You Only Know if You Know. You Know?
As I sit down to write what is in my heart and mind, I cannot even wrap my thoughts around a suitable title, because what I have to say is elusive. It is complex and nuanced; beautiful and ugly at the same time. An indescribable honour and (at times) a heart-wrenching horror.
Being an adoptive parent. Or, maybe it’s just being a parent to a child with complex needs, who also happens to be adopted, just to add a little extra glitter to an already over-busy picture.
I know you’re used to my posts on the topic of adoption being about our story, and this one is too, but we’re a little further in and as my heart sits in a messy puddle of mix-mashed emotions, I have to speak my truth. If only for myself. Since I have began this little piece of sharing with such dark feelings, I feel it only fair to you, myself, and my kids to say this first, loud and clear so even those in the back can hear:
I WOULD NOT CHANGE IT FOR THE WORLD.
I have regrets, or at least lessons I have learned. I have bore wounds and, unfortunately, I have inflicted a few as well. Life is messy, and sometimes the most effective lessons are those learned by a repentant heart. However, despite my shortcomings, the regrettable choices of myself and others, and the heartbreak we have endured, I would never change the decision we made all those years ago. Our girls are ours, through and through. Their lives have shaped ours in a beautiful, occasionally messy, way that I would never dream of changing. Get that part straight, being real about the pain is IN NO WAY suggesting adoption isn’t worth the struggle. It is the best, and in many ways most challenging, decision we have ever made.
Where do I begin? Well, a super brief recap of our story goes like this; our girls are biological siblings who joined our family when we were newly weds. We had not entered our relationship with the plan to adopt one day, it just sort of happened. We knew Tapanga quite well as she had been fostered by my in-laws, and when we decided to pursue adopting her we went through quite a lengthy journey. It felt like the time between our decision and her moving in drug on needlessly, but in hindsight the timing was beautiful. If you are interested in more of the beginning of our story I recommend reading the series “our story.” Shortly after Tapanga joined our family, we were contacted by Justice’s social worker, and in the blink of an eye 3 became 4. It was an exciting time, filled with promise, hope, and joy. It was also a time of significant struggle. Tapanga had Reactive Attachment Disorder, and for the first few months of Justice being in our home this struggle escalated significantly.
Having a full toolbox of “trauma-informed parenting” skills would have been nice, but these were tools we did not have, and did not even realize we would need. Not only were we inexperienced in trauma-parenting, we were inexperienced in parenting overall! I do not regret that we started our story so inexperienced, God has a plan in all things, and as I mentioned, these are OUR girls! There was no option to wait, the only reason we chose adoption at all was because of the bond we already had with Tapanga. Although we all felt a little emotionally battered by that season, there were beautiful moments, memories, and incredibly connecting times as well. That season contained both the beauty and the beast.
Time passed, and we believed things were pretty typical in our house. We added three biological children to the mix, had some major life events, but overall everything felt…good. We truly felt blessed and fully anticipated a fairly typical parenting experience. We knew there might be some extra things to work through, “adopted kid stuff”, but we felt we would learn and grow through it. As time went on, we would continue to grow as individuals, as a couple, and as parents. Struggles might come, but we would work through them. We believed we had a strong and healthy connection with all of our kids.
Now that the happy sappy is out in the open let’s get to the grit, shall we?
When Tapanga entered grade seven, subtle warning tremors that we had failed to recognize for what they were, became a full-on emotional earthquake. Behaviours we never anticipated experiencing emerged full-force. We had connected with a trauma-informed counselor just prior to the emergence of the extreme behaviours, so while we were a bit scared, we were also hopeful. Wait, pause, let’s be real for a moment. I had some freak out moments. Lost my cool. Was angry (because anger felt safer than terror, and I was terrified), and was absolutely lost. I thank God for those He placed in our life, and for His presence in all of this.
So, back to the hopeful place. We were taking action, and we had people who had our back, and we had our faith. In time Children’s Services became involved as false accusations were made. Their investigation of our family revealed a deeply troubled child whose emotional landscape was controlling the entire family dynamic. We were told our other children had a great ability to understand and express their emotions, and that they had significant fears around Tapanga’s safety. Truth be told, we all did. Children’s Services discovered a family barely treading water in a volatile situation, a family they felt they could provide supports and help to.
In all honesty, we were so surrounded by support that we should have been okay. However, even though Proverbs 11:4 tells us that Where there is no guidance a people falls, but in an abundance of counselors there is safety (ESV), at times the sheer abundance left us feeling pulled in so many directions, with no certainty of what course of action was best. It was a time of utter reliance on weighing advice, praying, and at times failing. Some of the well-intentioned guidance steered us off course, none of us knew exactly what we were dealing with for quite some time. Eventually, we had an assessment, and some direction.
By that time though, things had fallen apart so horribly that Tapanga was no longer in our home. In time, with appropriate supports in tow, we transitioned her back into our home, but unfortunately that transition lasted just over two months, and Tapanga is now living over 400km from our home. Staying a meaningful part of each other’s lives is very difficult.
At times, Tapanga is so receptive to communication with me, but is rarely communicative with Dylan, which I know is hard on his heart. More often than not Tapanga is open to connect with Justice, but usually only for a brief moment. Breadcrumbs for a young lady who has essentially lost her big sister. Her role model. The one she could lean on, confide in, and giggle with. As for our biological children, they miss their big sister too. The other night Heath said (a day or two after we had visited Tapanga), “Mom, it feels like something is missing.” I feel you bud.
Navigating my own feelings is complex enough that, though I rarely dwell and overthink in the way I did earlier in this leg of our journey, some days, I can get lost in thoughts and processing emotions for a good little chunk of time. Fortunately, I have trained myself to not get too lost for too long, but make no mistake, this is a heavy burden. How am I supposed to be okay with the loss of a child? While Tapanga is very much alive, we have experienced the loss of what we hoped and dreamed parenting her would be like. Tapanga made us parents, and now we are peripheral characters in her life. In texts I am very frequently told how much she loves us, but spending time together sometimes feels stilted, or a little like we’re just checking the boxes. Can you possibly grasp what a gross, and indescribably sad feeling that is? This is my daughter, and our connection feels so…different; not what it once was, but still with some shadows of “before” hidden deep below the surface. Or maybe that’s wishful thinking, I don’t know anymore. But, I hope.
I still do not know how much of Tapanga’s connection with us was genuine (even in the good times), and how much was out of a genuine desire to be connected, but lacking the true feeling. I want to believe that our connection is genuine, but I am content (or I desire to be content) with either. If my daughter lacks the capacity to truly connect in the way most do, but desires to experience that connection and so mimics it in an attempt to learn or create it, is that not enough? Well, unfortunately the answer is it has to be. So, it is.
I cannot describe what it’s like to lose a child, without actually losing your child. To lose connection, expected memories, presence in your daily life. It is a strange thing to hold in tension, there is still hope for the future, but also a very legitimate loss in the present. We have no certainty that Tapanga will come back into our lives as completely as we would like, fully engaged and present, but we have hope. I believe we will get her back, that connection will be restored or even improved. I hold onto that hope, that belief, because I have no choice. I am her mama, and I will not quit hoping and believing for her best, regardless of what I see or experience at this current time.
In an earlier blog post I shared about the wait for Tapanga to move into our home, how difficult the wait was, and how the following scripture resonates with me about that time: Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life (Proverbs 13:12 ESV). Once again, I feel this way, but every little reach out from her, or receptive response to my reach out, feels like a fresh leaf or even a small branch. The tree will return in time, and in the meantime I will water it in faith, and wait.
Kyla