Adoption = Letters to My Children, Part 3

My dear boy,

Today I rummaged through the “memory box” in my closet and overturned a flip-flop. It was a cheap sandal; the paint rubbed off in the shape of your footprint. You were such a small five-year-old when we found you.

This afternoon, I watched through tears as you approached strangers with perfect eye contact and a strong voice: “Would you like to buy some popcorn to help me go to camp?”

We have come so far, you and I.

The memories seem almost unbelievable. You, cringing away from my touch, overwhelmed by sensory input. You, screaming for hours (your lungs, at least, are definitely healthy). You, punching a classmate in the mouth for laughing at you. You, escaping school three times in spite of all the adults surrounding you. You, requiring a one-on-one behavioral aide to stay in class. You, neglected and needing life-saving surgery. You, terrified of strangers. You, angry, scared, lonely and devastated.

I loved you, my wild hyena, the moment your eyes met mine, just briefly.

Sometimes, I just couldn’t help myself. “I love you, little boy.” You answered, “No, you don’t.” And you meant it. You no longer believed in true love, in security, in safety, in a bright future.

You screamed. I screamed. We screamed. Not for ice cream.

“Stop hurting children!” You built up walls and defenses. If they ran away, they could not hurt you. “You must stay in class!” You yearned for home, where the world was less scary and harbored no strangers. “Please, please, GO TO SLEEP!” You kept vigil, terrified of the grabbing hands in your nightmares.

You screamed when your paper ripped. When your tower fell. When I said, “no.” When the social worker visited. You thought she was coming for you. You screamed for eighteen months. 

You lost everything you’d ever known, and I found you. Held you while you screamed.

We have come so far, you and I.

Today, as we walked, the sun behind us, you said, “Wait, Mama.” I paused as you walked a few feet more, until your shadow was ahead of mine. “Hold out your hand.” You instructed, reaching out to air.

Stretching my hand so my shadow once again touched yours, I asked, “Do you want to see what we’ll look like when you’re taller than I am?”

You looked back, grinning. “We know each other.”

Ustwo

You finally believe in true love, in security, in safety, and best of all, in a very, very bright future.

Jeremiah 29:11 “God says, ‘I know the plans I have for you; plans for good, not evil. Plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you a HOPE and a FUTURE.'”

I love you forever,

Mama

About Casey

Adoption = my life. I'll give it to you straight. Success, failure, truth.

Posted on October 5, 2014, in Adoption, Blogging101, Writing101 and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 15 Comments.

  1. Stunning. So honest and beautiful. A tough road, a wonderful redemption story.
    You write so well. I love how you used the flip-flop to take us with you through your memories, one step at a time. I look forward to more of your writing.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. wahhhhhh

    Liked by 1 person

  3. A very emotional and beautiful letter. I always have thought that it takes someone special to adopt a child and you certainly have confirmed that thought for me.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. As always, words cant fully describe the impact of your posts on me. Thanks for taking me along on this journey with you, even if its through writing. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Beautiful and touching! It shows how much love you had for this precious broken little boy, and have for him now. It “screams” at the rest of the world to, “Give them a chance! They are worth it!” It also sings these words inside my heart, “Love conquers all!” You went through a lot to pull him through his difficult time and you didn’t give up on him. That speaks volumes about what a wonderful person you are.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you so much for reading, and for your comment–you’re right! I hope some of my posts will inspire others to reach out to the children around them. There isn’t a child on the planet who would not benefit from having a caring adult available. Hugs!

      Like

  6. Your post made me cry it was so beautiful. You really do have to give this post to him at some point. I don’t know at what ages it is best to give them … but if it is this year – giving them a yearly letter documenting your feelings for them through out the year – would be wonderful birthday presents : )

    Liked by 1 person

  7. This is touching and beautiful. Well done on writing. But more than that: well done on being the person you seem to be. For giving your son the love and the hope and the security he needed and still needs to be able to deal with his past and move on.

    Liked by 3 people

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