The Journey...Part Three

Hope.

Hope was what I clung to through a bizarre flurry of phone calls and meetings that followed after meeting the baby with dimples I knew was to be my son.

His history, both familial and medical, was complicated at best. But I was determined to see this through, determined to make this boy my own.

My patience and persistent paid off. Eight days after meeting that sweet baby, I was on my way to his foster parent's house to pick him up. I was granted weekend visitations and my family was over the moon. Fric and Frac could barely contain their glee and eagerly waited to meet this new life, a boy they nicknamed BamBam.

As I drove to the city and navigated the directions to where he was being pimped out to meet me again, I worried nervously about what it would mean to have a baby in my house again. It had been seven years since I had given birth to Bug. Seven years since I swaddled and rocked a child this small in the wee small hours of the night.

Bug was an anomaly at birth due to his disabilities. He couldn't cry because he could barely muster the energy to pull his lungs for air. Crying came when he was much older and even then it was more the sounds of a kitten pathetically mewing than the angry screams of an infant.

But Bambam wasn't like Bug. He had lungs. His cries still echoed in my ears from our one previous meeting and I worried that he would miss his foster mom, the only parent he ever knew. What would happen if all he did was cry all weekend and my older children, unaccustomed to having a squalling baby around changed their mind?

I worried about nighttime feedings, diaper changes and soothers as I drove into the city to get him. I started to doubt my instincts and myself the closer I got to his house. Fear and anxiety thrummed through me as I pulled into the driveway of the address I had clutched in my hand.

"What if BamBam doesn't like me?" ran through my head, over and over again. Walking up that sidewalk and knocking on the door, I felt like I had my heart in my throat as I waited what seemed an eternity for the door to open.

And then it did. It felt as though the gates of paradise had swung open to welcome me. My angel from heaven, BamBam's foster mom smiled at me and chuckled at how nervous I looked.

"Come in, come in, he's been waiting for you," she smiled as she turned to lead me to my miracle baby.

He sat in a baby swing, dressed in an orange and green jumpsuit emblazoned with an embroidered Tigger and Winny the Pooh on it. He was watching his foster siblings, all toddlers, buzzing around him and he was smiling.

It took everything I had not to grab him and chew on those dimpled little cheeks of his. Common sense chided in though, reminding me it'd be better not to come off as some crazy cheek chewing, baby babbling lunatic which would frighten him forever whenever he saw me.

So I knelt down in front of him and waited for him to make eye contact. Slowly, his eyes met mine and my heart burst into a billion pieces when he smiled at me and started to coo.

"He coos!" I gasped, shocked. Bug barely ever made sound at this age. His foster mom laughed and told me he was quite verbal, happy to chatter the day away whenever he was feeling good.

That hour was a blur of information quickly being tossed my way, instructions being learned, and introductions being made. I was itching to leave with him, but I didn't want to seem rude so I accepted an invitation for coffee as Bambam sat in my lap, happy enough to be held.

Finally it was time to go. His foster mom packed him into his car seat as I loaded all his gear, food and medical equipment out to my car. When I came back in to grab him, I had tears in my eyes.

"Thank you. For everything. You have no idea how much this means to me. To my family," I half whispered, half croaked as I bounced the car seat around to keep BamBam from getting annoyed.

"It is my pleasure, Tanis. I know this is going to work out. Enjoy your weekend with him and we'll talk on Monday when you bring him back," she smiled knowingly.

I practically floated to my car to strap him and myself in. I talked to him the entire way home so he'd get used to my voice. He kicked and wiggled and cooed back, ignoring my chatter and probably thinking about what he had done to be stuck with a head case like me for the weekend.

Because it was lunchtime and the kids were in school and Boo was up north at work, I drove to my best friend's house. The Dragonlady was eagerly waiting to meet this little man to see if he was all that I had talked him up to be. I was just as eager to get him out of his car seat and smooch on those adorable cheeks.

It wasn't long before we had that poor baby stripped down to his diaper, examining every little inch of him and smothering the poor thing with kisses and cuddles. The Dragonlady introduced her three young children to my BamBam and we watched with delight when he seemed to light up around the kids.

Any doubts I may have silently harbored about Fric and Frac not liking him quickly dissolved as I watched the Dragonlady's kids maul BamBam with love and his good-natured reactions.

That first afternoon was a blur of smiling laughter and baby kisses. I kept checking the clock waiting for the kids to get out of school and soon I was packing BamBam back into his car seat and heading home while the Dragonlady looked on enviously at my new little sweetheart. She was my biggest supporter since Bug's death and to see me finally within reach of adding a member to my family practically had her floating of the ground with happiness for us.

