One Year Later
On Father's Day of last year, Sandi came and visited us for the first time. We became her foster parents a couple short weeks after that. The more extreme behaviors we had heard about from her former foster parents never materialized, thanks to (we think) those families helping her work through a lot of it, and the fact that she was one of only two kids here in our home, letting her absorb more of the attention she so desperately needed. In January of this year, she became what they call 'legally free', and we started the official adoption process. We had a slight scare in late May, when it looked like her legal status might be rescinded, which worried Sara a lot, but which, for whatever reason, I wasn't as troubled by--even if that bit had gone through, the likelihood that it would be reinstated relatively soon thereafter seemed like a certainty to me. But it looks like it won't even come to that, so we're going ahead with the official adoption--she'll become a Smith on paper as well as our hearts on June 14th--just two more days! And on Father's Day next week, we'll have her Adoption Party! A fitting ending for that phase of our lives, and the beginning of the next.
Sandi's been excited (particularly about choosing a cake) as the day has drawn closer, but she's also been getting a bit more anxious as the finality of it has started to sink in. In her former households, she was living with them 'for a while' because her mother 'had a job to do'. But her mother didn't do her jobs, and when we told Sandi about that back in January, she had a rough couple of weeks at her daycare. So from then on, she's sort of known that she won't get to live with her family any more, and she misses them terribly, even though she gets to see her siblings relatively often. In the last couple weeks, she's been testing this, especially at night when it's time for bed. "I want to live with my sister. I don't want to live in this family." "I know you love your sister, sweetie, and she will always be your sister, and you will get to visit her. But you can't live with her." Or, "You're not my daddy." "Yes, I am, kiddo." "You're not my *double* daddy." "That's right; right now I'm your foster daddy, but *next week* I'll be your double daddy! I'm pretty excited about that." ""
Last night, it finally crested. We were talking about "Momma E-----" (I can't use her full first name here, but that's how Sandi refers to her), and how she wants to live with her. I told her again that she hadn't done her jobs, and that she couldn't. And finally, her five-year-old heart broke, and she wept. "Mommy..." she cried. "I want my mommy." I held her and sat with her in my arms on the side of her bed. "Of course you do," I whispered. "Ow," she cried. "Ow."
This was pretty rough on Sara, as you might imagine. Sandi never really had a dad, so she bonded with me basically the moment she walked in the door. It's been a longer road for her bonding with Sara, and though it has happened, Sara gets more anxious about it more easily. I had the strong instinct that we should let Sandi grieve her age-zero-to-three mother for a while, but from the way Sara was hovering outside the door, I think that was a lot harder for her. Kudos to her, though--she let us sit there and cry.
After a good long while--probably 20 minutes or so--she was still crying, but was finally able to talk. And we talked a lot, about things that make us sad, and how we deal with them; about her family, and her memories of living in a small room with her sister, sleeping in a bed in front of the closet; about her friend at daycare whose mother had just died of cancer; about how I was sad when our daughter Abagail had miscarried, many years ago, and how I still carried some sadness with me about that, but was glad I hadn't forgotten about her, and the joy she had brought us while we were expecting. I told Sandi to hold on to her good memories of those times, and not forget them. That times change, and other things happen that make us happy again--the sadness doesn't go away, but life is more than that sadness. I told her one thing that had helped me was to write about Abagail, and she said she wanted to write about her sadness, too. I said we could do that the next day, and this is what she dictated to me this morning:
I miss my family because I didn’t get to see them. And it wasn’t really a happy day at night. But me and my daddy talked and we talked about different things like Abagail dying, and my daddy was sad. And I was really sad. And it was also past my bedtime, so we were talking for a little bit and then I went to bed and started to feel better for a time when I was happy again, and it was a very good night, then. I liked it. So, it was time for me to go to bed, and I went to bed. It was a good day. I love you all in the family and it’s a good thing that we talked about it, and it was things that were happiness and sad. For things I know, you know too! And this is how you’re supposed to feel when you get happier. The End.
Then she had me print out a copy and she wrote a sad face on the top half of the page for the sad things we had talked about, and a happy face on the bottom half of the page for the happy things we had talked about.
