Preface:

I’ve been trying to write the story of our adopted kids and how that came about, but I’ve found it to be an impossible task to separate their story from the parallel story of our former foster sons.  In my heart, their stories are not only parallel, but strongly interwoven and nearly inseparable.  It is a two-sided coin: love and joy on one side and sorrow and longing on the other.   But it is a beautiful story that I want to tell you, so I will try my best.

During the height of the Covid lockdown, a few months after the three boys were reunified, I went on a walk with a friend.  At the end of the walk, she asked me what it felt like when the boys left. 

“It feels like the same grief as when someone dies—perhaps a little like a miscarriage.  Everything that you’d imagined and hoped for them is erased and there is a yawning absence.”  But it’s also different.  With a miscarriage, you don’t know the child’s personality.  You haven’t had to look into their eyes and share with them devastating truths that you know most adults couldn’t handle and then hold them as they sob for an hour processing it.  There is no intimate history between you.  You are not sending them back into a potential lion’s den.  The miscarried babe will be perfectly safe in the arms of their loving Creator.  And this, to me, was the worst part.  Against my will, and with my knowledge, they were going back because they’d become too much of a long-term financial burden to the county. It was that simple.  

That day we drove them home, they read farewell notes from their friends at school, cried, and silently stared out the window, their eyes unfocused.  When we arrived, there were balloons and Welcome Home banners and cake.  I had a knot in my throat as we unloaded their things and walked them inside.  They looked like zombies.  They gave us the secret “I love you” signal—three squeezes of the hand—and didn’t watch us leave.  

Earlier this summer, as I sat across from Valerie, our adopted children’s first Mom, she asked me, “I know it was really hard for you when the boys left, so how did you know when you were ready to foster again?”  This is a typical kind of question from her.  She’s an empathetic person who doesn’t shy away from asking hard questions and I appreciate that, as I also have a penchant for asking hard questions.  So when she asked this, knowing even more than I do the pain of giving up children you love to someone else (in her case, that someone being me), I rambled, not really knowing my answer.  After thinking it over later, the most honest answer would be that I didn’t feel ready.

But then, I never feel ready.  I just take a breath and leap. “You never look nervous,” people have told me so many times, when I’m doing something they find terrifying: rock climbing, repelling, or singing in front of people.  They assume I’m not afraid, but that’s never true.  I simply know myself well enough to know that I can’t give myself time to overthink it.  I just have to do it.  It’s going to be imperfect, messy, but it is going to happen.  So it was the same with this decision.  I wasn’t ready, but I don’t know that I would ever would be ready for what might be ahead: more potential heartbreak, sleepless nights, chaos and rages for 6 months, complete mental and physical exhaustion, and calming kids whose nervous systems are constantly telling them they’re in danger and that I am the enemy while also their safe place.  It’s one of the hardest things you could choose to do.  That stepping into the unknown with just enough historical knowledge to know how hard it could be.  

In September of 2020, we reopened our home for potential placements.  This time around though, a few things were different.  

No Girls Allowed

When we first discussed fostering, I’d said no girls ever.  Girls are too much drama, too much unbridled emotion, just too much complication (I wasn’t wrong).   And, although I couldn’t admit it to myself at the time, part of my desire for boys-only was so that I wouldn’t have to confront some of my oldest trauma that our girls might one day potentially face.  Besides, I’d raised mostly boys and was basically a professional boy-mom at this point.  But midway through 2020, as we prepared for our next kiddos to darken our doorstep, I began to think how much my selfish preference for boys was depriving Ethan of a potential father-daughter relationship.  And that can be very special and different than a father-son relationship.  So, I reached out to our family caseworker Sharon, and said, “Here are our parameters: IF there is a girl in the sibling group, the girl must either be a parentified oldest or the youngest.”  We were approved for up to three children ages 2-10 (ish) and that now included girls.

The Premonition

On September 30th, 2020, I awoke, knowing that later that afternoon, our family worker who happened to be stopping by to do our annual home safety inspection, would also be bringing files with her for new kids…THE kids…whoever they were.  Of course, no one had said anything like this, and the likelihood of a caseworker having files in hand for kids we had never discussed, were zero.  But when I know, I know.  Sometimes it sucks, but this wasn’t one of those times.

So I set out on a run with the dog, refreshing my e-mail every few minutes because in every fiber of my being, I knew that today would be the day to take a breath and leap.  Sure enough, midway through my run, I received an e-mail from Sharon.  

“Ethan and Anna,” it read.  “I know this is a sib group of four………however, I wanted to send them your way and see if you might be interested in exploring the possibility of these children.  I did mention briefly your family to this worker as I was describing the families that I have who are potentially open to sibling groups this size and she expressed interest in hearing more about your family. I know I will see you guys this afternoon, but let me know if a sib group of 4 is something you are open to………..”

I opened the flyer attachment and read:

“These FAB FOUR are one of a kind! George and Faye (6) are adorable twins!

Faye lets you know she is the older of the two! Ben (5) and Renee (3) will also

keep you on your toes! This sibling group loves being outside, riding bikes,

climbing on monkey bars and running through the sprinkler. George loves Paw

Patrol, Tweety Bird cartoons and the Superhero Squad. He is a kind and sensitive

boy. Faye loves the Superhero Squad like her twin brother. She enjoys coloring,

doing puzzles and working with Playdough. She is always smiling and is super-sweet.