I shouted promises to bring him back tomorrow, along with Fric and Frac and waved to her through my open window as I watched her standing on the front door watching my tail lights disappear down her winding driveway.

It felt strange to pull into my driveway, get out of my car and lean into the backseat to unbuckle a child. It had been almost three years since I have had to do that and a weird sense of deja vu settled over me.

I had just barely got BamBam settled into his bassinette before Fric and Frac hurled into the house like two little rockets. They climbed over with each other with excitement, practically pushing one another out of each other's way while asking where I'd hidden the baby.

I laughed and put my fingers to my lips to shush them and then crooked a finger, beckoning them to follow me into my bedroom where BamBam was playing with some crib toys, drifting in and out of slumber.

They tiptoed quietly over to the window where the bassinette was set up and peered in to catch their first glimpse of this new little ray of hope in all of our lives.

In that second I felt my heart expand and I knew everything would be all right as they gently introduced themselves to the blue-eyed baby staring up at them.

"Can we pick him up, Mom?" Fric asked, holding her breath, half expecting me to say no.

I nodded yes and helped her lift him out of his crib and placed him in my daughter's arms while watching her face light up like a Christmas tree.

"He's so tiny! So light!" she breathed as she went to sit on the couch to hold him, Frac not far off her heels.

I agreed and as they gently examined their new little friend I explained the challenges he faced, some similar to their brother Bug and some very, very different. None of my medical speak phased them, they were too thrilled that he smiled and laughed with them when they made silly faces for him.

It turns out all my fears about re-entering the world of babydom were unfounded. BamBam was happy to be the center of attention and to my delight, at eight months old he slept through the night. I woke up to the soft sounds of a baby cooing. Both Nixon and I were delighted.

It was a magical weekend and it seemed time accelerated the way it always does when one is having fun. The ache that haunted me since Bug's passing was still there but it was far off in the distance. Baby giggles and Fric and Frac's delight drowned out any shadows of grief that threatened the horizon.

There was only one black cloud that marred our family's perfect weekend getting to know this special little boy. My husband Boo was at work and was unable to make it home to meet our prospective new son. I was a bit heart broken about this. How can one commit a family to an eternity of loving another when the beloved father had nothing to base his opinion on?

Sunday morning quickly came and as much as I anticipated waking up and spending another day with my darling new buddy, I was all too aware of the minutes and seconds ticking past to the hour I had to return BamBam back to his foster parents.

I lay in bed that morning, refusing to open my eyes and start the last day of our first weekend together. I wanted to savor the knowledge there was a little bundle of joy not three feet away from me, who could possibly become the next little Redneck.

With my eyes squished tightly shut I listened to hear if the baby was awake or if Fric and Frac had snuck in to steal him out of his bed as I slumbered on. I knew something was different. Nixon, the World's Greatest Dog Ever, was sitting at the edge of the bed with his ears perked instead of his usual position of having his butt in my nose.

Raising my head I peered at him to see what was up.

Boo smiled back at me, standing at the end of our bed cradling BamBam in his big arms and breathed, "Happy Mother's Day, Tanis. The kids and I wanted to surprise you." Then he picked up little BamBam's arm and waved it at me, while whispering to the baby, "I think I couldn't have imagined a cuter kid to call my own, right Mom?"

It was the best Mother's Day gift I could have ever wished for. My husband meeting his son for the first time.

To be continued....

The Journey...Part Two

My heart raced as I listened to the woman, who was about to make my dreams come true, tell me about my son.

I could hardly pay attention to the voice on the other end of the phone. My heart was thumping in my chest and my ears were buzzing with a thousand little butterflies flapping in my stomach.

I listened to this angel from heaven lady tell me all about the little baby boy who needed a family. I could hardly believe my ears. He sounded too good to be true.

"Would you like to meet him?" she asked, making my fantasy reality. It didn't take me long to jump all over that offer.

"Absolutely! When can that happen?" I asked eagerly.

"Well, he's currently in the hospital right now, why don't you come tomorrow to meet us?"

The first thing I did as soon as I got off the phone was run outside and do a happy dance with a little war whoop call my husband.

At first he didn't answer the telephone. But I am persistent. So I called back. No answer again. No matter. I'd just keep pressing redial until he finally stopped ignoring me and answered my phone call. I'm thoughtful like that.

"What?" he growled into the phone when he finally answered on my fourth try. "I'm working."

Ignoring his snarls (I've learned over the course of our marriage he's all bark and no bite) I launched into my story telling him about the phone call and barely taking a breath in between words.

"SLOW DOWN Tanis, I can't understand you!"

