Today’s guest blogger is Carolyn Nash who lives with her two sons, two cats, and two dogs in a small town--too rapidly becoming a large city--in central California. Never married, Carolyn adopted both boys from foster care and has been, objectively speaking, lucky enough to mother the two best children ever born in the history of the world... or the universe, for that matter. Carolyn and her older son both experienced trauma early in their lives, but have worked hard with excellent therapists to achieve a balanced life. Sometimes that balance is a bit precarious, but balance it is. Her younger son came to her at three-weeks old and is a beautifully, obnoxiously normal 6-year-old.
NINETEEN YEARS AGO
Nineteen years ago, I worked successfully as a technical writer, lived in a nice house, made good money, and was alone. No relationships, no children, and I thought everything was pretty much the way it was always going to be. One night, I went with a friend to a meeting about adoption. A few months later, I picked up 3-year-old Abel at the children’s shelter, took him home, and everything changed.
Everything.
As foster-adoptive parents, most of us are wise enough to know that our children are likely to come with baggage, some of it significant. What I didn’t know, or chose not to see, was that I had my own baggage. Why was I in my mid-thirties, alone, when my one driving ambition since I was a little girl was to marry and have children? Raising Abel, finding him the professional help he needed, forced me to confront my own past demons.
Often people comment that a foster or adoptive parent is such a “good” person and the child that we raise is “lucky” to have us. I have never felt that way. Oh, part of the reason why is the lack of self-esteem which goes with early childhood abuse; but most of it was the fact that I felt and feel like the lucky one. When Abel came, I learned to love for the first time. When Abel came, my life began changing from one of cold, protected isolation to warmth and openness. A few years ago I ran into the social worker who placed Abel with me. We were at a large lunch meeting and frankly, she seemed to be avoiding me. When I saw her get up to leave, I chased her down the hall. Unfortunately, she was not leaving but rather just trying to get to the bathroom, so I had a few minutes to stop blushing before we spoke.
“I want to thank you,” I said.
Her eyes widened. “But, you’ve had so much trouble. The police, the violence. I thought you were mad at me.”
I laughed. “Oh my Lord, no! Placing Abel with me was the best thing that ever happened to me.”
And it was. Raising Abel forced me to grow, too. We traveled the road together. Sometimes I could not see any sort of positive end to our journey—we went through some very difficult times—but at this moment we are heading into a holiday season with no tension or violence in the air. And more. The other night Abel was wrestling and laughing with his 6-year-old adoptive brother. Afterwards, he sat in a chair, staring down at his hands.
"I feel weird," he said.
I got that little lurch in the pit of my stomach. "What do you mean weird?"
"I don't know. I'm not tired. I'm not wired up."
"Yes?"
"I'm not mad."
Thank God.
He paused for another few seconds. He looked up at me and smiled. "Maybe I'm happy."
The greatest gift, ever.
Our 18-year story has been recently published as RAISING ABEL under the pen name, Carolyn Nash. It can be found on Amazon.com.
Recent Comments