Ben loves to build things and is very imaginative. He is a cutie and has a charming

smile! Renee loves spending time with her older siblings and likes to be in charge!

She is adorable, loving and has a mind of her own! All of these kids are good

eaters and good sleepers. They are all very verbal, friendly and enjoy the attention

of others. George and Faye are going into Kindergarten this Fall. Ben is in the

Headstart program and is doing very well. He receives speech services but has

made major progress! Fun Fact about these 4…they are learning sign language!

They love learning new things and are adventurous. We are looking for a family

open to birth family contact post adoption, as this sibling group has positive

connections with their birthmother, older half-siblings and extended family. The

County will pursue termination of parental rights once these beautiful children find their forever family.”

The names were changed, and because this was not my first rodeo, I knew to look for the coded red flags.  There were no big ones, just potential smaller ones and it sounded like a great fit for us.  I texted Ethan to check his e-mail and I finished up my run and headed home.  When I got home, he was outside his newly renovated workshop with a grin on his face.  

“Did you see the email?” I asked. “What did you think?”  I could hardly contain myself.

“We should ask for more info,” he said with a smile.

“Am I crazy for thinking this might work?”  I asked.

“Then we’re both crazy because I was thinking the same thing.”  We both laughed and looked at each other like, yeah, we’re 100% cray-cray.

I e-mailed Sharon back and she said she’d try to get their files sent over, but that usually took weeks or months.  When Sharon came for her scheduled visit late that afternoon, she was astounded that they’d gotten her all of the files that same day and in time for scheduled visit.  

“That never happens,” she said.  “It must be God.”  

I just smiled and told her about my premonition upon awakening and she laughed delightedly, perhaps because this wasn’t the first premonition/dream that had happened since I’d known her.  She reminded me of another one I’d told her about the year before when we had the last set of boys.

As we read through the files, I felt strongly that these were THE kids.  Fiona, with her sweet bespectacled face, Giovani and his deep dark eyes, Bo and his mischievous smile, and Revi with her cute chubby cheeks and fiercely stubborn expression.  

Ethan and I didn’t need to look at one another.  After 45 minutes of reading about each child, we simply said, “We’re in” and Sharon set to work.

That night, I dreamed of myself arguing with a 14 year-old Fiona about what she was going to play on piano for a recital.  And because of how that dream felt compared to normal dreams, I knew it was a true one—we would adopt these kids.  Also, now that I know Fiona, that dream might also be super accurate, hahaha.

The Interview

The next step to the process was an interview with the children’s caseworker, the caseworker’s boss, and the state adoption specialist who had written the flyer and all the files for the kids.  This team of people selected several families to interview and needed to decide which family they thought would be the best fit for the kids and their situation. It took several weeks for them to locate all of the candidates and schedule interviews.  

I want to take a moment and remark upon how strange it is—this concept of matching kids with families, reading their files, and interviews to see if you are right for the children.  It feels like a business deal and it’s strange.  

Foster Care Lesson #1: Waiting. I’m going to diverge for a moment longer here and tell you that the most difficult part of foster care is the waiting.  The year before, we waited in dread for the final verdict on the three boys.  Oddly enough, my most free days to pray the rosary back then were Tuesdays and Fridays—the days of the Sorrowful Mysteries.  I seemed to be stuck in the Mystery of the Garden of Gethsemane, praying alongside Jesus, “May this cup be taken from me if it is Thy will.”  And yet this time around, as God would have it, I was stuck now in the Joyful Mysteries (Mondays and Saturdays).  I tried not to think too much on it, but the natural rhythms of life that seemed to be tied to the Rosary were hard to miss.

But I didn’t want to get my hopes up.  Hope mostly leads to pain.  Each time we’d gotten our hopes up before that someone, anyone, would do the right thing for the boys, they chose not to.  They all chose short-term convenience and to uphold the bureaucratic financial status-quo.  So it was better not to hope.

Finally, our interview day arrived.   I was so nervous.  Ethan always interviews well.  Heck, he’s been in podcasts, TV, radio, newspapers.  But me?  What if I come off as the weird, awkward person that I am?

It didn’t take long in the interview before we got into a groove.  We shared our previous experience with our last foster sons, their special needs and how we cared for them, our experiences with Nicolas, and our love for the outdoors and physical activity and our philosophy of the importance of outdoor play for foster kids.  We also talked about how we worked hard at being able to keep them connected to their extended family throughout.  As long as the children are safe, we both strongly believe that keeping kids connected with their biological family (first family) is very important.  We later learned that this was one of the deciding factors that made us standout from the other families interviewed.  We had a track-record of a good relationships with biological family members.  

It became abundantly clear that had we not experienced the things that we did (the good and the bad), it would be unlikely we’d be considered this time around as candidates. God’s plan isn’t always clear, but when we see small glimpses, it’s astounding.

At the end of the interview, one the caseworkers asked, “Do you have any questions for us?”

I don’t remember if Ethan had any questions, but if he did, I’m sure they were astute.  But for once, I had one.  

“Do the kids have a say of whether or not someone is right for them?”  They all looked at one another for a moment.

“No one’s ever asked that before,” one of them said. “Yes, I guess they do.  I mean, if they really didn’t like you, we’d take it under consideration, but it would just depend.”

