Judgement Day Looms...Quick Take Cover
/As most of you know, I started blogging shortly after my youngest son passed away unexpectedly. I was looking for a way to stabilize my world, to solidify my foundation after it was left tattered and crumbled. For a while, I wrote to try and bring my son back to life, to remember the minutiae of his life. To cling to him in whatever way I could. Even if meant trying to grasp whisps of a rainbow.
It wasn't long before I realized no matter how often I wrote about my son, he was never coming home to be tucked in at night. I would never plug him in to be fed again, nor would I ever have to worry about him letting a floater go in the tub, or pick at his never ending case of cradle cap or wonder whether his feet would look more clubbed when he woke up the next morning.
Because I realized there were no more next mornings. The tomorrows with my Shalebug were all spent. It was up to me to try and find a way to adjust and cope to this new reality, because no one could do it for me.
So I turned to writing once more, this time to try and remember the magic of the moment, the funny of life. I made a conscious effort to write about what made me smile or laugh in my day, no matter how trivial. It was a concerted effort to remember that life is what you make of it, no matter how many times you draw the short straw or go to bed wishing for a different ending.
It worked. I healed and continue to do so. My children survived intact and not the shattered, scarred souls I was worried my grief would turn them into. I lost one child due to circumstances beyond my control, I wasn't going to lose the other two because I was unable to deal with the loss.
It hasn't always been fun and games. Which has made it particularly difficult to blog some days. Sometimes, there is just no funny to make me smile and share with the internet. Sometimes, there is just an overwhelming sense of loss and loneliness that is too difficult to articulate into words.
Still, I press on and continue to try and find the funny. It's not always easy when all I want to do is talk about how my parents are still shunning me and how I miss them so. It's not easy during the times I resent my husband for leaving me alone to deal with our family while he is away at work. But then, life isn't always easy. So I plug on, waiting for the light to shine through the clouds of gloom that have momentarily darkened my sky.
When the hubs and I started our adoption journey, I decided to share the process on my blog. It hasn't been an easy affair by any stretch, but it has provided some entertaining blog fodder. Yet, like life itself, our journey hasn't worked out like the hubs and I imagined it.
Besides taking a helluva lot longer than we expected, we never thought our application would be put on hold. Because of the fact I took antidepressants after Shalebug died. They wanted to clinically assess my mental status. Make sure I wasn't really crazy. Worse, we never thought they would examine our children under such a bright microscope, looking for cracks in each of their veneers.
In the end, we wait while complete strangers decide if adopting a special needs child into our family is in the best interest of Fric and Frac. Or more technically, we wait until they make the decision they feel best covers their collective asses.
The wait is coming to an end. I finally heard from our lovely adoption office, requesting Boo and my presence in their office on the day of Oct. 17.
Finally and at long last, we will hear their verdict in regards to our application. I wish I could say I was confident, but the truth is, after dealing with these bureaucrats I now understand they do not put my family's best interest first, nor that of the many children waiting to be adopted. They put their jobs and their political interests first.
Based on all that has happened before now, there is a very real possibility that our application will be denied. Which sucks and makes me want to cry and go all warrior-like on their asses.
I will be counting the moments until Judgement day, and hoping for the very best. But, I think I'll keep sharpening my tomahawk until then, just in case.
It wasn't long before I realized no matter how often I wrote about my son, he was never coming home to be tucked in at night. I would never plug him in to be fed again, nor would I ever have to worry about him letting a floater go in the tub, or pick at his never ending case of cradle cap or wonder whether his feet would look more clubbed when he woke up the next morning.
Because I realized there were no more next mornings. The tomorrows with my Shalebug were all spent. It was up to me to try and find a way to adjust and cope to this new reality, because no one could do it for me.
So I turned to writing once more, this time to try and remember the magic of the moment, the funny of life. I made a conscious effort to write about what made me smile or laugh in my day, no matter how trivial. It was a concerted effort to remember that life is what you make of it, no matter how many times you draw the short straw or go to bed wishing for a different ending.
It worked. I healed and continue to do so. My children survived intact and not the shattered, scarred souls I was worried my grief would turn them into. I lost one child due to circumstances beyond my control, I wasn't going to lose the other two because I was unable to deal with the loss.
It hasn't always been fun and games. Which has made it particularly difficult to blog some days. Sometimes, there is just no funny to make me smile and share with the internet. Sometimes, there is just an overwhelming sense of loss and loneliness that is too difficult to articulate into words.
Still, I press on and continue to try and find the funny. It's not always easy when all I want to do is talk about how my parents are still shunning me and how I miss them so. It's not easy during the times I resent my husband for leaving me alone to deal with our family while he is away at work. But then, life isn't always easy. So I plug on, waiting for the light to shine through the clouds of gloom that have momentarily darkened my sky.
When the hubs and I started our adoption journey, I decided to share the process on my blog. It hasn't been an easy affair by any stretch, but it has provided some entertaining blog fodder. Yet, like life itself, our journey hasn't worked out like the hubs and I imagined it.
Besides taking a helluva lot longer than we expected, we never thought our application would be put on hold. Because of the fact I took antidepressants after Shalebug died. They wanted to clinically assess my mental status. Make sure I wasn't really crazy. Worse, we never thought they would examine our children under such a bright microscope, looking for cracks in each of their veneers.
In the end, we wait while complete strangers decide if adopting a special needs child into our family is in the best interest of Fric and Frac. Or more technically, we wait until they make the decision they feel best covers their collective asses.
The wait is coming to an end. I finally heard from our lovely adoption office, requesting Boo and my presence in their office on the day of Oct. 17.
Finally and at long last, we will hear their verdict in regards to our application. I wish I could say I was confident, but the truth is, after dealing with these bureaucrats I now understand they do not put my family's best interest first, nor that of the many children waiting to be adopted. They put their jobs and their political interests first.
Based on all that has happened before now, there is a very real possibility that our application will be denied. Which sucks and makes me want to cry and go all warrior-like on their asses.I will be counting the moments until Judgement day, and hoping for the very best. But, I think I'll keep sharpening my tomahawk until then, just in case.