Taking a deep breath, I repeated my sentences and then waited for his response. I was a little nervous because over the course of our adoption quest my husband had insisted on only one thing. He didn't care what sex the child was, how many medical challenges faced or even how frail the child was. He only insisted the child not be a baby.

Boo was hoping for a child at least three years old.

Me? At this point I'd adopt a two-headed Chihuahua so I was not exactly fussy.

"EIGHT months old?" he repeated. I could tell the wheels in his brain where spinning like windmills.

"That's right. And he's really tiny too. He's not even 12 pounds."

Silence.

I held my breath, knowing that he had every right to refuse to even consider adopting this child since he was so very young.

Sigh. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to check him out. He sounds perfect even if he is a tad young. But I'm not saying YES, Tanis, I'm just saying go find out more about him so we can discuss this rationally."

Since I was expecting a flat out NO, I was over the moon. I had visions of baby rattles and diapers dancing through my mind. The loud ticking I had heard in my ears constantly for months, finally quieted at the thought of loving another baby. A baby to call my own.

It was one of the longest nights of my life. The anticipation was killing me. I felt like I was 6 years old again and waiting for Santa to drop through the chimney with a bag full of presents for me to tear through. Morning couldn't come soon enough. I tossed and turned the entire night.

Finally, daylight broke and I started getting ready to go meet this mysterious child. At this point, I hadn't said anything to Fric and Frac. I didn't want to let them down or disappoint them if for some reason this didn't work out.

Soon enough I found myself walking through familiar hospital doors. Memories of Bug washed over me and I pushed them out of my way. I didn't want to be bogged down by reliving that nightmare once again. It's still tough for me to go back to that hospital. Even years later, memories are triggered by the sound and scents of the hospital, inviting my 30 pound angel to sit on my back like an invisible monkey.

I stood waiting in a pediatric waiting room, eyeing my watch and anxiously holding my breath every time someone walked by. I was trying not to get my hopes up, trying not to paint a mental picture of the baby I had learned about. I was desperately trying to remain calm and logical.

Which, if y'all know me, is like asking a child to eat brussel sprouts instead of candy. It doesn't happen often or very easily.

And then she walked in and smiled a huge grin. "You must be Tanis," she said as she extended her hand.

"Hi." Suddenly I felt like I was 12 years old and my mouth was cotton dry. I was so nervous.

We sat down and got to know one another. We talked about the weather briefly as the universal icebreaker and then moved onto talking about a mutual friend. Then we talked a bit about Bug and my family history before she finally opened up about the little boy's history and health.

And then, finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she asked, "Would you like to meet him?"

Anticipation buzzed through me as I followed her into the little boy's hospital room. He was in a crib with metal bars, the same crib I used to call Bug's jail cell. He was so small he took my breath away. He looked so very different than my biological children.

As my new friend chattered away about his family life and his medical records, I barely heard her. I was too busy drinking up this little baby boy with my eyes. He had the prettiest blue eyes and rusty brown hair. His skin was golden, marred with needle pricks and tape residue from i.v. lines.

He watched me; curious to whom this woman was before him who wasn't wearing nursing scrubs. I reached out with one finger and stroked his tiny little hand to say hello. And he broke into a huge grin.

I melted into a puddle of maternal goo right there at that very moment. All logic and ration and reason flew out the window the moment I laid eyes on those dimples. They were so deep and adorable.

Looking up from his toothless grin I looked at his foster mom and smiled, "He's beautiful. I didn't expect that."

She laughed and admitted she hadn't wanted to tell me he was cute. "Some people can't see past the disabilities or his disfigurement, so I thought it best for you to see him for yourself."

I didn't see his bent feet or his misshapen hands. I was too busy being dazzled by his cherubic smile and the way he wouldn't take his eyes off me.

"Would you like to hold him?" she grinned.

I practically lost my head nodding it so vigorously as she carefully lifted him out of the crib, careful not to yank on any of the wires or tubes attached to his body, and placed him into my arms.

Where he immediately morphed from a cherubic angel into a shrieking demon from hell.

I didn't care. Babies cry. And this baby had more reason to cry than most. I drank his scent in and cuddled him close, while talking with his foster mom about legal details and future plans.

I didn't want to put him down, but soon it was time to go. I placed him gently back into his crib and took his tiny bent hand into mine. "I'll be back little dude. I promise." He just blinked and yawned at me.

I practically floated out of that hospital room. I was excited and ecstatic but trying desperately hard to be rational. This wasn't a sure deal. You don't just walk into a hospital room, see a baby and say SOLD! There were legalities to wade through, hurdles to overcome, permission to be granted.

And a family to tell.