“Okay, thank you.” I said. “I was just curious.”

The interview ended and more waiting ensued.  But this time, we only had to wait a few days.  We got the call that we were chosen as the best fit for these children.  Afterwards, one of the caseworker’s said that they were impressed with how relaxed and genuine we were.  I wasn’t relaxed, but I have a good poker face when it comes to hiding my anxiety apparently…and both of us are too lazy to put in the work to be disingenuous, so you get what you get.  If you like us, great.  If not, join the club.

Our First Meeting

As we prepared to meet the kids for the first time, I was so nervous.  We drove the hour and forty minutes to the group home that they’d lived in since May, 2019, me feeling the excited jitters the entire time.  We first saw them out on their scooters and bikes.  They were all very tiny and the cutest kids we’d ever seen.  And even though I love kids, I’ve never been one to think that kids are cute.  I know, super weird, right?  But these kids were adorable—even to me.  

We went inside where they were playing in what was called the “Sensory Room.”  It had monkey bars, padded floors, a swing, a small rock wall, large building blocks, and coloring books: a kid paradise.  I don’t remember too many details except that we all had to wear masks and the kids had tons of energy.  I also remember they were puzzled and believed us to be slightly magical by the fact we knew their names already.  I also remember Bo doing dangerous leaps off of high places and miraculously not breaking his neck.  I would soon learn, from tales of his group home dad, that this was typical Bo.  And lastly, I remember Revi trying to con me right away into taking her to get water from the water fountain down the hall.  I checked with her group home dad, Tom, and he confirmed that nope, she wasn’t going anywhere.  Haha, nice try mini-me!  She didn’t care for being told no, so she ignored me after that and batted her cute little eyes at Ethan.  It didn’t work then either.  She was going to have a frustrating existence with adults that communicate.

After the two hours were done, their Adoption Specialist and caseworker Caroline spoke with us in the parking lot.  “What do you think?  Are you interested in pursuing this?  You can go home and think it over and let us know.”

Ethan and I smiled at each other.  “We’re all in.  It’s a yes.”

Caroline raised her eyebrows like we were so weird and gave a kind but befuddled smile. “Well okay then.  Onto the next step.” 

Meeting Their Mom

“You’re gonna love this woman,” the Adoption specialist Megan informed me.  “She talks fast when she’s nervous, so just try to keep up.”  I have some auditory processing issues, so I have a hard time keeping up with fast talkers and especially if they have any type of accent.  There were many times that I didn’t understand what she said and felt stupid having to ask her to say it time and again, but she was very gracious.  What astounded me was the fact that we had so much in common.  She grew up in a dysfunctional family of 11, knows from experience what a personality disorder is, knows herself well, has a quirky sense of humor, and is an empathetic realist.  As I later told her, she is a chimera parent in the foster care world.  Many parents whose kids are in foster care are unrealistic with themselves and are grappling with denial about their own problems.  But Valerie was not like that. She knows herself and makes no bones about how she had arrived at this point. I really do feel for the parents and find that I have a great deal of compassion toward them all.  Yes, their own actions brought them to this point, but they usually have no support system for one reason or another. I really wish that our social support system was more proactive to help families before they get to the point of desperation.

“You know, Anna,” Valerie said in her thick Philly accent, “Megan told me all about you and Ethan and now that I’ve met you, well, I just have a good feeling about youse guys.”  

Not long after that, she did something unimaginably difficult: she signed away her rights as their mom.  I try daily to honor her sacrifice by loving her kids and being the most present mom as I can be for them.  It’s humbling.

Home

On January 29, 2021 the kids came to live with us.  They had visited us each weekend since November, and we had been waiting to get the stamp of approval from the judge for them to move in more permanently.  In typical foster care fashion, we drove out to have what we thought would be a two hour visit, and 2 minutes before we arrived, we received the call telling us they’d be moving in today.  Their group home parents threw things together and we stuffed every possible thing into the car, knowing we’d have to drive back to pick up the rest another time.  And that’s Foster Care Lesson #2—Nothing ever goes according to plan.  Prepare to have your life constantly upended.

This time around, things were different.  Different kids, different life, different needs.  I don’t love the relearning period because it’s hard.  Although I tried very hard not to compare these four sweet kids to our three former foster sons, there were some things that took me a long time to get used to.  First, my parenting style has to be much more direct and firm for these kids to feel safe and loved.  If I use my normal gentle voice, it doesn’t seem to register for them that I’m serious.  They have to have even more structure and routine than our previous foster sons.  But the most stark difference was that these children were naive and innocent.  They were the closest to being typical children that we’d ever had in our home.  Their Mom had loved them and had done what she could for them.  Then, they lived in a group home with group home parents that loved them dearly.  They were not severely neglected nor were they abused.  They were inexperienced and sheltered in many ways.  It was endearing, but I found myself unable to connect deeply and quickly as I had before.  

I struggled within myself because I missed the depth that trauma had hollowed out in the hearts and minds of our former foster sons.  We had experienced similar enough trauma that we intuitively knew each other’s hearts, many times speaking volumes with our eyes.  When some of my brothers met our former foster sons, they all commented that the boys seemed just like more of our siblings.  It was true.  Throughout the day and night, we would have conversations about loss, grief, forgiving the unforgivable, God, miracles, prayers that weren’t answered, and things that no kid should have to dwell upon…and that was our normal.  