I think the 'things I know, you know too' is from when we were talking about Abagail, and I said that I didn't want to forget her, because if I didn't remember her, who would? And Sandi said, "Ellric remembers." "Well, this was several years before Ellric was born." "But you told Ellric about it, and he told me." "That's... true," I said, surprised at the insight. I tend to keep things like that to myself, and forget that there are others out there who are willing to carry our memories, in case we forget them. But Sandi knows about Abagail, and won't forget her for me. And I know about Momma E-----, and won't forget that for Sandi, either.
And now I've told you. And if you have a little space in your memories for the sadness and happiness of a little girl, see if you can tuck this in and hold it there for her. She--or someone else--might need it one day.
Sandi's been excited (particularly about choosing a cake) as the day has drawn closer, but she's also been getting a bit more anxious as the finality of it has started to sink in. In her former households, she was living with them 'for a while' because her mother 'had a job to do'. But her mother didn't do her jobs, and when we told Sandi about that back in January, she had a rough couple of weeks at her daycare. So from then on, she's sort of known that she won't get to live with her family any more, and she misses them terribly, even though she gets to see her siblings relatively often. In the last couple weeks, she's been testing this, especially at night when it's time for bed. "I want to live with my sister. I don't want to live in this family." "I know you love your sister, sweetie, and she will always be your sister, and you will get to visit her. But you can't live with her." Or, "You're not my daddy." "Yes, I am, kiddo." "You're not my *double* daddy." "That's right; right now I'm your foster daddy, but *next week* I'll be your double daddy! I'm pretty excited about that." ""
Last night, it finally crested. We were talking about "Momma E-----" (I can't use her full first name here, but that's how Sandi refers to her), and how she wants to live with her. I told her again that she hadn't done her jobs, and that she couldn't. And finally, her five-year-old heart broke, and she wept. "Mommy..." she cried. "I want my mommy." I held her and sat with her in my arms on the side of her bed. "Of course you do," I whispered. "Ow," she cried. "Ow."
This was pretty rough on Sara, as you might imagine. Sandi never really had a dad, so she bonded with me basically the moment she walked in the door. It's been a longer road for her bonding with Sara, and though it has happened, Sara gets more anxious about it more easily. I had the strong instinct that we should let Sandi grieve her age-zero-to-three mother for a while, but from the way Sara was hovering outside the door, I think that was a lot harder for her. Kudos to her, though--she let us sit there and cry.
After a good long while--probably 20 minutes or so--she was still crying, but was finally able to talk. And we talked a lot, about things that make us sad, and how we deal with them; about her family, and her memories of living in a small room with her sister, sleeping in a bed in front of the closet; about her friend at daycare whose mother had just died of cancer; about how I was sad when our daughter Abagail had miscarried, many years ago, and how I still carried some sadness with me about that, but was glad I hadn't forgotten about her, and the joy she had brought us while we were expecting. I told Sandi to hold on to her good memories of those times, and not forget them. That times change, and other things happen that make us happy again--the sadness doesn't go away, but life is more than that sadness. I told her one thing that had helped me was to write about Abagail, and she said she wanted to write about her sadness, too. I said we could do that the next day, and this is what she dictated to me this morning:
I miss my family because I didn’t get to see them. And it wasn’t really a happy day at night. But me and my daddy talked and we talked about different things like Abagail dying, and my daddy was sad. And I was really sad. And it was also past my bedtime, so we were talking for a little bit and then I went to bed and started to feel better for a time when I was happy again, and it was a very good night, then. I liked it. So, it was time for me to go to bed, and I went to bed. It was a good day. I love you all in the family and it’s a good thing that we talked about it, and it was things that were happiness and sad. For things I know, you know too! And this is how you’re supposed to feel when you get happier. The End.
Then she had me print out a copy and she wrote a sad face on the top half of the page for the sad things we had talked about, and a happy face on the bottom half of the page for the happy things we had talked about.
I think the 'things I know, you know too' is from when we were talking about Abagail, and I said that I didn't want to forget her, because if I didn't remember her, who would? And Sandi said, "Ellric remembers." "Well, this was several years before Ellric was born." "But you told Ellric about it, and he told me." "That's... true," I said, surprised at the insight. I tend to keep things like that to myself, and forget that there are others out there who are willing to carry our memories, in case we forget them. But Sandi knows about Abagail, and won't forget her for me. And I know about Momma E-----, and won't forget that for Sandi, either.
And now I've told you. And if you have a little space in your memories for the sadness and happiness of a little girl, see if you can tuck this in and hold it there for her. She--or someone else--might need it one day.