part two

Well, Heaven knows I hate to be the one to test your patience, but it is a long story. It is not just that we had this ideal vision of life and one terrible thing happened. Mine is a story of what happened over time. It is a story about commitment and how that commitment is the most important thing of all. Even more important than love, or food, or shelter, or clothing, or video games, or bikes, or all the things we thought our kids would want and need.

I should also put a little disclaimer in at this point and say that this is my story. My kids have their own stories and I want to honor and respect those. The boys' stories are their's to tell. If I tell a story about them, I will have their permission to share it. No matter what, I won't share the details of the really bad behavior stories. Some of the things that happened are between us (and the police, a few doctors, therapists, some social workers....you get the idea) My family and friends read this, anybody could read it, so I want to tell the story in a way that is respectful to everyone. That will be my goal.

Once someone asked me, "Why would you adopt such children?" It is a thoughtless and terrible question and at the time I was deep in the day to day hell of raising a child living with a severe mental illness. My response was this, "Sometimes in life things happen to us that we just do not choose, and because we are stubborn, or resilliant, or for whatever reason, we just embrace those things and they become a part of who we are and our life is never the same." I think that is a good answer. It is a statement about how I feel about children's mental health. But the real deep truth lies in the story of what happened in the beginning.

So I will take you back....

When we met our boys they had been in care for almost three years. During that time, they had not lived together. They lived in group homes, residential treatment, the oldest had a few foster homes, the youngest even lived at the hospital for awhile. The day we met them was the first time they had seen each other in a year! A whole year! That is a long time when you are 14 and 11. I enjoy a good relationship with all my siblings. I cannot fathom not seeing one of them for a whole year! But, I digress.

We met them at McDonalds. They were with their social worker. (We love her BTW. She care about them personally. She rocks!) She told them since they were in the city she wanted to meet some friends for lunch. So, we attempted to eat lunch together. I was sure the boys knew what was going down. The younger one was so hyper, as if he was trying to look happy and the older one was so "in charge". When the young one went to throw the trash away, the older one said, "I can handle him. Don't worry about him." They knew...

I have to stop again and say that I loved the older one right from the second I met him. I loved him. I realize now that the instant love I had for him was my special gift from God. Older boy is tough. Tough. Tough. He could survive anything. He does not care who likes him or doesnt like him. I can still see him sitting there telling me not to worry. He knew....He knew about his brother's history of violent behavior and he knew that we knew about it too.

Younger kid is lovable. He is adorable and lovable and he knows how to lay on the charm. And that is his special gift from God. It is how he survived all the years he spent in care. I will always remember my favorite psychiatrist telling me about our younger boy, "I know he is a handful, but he is so cute I just want to put him in my pocket." Yep. That's him.

About a week later, we met the boys for a second time. It was at an event at the young boys school. The social worker told us to bring photos of our home, our family, etc. We were going to tell them that they were going to move in with us. We got to the school and sat in the cafeteria. I am sure it was crowded. It was a parent night and an awards presentation was giong on. It had to be crowded, but I don't remember any other people being around. We took out the photos and the younger boy jumped up our of his chair and he hollered to his brother, "See, I told you that these were the new parents!" The social worker laughed a nervous laugh. I knew it. I knew that they knew. I never ever lie to these kids. They are savvy in the ways of human nature.

Anyway, the younger boy went on to tell us that the social worker had explained that we wanted to adopt him and his brother and be their "forever family". He asked us, "Are you going to do it for sure?" For sure. No matter what. That was what he meant. He knew that we knew about his reputation too. He was asking if we were committed. We said "Yep. For sure." We shook on it. My husband and I knew at that point that we were on the hook.....for sure.

A few weeks later, I had an opportunity to have lunch with the boys again. It was just me, the boys, and the social worker. This time, after lunch, we went to the place where the younger boy was staying. It was a residential treatment center. The social worker had warned me that it did not look like a nice place. She said she wasnt crazy about it, but they were the only people who would take him. She reminded me that while we might think it is a terrible place, younger kid didn't know any different. He thought it was ok.

Oh. My. God.

OhmyGod!

The place looked like a cross between an army barrack and a nursing home. It had one long hallway down the middle and a bunch of rooms. None of the rooms had carpet. They had heavy wooden beds bolted to the floor with the skinniest mattresses you have ever seen. No sheets. No pillowcase on the pillow. Each kid has a "closet"--it was one of those rubbermaid closets that locks. The floor in my kid's room looked like it had not been swept for six months. And it smelled bad in there. And I died a thousand deaths standing there as he showed me his room. I tried to not to look shocked. Horrified....I tried to focus on the adorable little 11 year old kid who wanted to show me something he had under his pillow. We sat on his crunchy, plastic mattress and he took out a ratty photo album. "I sleep with this under my pillow." He said. It had pictures of him and his brother. "It is my most valuable thing." Older kid was on it right away, "You better lock that up. Someone will take that." Younger kid just smiled at him. "That's why I keep it under my pillow" He said, "So it will be safe."

Do you need a minute? I mean, just writing that down takes me right back to the hot smelly, filthy room and the pathetic little broken boy who would be my son. I remember thinking, "Is this what we do with the kids no one else wants?" I thought if society knew about this----there is no way in hell Americans would tollerate it. I will never forget that day for as long as I live.

The social workers wanted us to bring our older son home first. They wanted him to have some time with us by himself before we brought his brother home. His social worker felt badly that he had been in several foster homes and she said she owed him this. Would we agree to do this for her? We said OK. But, I made my best effort to make my younger son's stay where he was more bearable. I bought bedding and posters for the walls. My husband and I took them out to him. We brought a broom and cleaning supplies and cleaned his room. We made his bed and put posters on the wall and we gave him some pictures of us and our house and our dog. He put those in his beloved photo album. "They will be safe here." He was living with kids who were much older than him. They smoked and swore and were physically abusive to him and to each other. The staff did not get paid enough to care what was happening.

That night, while my husband and I were there, I will never forget how he sat on the bed across from our son. He told him, "You will be coming home with us soon, and I promise you, you will never live in a place like this again." My husband had tears in his eyes as he said those words. When we left that night, he said to me, "I am never coming back here again." And he didn't.

So, perhaps the answer to the question, "Why would you adopt this chid?" lies in that story. I would have brought him home no matter what anyone had told me. Regardless of what he had done--he was 11 years old. The things that had happened to him were not his fault. He deserved better. He deserved another chance. Shoot, he deserves a hundred chances. A million more.....

Our oldest son moved home on 6/18/04. He came with his black trash bags full of old dirty clothes and all his belongings. He was pretty easy to be around. I only worked part time that summer (although at this point I still had my career). We went every week to see his brother. Things were going ok. In early August, we announced that we would be bringing the younger brother home on 8/21, so he could start school in our district. How do you think our older son took the news?

I will tell you all about it.....later.