Ethan, however, was able to relate much more to these kids and was immediately comfortable and fully in love.  For the most part, they were happy kids.  I found myself so happy for these children, that they did not have to carry around these heavy burdens of trauma, but it was so difficult for me not to be able to relate.  I knew it was my problem and I had to work it out.  I was still deeply grieving the fate of our former foster sons and I returned to therapy as soon as things began to open up.  I knew I wouldn’t be able to fully give my heart to these kids while needing to finish grieving.  And they deserved a whole-hearted parent.

And no matter how healthy children are, if you are separated from your first family, that is trauma enough.  And the one that bears the brunt of those feelings of anger, hurt, betrayal, and separation, is the mother figure.  It’s always difficult, especially with young children to whom you cannot yet share with them the truth.   Much of their fury and fear and feelings of betrayal are heaped upon the new mom and it’s so difficult at times; especially those first 6 months, where there is no trust built up, and no subconscious expectation of your consistency.  Did they have a bad day at school?  Your fault.  They couldn’t find that thing they misplaced?  You stole it and threw it in the trash because you’re evil.  You get the idea.  You, as the mom, are both the enemy and—thanks to evolutionary biology—the safe one.  

Now, thanks to time and consistency, we’re no longer there as often.  But life is cyclical and those furies spiral back, but thankfully, with less power and frequency each successive reiteration.  

Another difference was time.  We didn’t have to try and squeeze everything into this small amount of time, knowing that at any moment, they might be returning.  This time, we could take our time and if these kids needed extra therapies, we didn’t have to do it immediately, knowing that it would be discontinued the moment they returned home. 

Lesson #3 of Foster Care: you have to play by their (Child Services) rules. And if you do, you probably will only get a fraction of services your kids need.  Your job is to both fight for your foster children and be willing to play the game.  And if the kids get too financially unwieldy because they need too many services, the kids could be removed at any moment.

After the year mark, the kids started to really settle in.  I began to see glimpses of our new norm and it was lovely.  There was now a deep love between us and it was showing in all of us.   We felt happy.  And as we drew closer to our adoption date and everything looked like it might really happen, my jaded self just waited for the other shoe to drop.  

And that’s when we got a phone call about the plight of our last foster sons.  Things had gone very badly for them and a family member stepped in and took them.  And would we be willing to take on the legal fight to become permanent guardians in the future should anything happen to their current caregiver?  This, this was the worst-case-scenario that had been lurking in the back of my mind since they left our home.  Every part of me, says that this is the definition of an IMPOSSIBLE ask.  I can’t do this.  Physically, I can’t.  Mentally and emotionally, I can’t even imagine it.

And yet.  And yet, we can’t say no.  We love them and they love us and tell us so every time we see them.  They say things like, “You’re the most like a mom and a dad that we ever had.  And is it okay if we think of you like that?”  They tell us about how they wept every night for months and still dream about living at our house with us.  And they have no one else.  So we pray for the continued health of their current caregiver and see them whenever we can.  We agreed to take them on if anything ever happened to their caregiver. On a side note, they get along pretty well with our kids too, so that’s good.

Lesson #4 of Foster Care: An exercise in futility. Sometimes foster care is about being stabbed in the heart repeatedly with sewing needles: not enough to kill you, just enough to drain you of the will to keep fighting while being asked to document everything…and that careful documentation will likely remain in an unopened folder on someone’s dust-laden desk.

But enough of that.  This is a happy story with the parallel story that’s getting me off-track.

The moments leading up to the adoption, Ethan and I remained skeptical that it would really happen.  And then it did happen and it was most ethereal set of moments.  But this joy also had pain attached to it.  I couldn’t help but think of Valerie and her sacrifice.  I couldn’t help but think of the last court date with our former foster sons, and how it had gone so badly.

So here we are right now, the kids are adopted, and we are falling more and more deeply in love with the kids.  I can be whole with them, no longer having to withhold parts of myself.  They give me so much joy.  They like my weirdness and think I’m funny. I love calling them my kids. They are starting to call me “Mom”–something I’ve never asked of them but presented as an option if they chose. They want hugs and kisses and snuggles now.  They know how to play and are able to use their imaginations.  I look back at how far they’ve come and I know the purposeful cultivation it took to get where we are. 

I do not regret for a moment that I said yes to girls because they are delightful and two bright treasures for sure.  They are also dramatic and complicated and really, too much like me (aka extremely stubborn), but truly wonderful. And yes, they’ve made me a better person.  And good grief are they fierce!

The boys are sensitive and full of life.  They are the first to express their feelings and keep us on our toes.  Giovani is very much like me in that he’s cautious, sensitive, a slow and steady person, and loves the idea of routine.  Bo is very much like Ethan: sensitive, adventurous, and passion incarnate.

They have three older half siblings who love them and are very kind. Their mom is a friend to me. I know this is not always possible for some adoptive families, but we are so grateful for the kindness of their first family and the trust that they have placed in us to care for their siblings/children.

