home schooling journey and of my candy bouquet business.

I will pack up both the curriculum and the business supplies that defined who I was ...Dreams to go.

I am left with some ready cash (were my dreams worth it?) and a dream debit.

Who will I be now?

Normal Is Just A Setting On The Washing Machine (Part 2)

We allowed our dream to shift and change, like the sand on a beach.

One dream wasn't better than the other, just different. So we let ourselves dream. We began to read and explore adoption options and as we did the faces of the littles in our dreams changed

They became different color, then they became older, and sometimes they appreared in groups..

Everything was uncertain.

It is understood that once you are expecting it takes 9 months to become parents. Then, if all goes well, you are rewarded with a brand new baby. You bond, you love, you pour yourself into that child and become a family.

Now there was no way to know how long it might take for a child to join us. They wouldn't be a new baby, they would look different, they might have disabilities, problems and imperfections. They might not even want us!

It sounded strong and heroic to take on children who were so needy. Surely God would give us the strength. God would use us as catalystlist for their healing. With us, praying and believing, He would make them whole.

The weed was being pulled and broken and torn. The roots remained.

Looks Like You Lost Your Best Friend

So I did.

In fact I lost nearly all of my friends.

For the past 5 or 6 years I have been a member of an online community. A huge group of women who were brought together by homeschooling but stayed together for friendship and support.

They were my friends.

We shared everything that we lived. We discussed what we were having for dinner and what our deepest fears were...we talked about our marriages, or lack there of. We talked about our children, our pets, our pasts, our dreams and hopes. We supported one another during great trials and tribulations. We argued, discussed, debated and taught...all the while we attempted to always respect each other as a sister in Christ.

They were my only supprt during the days I was learning of the depths of my boys' dissorders.

Then one among them decided that I had lied. I didn't. I try to always tell the truth, even to my own loss...but she was certain. She had friends who believed her and their friends believed them. Soon even people who knew me well questioned my honesty and integrity.

One day I arrived at the "community" to discover dozens of women discussing my integrity. This was gossip or course...and slander, but no one pointed that out.

2 months later it still breaks my heart to think of the loss and the lies. Although, one woman later contacted me privately and apologized. Still, there will never be a place among them for me, again.

How deep the hurt of the betrayal of a friend.

Normal Is Just A Setting On The Washing Machine (Part 1)

Like a weed breaking through the sidewalk, the dream had sprouted and grown without me noticing…until it was too late. Suddenly I realized that I longed for a normal family (does anyone long for an abnormal family?). The roots were deep and strong, imbedded way down in the rocky soil of my heart. It would not be easily pulled out.

I wanted little boys and girls in overalls and sneakers, ball caps and bows, who would catch fireflies, chase lizards, gasp at fireworks, pick flowers and gaze at stars. We would pounce on rain puddles, curl up and read fairy tales, we would dance and sing and blow dandelions. I played the dream again and again in my mind. Christmas mornings in my mind, were filled with organized chaos, chatter, giggling little voices calling to one another. Even the problems were played out in my mind. Little ones struggling to overcome their selfish or impulsive desires while mommy and daddy helped them to grow and reach beyond their abilities. They would be so grateful for our wisdom and skill. Love wrapped us all in warmth and tying us together. This was engraved upon my heart.

In my early fantasies these little ones were tiny versions of my husband and me. Little rosey cheeked, pale skinned, sandy haired people who reflected back our own features, and characteristics.

The first painful yank on that weed came years after it’s germination…we were infertile. Those little clone like people never arrived.

We decided to adopt. The images of those little people began to fade…

There is a way that leads to life

I am a Christian, a wife and the mother of three boys, by adoption.

My hope lies in the Light of the World, but my days are shadowed by the mental illness and disorders that my boys battle. I hold to the fact that where there is shadow, there must also be light. The title of my blog came from the song lyrics below.

I will share more...in time.



There is a way that leads to life
The few that find it never die
Past mountain peaks graced white with snow
The way grows brighter as it goes

(Chorus) There is a road inside of you
Inside of me there is one too
No stumbling pilgrim in the dark
The road to Zion's in your heart
The road to Zion's in your heart

The river runs beside the road
Its waters living as they flow
In liquid voice the water calls
On thirsty knees the pilgrim falls

Sometimes a shadow dark and cold
Lays like a mist across the road
But be encouraged by the sight
Where there's a shadow, there's a light

Sometimes it's good to look back down
We've come so far - we've gained such ground
But joy is not in where we've been
Joy is who's waiting at the end

...Petra, The road To Zion