Last night, we went to church and the kids sang up in the choir loft, while I prayed the rosary down below.  Their sweet little voices filled the church and brought tears to my eyes because they seem truly happy and content.  And I love to watch them out the window while I cook dinner and see them building forts, running around in their little super hero capes and masks, while someone else pretends to be a horse pulling a sled and another is creating new dances and composing songs with the neighbor.  And I feel, for the first time in a very long time, that all feels right with the world.  I am overwhelmed with gratitude.

And I try to keep my mind and heart on the here and now.

“Count it all joy, my brothers, when you face trials of many kinds. Because you know that the testing of your faith builds perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may complete, lacking nothing.” (James 1:2-4)

We must be lacking a lot. It was a year of great joy, unending grief, of bottomless love, and of waiting in dread while trying to keep placing our hopes and trust in Christ’s hands.

After a string of difficult years, this one surpassed all the others. Ethan calls it our foxhole year, and rightly so. This was an exhausting year, of fighting for the “least of these” within very broken systems. The concept of fighting for and not against is a difficult one for most people to grasp. It is nuanced and mostly, misunderstood. But isn’t that our calling? To love everyone and fight for justice even when our actions might be misunderstood?

It was also a fight within myself to find love and compassion for those who’ve wronged others. In every aspect, it was a year of hard, raw, growth. This particular scene kept playing in my head as the year went on: “Why do you want to adopt?” our caseworker asked, one sunny day last summer on the back deck, while all hell was breaking loose in the moat out front. “Because we have extra love in our hearts to give and an extra room,” was my answer. And that, in its simplicity is the truth. And love we have. More than we thought possible. And by the end of the year, in our battle-exhaustion, it became impossible to distinguish between the peace we’ve begged God for all along or numbness. Either way, it’s where we’re at.

This year revealed just how blessed that Ethan and I are that we can depend on each other as partners, battling shoulder to shoulder, on all fronts. And also, this was the year that we leaned most heavily on friends and family to support us. And they did, with the greatest love you can imagine, knowing that their own hearts might be broken too. But they did it anyway and for that, we can never thank them enough.

It began like this…
On January 1st, we opened our home as a foster-to-adopt home. By January 4th, we received an emergency phone call for 2 young brothers who needed an emergency placement that day. We’ll call them Alexi and Andrew. We took them for 3 days to see if things could work as they were said to have some difficult behaviors (that was an understatement). Imagine the most horrific life you can imagine children living, and theirs was worse. We learned bits and pieces of their story after we tucked them in each night, and in the darkness, they opened their little hearts to us. They were little survivors longing to be loved, and their survival techniques equated as extremely difficult and dangerous behaviors. 

If you ever foster or adopt, you need to know that many of these children (so far all of those who’ve come through our home) do not know how to play. Play is a luxury learned when you don’t have to spend every moment in survival mode. So, we applied our universal knowledge of boys: boys love sticks. So, we took them to the woods to play with sticks. They had never been in woods before. They had never played with sticks before. We watched them explore the woods with wonder, curiosity, and trepidation. It was the most joyful, beautiful set of moments. 

Alexi found a stuffed puppy amongst our toys that he grew immediately attached to. He carried it everywhere over the next few days and because of his inability to be gentle, the beads inside started to fall out. I put a purple produce rubber band around its neck to keep the beads in and Alexi thought that was great because now it had a collar. 

In only a few days of being with us, Alexi and Andrew were making plans for their future that included us. And me and Ethan? We could make no promises because although we tried to find any possible way that we could make this work, we simply couldn’t. The intensity of their behaviors set off my CFS pretty badly. Even though we are accepting of a wide range of behavioral issues, their needs were far beyond our abilities, and we had to say no.

When we had to tell them goodbye, Alexi wept, inconsolable, while Andrew lay down on the floor and stared at the ceiling in silence. When he finally spoke, it was in a flat tone, his eyes unfocused. “I thought we were going to live with you forever.” If you want to have your heart ripped out of your chest, just look in their eyes as you tell them goodbye, knowing that you will never see them again, and will likely never know what became of them. Alexi hugged his puppy to his chest and I told him to hug it tight whenever he needed to feel extra love because I’d put all of my love in there. I’m sitting here still sobbing as I think of those boys. I know that we did the right thing, but the right thing sometimes sucks. They will always have a piece of our hearts and we will always keep them in our prayers.

After that, we said that we might need some time to regroup and rethink our choice of a sibling group, but 4 days later, we got a call for 3 brothers. After I got the phone call, I got on my knees on the floor begging for a clear answer. I called Ethan. We were both hesitant. We prayed. We asked each other if we were crazy because we felt like it was a “yes,” and called the agency back. As soon as we met the boys, I felt comfortable, as if they were my brothers, recognizing immediately that their types of trauma are those I’ve spent my entire life understanding and raising. In January, they will have been with us for a year. 

They are terrific boys. The oldest is sensitive, creative, has a unique view of the world, and, as he likes to remind me almost every day, “We have much in common.” The middle boy, I call my “Peter Pan.” He is either for or against everything with his whole passionate heart. I like to say he’ll either grow up to be an actor, a musician, or a forest ranger (he loves nature). The youngest, we call “Little Lion.” He is an unstoppable force of nature and lacks fear. If he makes it to adulthood, he will probably become a neurosurgeon…or an astronaut.

We love them so much and have enjoyed teaching them how to play, to embrace their own talents and creativity, and have loved being able to witness their understanding of the world expand. They now know that God is love. We got to help them conquer many firsts: making friends, learning to read, tie their shoes, ride bikes, learn to swim, and how not to give up right away when things don’t go as planned.

In June, we got some unexpected news about their future. They would start transitioning back for reunification. This is much more complicated than it sounds and all I can say is that this made the rest of the year exponentially more difficult for everyone involved.

It has been a wonderful year that our lives have intertwined with theirs and soon, the plan is for their reunification. We will miss them and always love them.

The not-so-side plot… 

As I alluded to vaguely last year, we’ve had some rough years with my brother Nick. Looking back now, I see clearly that the end of 2016 was the start of what I now know to be the prodromal stage of schizophrenia. At the time, I thought perhaps it was just bipolar. Yeah, you know you’ve been around the block a few times when you say things like JUST bipolar. It was during that tumultuous time in 2016/2017 that he made lots of bad choices during his senior year of high school, and one particular set of decisions that would have ramifications for years to come. At the end of 2018, we learned that charges were being filed. So 2019 was a matter of waiting for sentencing. 

In the meantime, during the first half of 2019, we finally became Nick’s POA and that made it possible for me to navigate the difficult process of getting him on government assistance, making doctor’s appointments, etc…it sounds straight-forward. However, if you are the caregiver to an adult with special needs, mental illness, and anosognosia, you know that HIPAA laws need to be changed. This was the second battlefront: advocating for the mentally challenged.

In the spring, we began to get panicked phone calls by the hour. Nick’s mental health was declining rapidly. Stress, for those already predisposed to mental illness, can be cataclysmic. And that is exactly what was happening for him. After some extended paranoid-delusional episodes and hallucinations, I urged him to check himself into a mental hospital, and after a long period, he agreed. He just wanted—no—needed to feel safe. Once there, he stayed for a month. 

On one of my weekly visits to see him, I saw someone I recognized who was with a church group, visiting another patient. We shared a nod of greeting, and I could tell this was his first time in a place like this. I knew his look well. It’s a mixture of fear, slight embarrassment, and serious determination. I’m sure that when I was a teenager visiting Mom in a mental hospital for the first time, I had that look too. But then, I never saw my own face.

When visiting time was set to begin, and all the belongings of the visitors were safely locked away, we were led down a long and twisting corridor. Much nicer and cheerier than any of the other places I’d visited in the past. The staff was friendly and the place was clean. 

Upon entering the visiting room, my brother stood, that sweet grin on his face, his hair an unkempt puff. There were long, mournful faces scattered around the room. An elderly couple, sitting by the large windows, just holding each other in silence. And Nick and I talked about those things that meant most to him; his cat, his dog, and how much he liked being here because it made him feel safe from the world. He was happy. I was happy that he felt safe here and mostly, I was relieved that he was safe for now. 

I kept glancing over at the serious church group who prayed in fervent, serious tones with the patient. They clasped hands, and as if they huddled close enough together like a spiritual football team, they could pray away her demons with sheer determination. I’m sure those were not their intentions and their hearts were right (I mean gosh, they showed up), it just made me sad that there were no warm smiles for her. 

As for me, I found myself laughing and smiling with my brother as usual, and thought about how much a veteran of a place like this that I feel. There is no embarrassment nor shame. This, even though it may not seem like it, is a place of hope. Better the patients here than dead or still suffering alone and in silence.

At the beginning of July, my dear Aunt Mary (whom I’ve mentioned countless times on my blog because she’s my personal hero) suffered a massive stroke. She has since recovered most of the way physically, but she is still struggling with aphasia. I was able to see her at Thanksgiving, and being the frail human I am, I was nervous. What if I wasn’t able to understand her? And then I mentally rolled my eyes at myself because why should that bother me? I’ve raised multiple kids with speech difficulties, taught ESL for years to people who spoke no English. And then I realized, I wasn’t afraid that we couldn’t communicate. I was afraid that she wouldn’t be the woman that I knew. Of course, I was wrong. I showed her pictures of the boys, we exchanged book recommendations, and, true to herself, when she made mistakes or was unable to be understood, she simply laughed a gentle laugh, smiled shyly, and we found another way to get at what she was trying to communicate. She is so strong, humble, kind, and determined. She is the only hero I think I’ve ever truly had.

At the end of July, Nick was hospitalized and then sent to the mental hospital again after recovering. As his POA, it was a fight just to get him on the correct medications and to have doctors listen to his medical history since, according to him, his history changes daily.

During the times he was in the hospital, Ethan and I worked to clean out his house and to do renovations. So, our “free time” was spent at the dump and doing construction. In some ways, it was a good stress-reliever. Mostly though, it was just more stress. And then there was also the cat the was left behind and we had trouble re-homing…

At the end of September, Nick was sentenced and a new routine of learning the prison system would begin. There are so many things that I’m learning about how prisons in PA work and it is disheartening to say the least; especially for the mentally challenged/mentally ill population. And that has become the third battlefront: basic humane prisoner treatment. 

Thus we end our last day of 2019. We are filled with God’s love, and pray for miracles all around. We pray that there are others out there trying to reform these extremely broken systems who are not growing weary in the fight.

Our 2020 looks like more battles, but we’re pretty scrappy, and we are being kept afloat with love and prayers.

Picture a slightly comedic Rockwell version of George Bailey (from It’s a Wonderful Life) standing in his pj’s and bathrobe missing its belt, one sock missing, hair standing at attention in a disheveled heap, a five o’ clock shadow (because who has time to shave when life is falling apart?), and holding the symbolic broken knob from that blasted staircase bannister in his hand.  Ours was a very George Bailey-and-the-broken-knob kind of year. Aunt Mary’s Christmas card accurately summed up our year in 2 sentences (yes, she is that amazing). 

If this sounds like a frustrating year and you’re pretty sure that you don’t want to read about it because you too have had a hard year, I don’t blame you.  I’ve had my finger hovering over the delete button multiple times, but if I don’t tell you the frustrating parts, you can’t see the goodness of God’s faithfulness either, and like gum in a girl’s long hair, those two things are nearly impossible to separate.

To help you to understand our 2018, I need to start back in 2017 for a couple of the pieces. And most of which I can only tell you about vaguely, which is a shame because they were the most dramatic parts of our 2018.

The Backstory (duh, duh, duh)

In 2017, DB (dear boy) graduated high school (by our blood, sweat, and tears, the grace of God, the school principal, and his teachers).  By mid 2017, he was getting his life together after a hard previous year.  The end of 2017 was our cut-off date to decide whether or not DB would be capable of living on his own or not.  And after a year of intense observation and prayer, we determined that although he has made great strides and wants to be completely independent, he’s still far from capable of living on his own and will possibly always need a moderately high level of support.  So, we came up with a plan…which we will get to in a minute.

Also in 2017…

I began taking vocal rehabilitation lessons to see if it was possible to get my singing voice back.  Since first being diagnosed with CFS/ME in 2011, I was sick so often, had acquired new allergies and had so much vocal fatigue, that singing became a thing I used to do.  After only a 10 minute warm-up, my throat would be raw and I’d have lost my voice.  Since singing was my livelihood and an integral part of the joy of my life, that was a devastating blow.  I still sang for church, but it was always weak, faltering, and painful. Midway through 2017, I started to see improvements in my CFS/ME, so I started researching an Italian school that specializes in vocal rehabilitation for singers with health issues like mine and discovered a teacher 40 minutes away that uses that same methodology.  I took lessons until May 2018, and although I stumped her often and had plenty of setbacks, I began to see slow and steady progress.  By June of 2018, I had my voice back and stronger than ever.  I can’t tell you what a joy it is to be able to sing again without pain, and with freedom and clarity.  I feel like me again.  Praise God!!

Christmas and New Years of 2017/2018 found me hard at work creating a multi-leveled ESL work-related curriculum for my refugees class.  The old one was too advanced for most of the newly-arrived students and it was creating student frustration and volunteer teacher hemorrhaging.  By May 2018, the new curriculum was tested and kinks were mostly worked out and I had to step down because my own life was getting crazy.

Okay, now for 2018.

In January, Ethan and I officially started the adoption process.  From the time we started our first class, the clock started ticking.  We had one year to complete all the classes, paperwork, interviews, and pass the home safety inspection.  So, we attended the classes and began the long and arduous process of paperwork, background checks, etc…  We learned so much that we wished we’d known when DB came to live with us 6 years ago (how trauma affects the brain, what that looks like, and how to work with someone who is highly affected by it).  We learned why some strategies worked and others didn’t, and the classes helped me to understand myself and my own attachment issues better.  It was also heartening to be told by our social workers that the difficulties that we’ve experienced in parenting DB are considered to be on the far side of the difficulties faced by adoptive parents. 

There was just one major piece to get into place: in order to adopt children, we would have to build an apartment for DB and get him moved in by December so that we could put kids in his old room.  So, we came up with a plan. 

Plan A: turn our two defunct garages into one larger garage with an efficiency apartment above it.  

Just having the plans drawn up was really expensive.  Nope.

Plan B: we’ll take half of the downstairs of our house (the storage closet, guest bedroom, and the enclosed, but outside coal storage area) and turn it into a small apartment.

I began to demolish things and uh-oh.  Black mold.  LOTS of black mold along the outside wall (as well as dead mice everywhere).  Why didn’t we smell it or notice sooner, you ask? Because there were three layers of walls (drywall, panel board, horse hair plaster) before getting to the foundation wall.  And that foundation wall had so many holes in it that not only was water pouring in, one could also see right through those holes to the outside.  If plan A had worked out, we wouldn’t have known this and things would’ve gotten much worse.  Yep, God’s grace.

Plan C: Put in a French drain outside and patch up the holes.

No problem.  Except that to dig the 15 feet down around the foundation wall, we’d have to dig up our oil tank, pay to have the soil tested, remove the A/C unit and redo the entire HVAC.

Plan D: We’d talked about the need for a more efficient heating/cooling system for years, so we’ll just replace it a bit sooner than expected.  So, we started contacting businesses for quotes.  We finally decided on one and, bear with me here for a second, although this next piece of information seems completely superfluous, I assure you, it’s not.  The HVAC company had just been bought out by a larger local company a few months prior, and, as we learned in the newspaper the day after we gave them a substantial down-payment, the larger company was being investigated for bank fraud.  The very next day, the HVAC and parent company closed their doors and declared bankruptcy.  We would’ve lost our substantial deposit except that Ethan had thought to put it on the credit card.  The grace of God.

Plan E: Find another HVAC company.  

After another two months of trying to convince people to do the very out-of-the-box work that our unique 1930 house requires, no one was willing to take it on…except the original company that had gone bankrupt and restarted itself independently of the parent company.  

And maybe I didn’t mention this, but between February and August, I saw Ethan for a total of almost 2 weeks.  He was traveling for work, so I was the unofficial foreman who was trying to keep clear communication to all contractors, keep them supplied, and repaired engines and mechanical devices whenever they broke.  Yes, small engine repair is my new hobby. So, I had a full teaching load, and did construction and repairs in my “spare” time.

In June, I was rebuilding a stone wall and despite my proper attire (long sleeves, jeans, work boots), I was bitten by a Black Widow spider. It hurt, I worked a bit longer, then showered up. The bite got to be pretty big and I was sick for two weeks, but the whole reason I’m writing this is so that you know, if you are ever bitten by a venomous spider, just wash it off with soap and water and it will be unlikely to look like the necrotic pictures on the internet.

In July, we had our interview with the social worker who told us that we couldn’t be approved until the house was safe.  I tried to convince her that a house with a moat—heck, we could throw in an alligator—was the latest in home security, but she didn’t buy it.  Theoretically, everything was supposed to be done by then, but between the record-breaking rainfall and the HVAC delay, we were only halfway done.  And before we could be approved, we had to have the downstairs apartment finished for DB, so that we could redo his old room for our hypothetical children.  And, to help you understand how fragile a human I am, small annoyances, like no A/C all summer, no water most days, and no electricity or internet most of the time, all seemed to add up over time so that I felt like a violin string taut and ready to snap with the stress.  Plus, since January, I’d had back and neck issues that just wouldn’t seem to go away, but thankfully, very few CFS issues (yes, definitely the grace of God in that).

August was creeping up before we knew it and with it, our trip that we’d been planning for a few years. We’d decided at the beginning of the year to take a spiritual pilgrimage hiking the Camino, our “babymoon” (if you will), before we adopted.  We were scheduled to leave on August 21.  But there was a problem.  Who could we find to oversee the ongoing construction projects, take care of the pets, and keep an eye on DB (who always seems to have panic attacks when we’re away) for one entire month?  Enter God’s providence.  We got a call from Ethan’s cousin Fritha.  Their family decided to move from Florida up to PA and needed a place to live for a month starting August 21 and going through September 21st and would it be possible for them to stay at our house and not be homeless? THE EXACT TIME WE WOULD BE AWAY.  I’m pretty sure I may have wept tears of relief.  Jeff, Fritha’s husband, I knew would be more than capable with the construction aspect of things and Fritha is a nurse and DB could go to her for any medical needs. Wow, the grace of God.

We left on August 21 for our flight from JFK to Madrid and from there to Oviedo where we took a rest day to get acclimated.  It was a few days into our trip that we found out someone had stolen our credit card number and was using it in Yonkers to buy movie tickets and Gym memberships. I hope they saw a good movie and got fit.  Thankfully, I thought to bring an international back up…just in case.

At some point, I hope to write about our Camino experience in a much more detailed way (I made sure to keep a journal), but for now, just know that it was exactly the “rest” that our souls needed.  We walked 380 miles, and it took a good 200 miles for me to leave behind the massive amounts of stress that clung to my mind.  I did have some issues with CFS (mostly joint problems) that I always conveniently forget the existence of until it’s painfully obvious.  At home, thanks to the capable Jeff and Fritha, the few things that would’ve been a big problem for anyone else, were taken care of with aplomb and without our knowledge until after we got home.

We returned to surprise medical bills telling us that DB had spent several nights in the hospital while we were away and he didn’t tell anyone because he has major trust issues.  That was expensive.  Anyway, we dove right back into the phrenetic pace of trying to race the clock to get everything set for the adoption home inspection, and finances being tight, we knew we needed to do the rest by ourselves.  So we did. 

Then, I had some unexpected health stuff happen.  I still don’t know what it is, and it is better now than it was in October/November but the only thing that was ruled out with the CT scan and MRI was that it is not a brain tumor.  Whew. I still need to go to a neurologist and figure things out, but that got put on the back burner because something else came up.

October 23rd, we were officially approved for adoption.  Yay!  DB was all moved into his downstairs apartment and loving the independence.  Things were calming down.

The week before Thanksgiving, the last few years came back to haunt us. So now it was a case of DB or hypothetical children.  We’d planned to start the adoption process 6 years ago when instead, we became legal guardians to DB.  We could not put it off again and we also could never give him up.

So, Thanksgiving found us finishing more home projects while simultaneously figuring out our options.  I looked into supervised living options for young adults with special needs, but the waiting list and cost for that kind of place was ridiculous.

As we begin this new year, I’m excited, hopeful, exhausted, and extremely grateful.  We don’t know when kids will be living with us, it could be tomorrow, or it could be next year.  And because of the added responsibilities with DB, I decided to go ahead and find other teachers for all of my students.  I couldn’t keep teaching full-time, especially if we have kids living with us sooner rather than later.  So, in some ways, I’m happy because I’ll hopefully have time to write in the waiting period and that is super exciting.

And if you like photos, here are a few of the finished home projects. We are not putting up photos of the apartment though (even though it turned out beautifully).

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