So I left with thoughts of baby on my brain, trying to wade through a myriad of conflicting emotions. Suddenly, with the reality of a new family member I was saddened by the thought that Bug may have a brother he would never know. There would be a boy in my family who only knew of his big brother by the dusty photos on my wall and in my scrap books.

It was weird, I won't lie, to be pumped up with excitement at the thought of adopting this baby while desperately missing another. I worried what my kids would say, what my husband would think.

So I did what any girl would do while waiting for her kids to get home from school and her husband to wake up. I drove to my best friend's house and spilled the beans. If we were going to depart on this journey it was important to me that I have my best friend's support.

The Dragonlady a.k.a my best friend, was over the moon. She has a legal background so it was great to bounce off my worries about any legal complications with her savvy mind. I showed her pictures I had taken on my cell phone and we cooed over how cute he was. I passed the afternoon with her, waiting anxiously to be able to go home and talk to my family.

Then the hour came to finally be able to go home and share my news. With the kids on one phone, me on another we called their father. I told the three of them at the same time all about the little blue-eyed baby in the hospital.

We decided long ago that any decision about an adoption prospect we would make together as a family and Fric and Frac would have an equal say. I didn't have to worry about them though; they were more excited than I was, practically drooling over the pictures on my cell phone.

After hearing about a possible new sibling for themselves, they retreated to celebrate by playing video games, leaving me to talk with their father alone.

"Well, what do you think?" I asked hesitantly.

I could hear clicking on his computer. He was looking through the photos I had sent him. "He sure is cute," Boo slowly replied.

I waited, biting hard on my tongue, scared to push him into agreeing to proceed with adoption plans for a child he had yet to meet. If we were going to do this I would need to know it was what he wanted.

Silence as Boo thought and I fidgeted. "He's awfully young. And so little."

"Yes, he is," I carefully responded.

"He's got the same cleft in his chin that I do," he murmured. Yes, yes he does, I agreed.

"Well Tanis, to be honest, I didn't think I'd ever agree to a baby but this kid sounds like he is ours."

Hot damn, I thought to myself as I pumped my fist into the air. SOLD!

"Do it. Go ahead and tell them to start with whatever they need to do to bring him home. I trust your instincts." Words could not describe the elation that coursed through me.

Suddenly, there was a prospective new Redneck baby number four.

But would the government go along with his foster mom and our plans for adoption? Doubt and worry plagued me as bureaucratic red tape wrapped itself around memories of our adoption application.

I wasn't naive enough to believe that suddenly the government was going to pat me on the head and say 'good job' as they hand me a baby and a bag filled with diapers.

But suddenly I had something I hadn't had for over two years.

Hope.

To be continued...

The Journey Begins

When I started up this blog and that blog, I was struggling to stay above the choppy waves of depression and grief that were threatening to drown me. My son had only died a few short months before and I was embarking on a journey in an uncharted waters.

I was trying to figure out how to survive the death of a child. My child. My almost five-year-old son.

I had finally learned the ropes of being the parent to a disabled child and a mother to three small children. I was just getting my groove on, finally able to juggle the special needs of Shalebug along with the needs of my lovely Fric and Frac. And then all of a sudden, the carpet was yanked out from beneath me.

I was no longer the mother to three kids or the mom to a disabled child. The person I used to be simply vanished. She ceased to exist the moment I walked out of the hospital alone, with a small plastic bag filled with Bug's clothing. The only tangible evidence I had to prove I had walked in with a living child and walked out without one.

I still have that plastic bag filled with the clothes Bug wore when he died. It's folded up tightly and stored in a box tucked high up on the top shelf at the back of my closet. I don't know when or if I'll ever have the courage or the need to open it and revisit that night in my mind. I fight so hard not to remember how he looked on that emergency room table, unmoving and dead, or how his head hung at an unnatural angle in my arms as I raced him into the emergency room, I'm not sure I could actually bear the physical reminders of that night.

I don't want to remember that moment in time. I want to surround myself with the love of his memory, the warm wash of his giggles bathing my soul in love. It's hard, so very hard, to remember past the pain to recall the joy he imprinted on me. I'm haunted by both charming memories of my son and visions no parent should ever have dancing before their eyes.

It's too easy to slip into the familiar pain of grief and start missing him with a crushing intensity. It's still too easy to weep when a song comes on the radio and reminds me of him. The nightmares I have almost nightly are still too real, too vivid.

Time has helped heal my wounds but the scars still seep more often than not.

I'm not there yet. But I'm getting closer.

I've had three long years to examine myself and wade through the emotions that swirl around me like a vortex. My husband, God bless his cotton socks, has moved heaven and earth to try and make things right with me, with our family and breathe life back into the withered shell I suddenly became.

But as much as I'm grateful to my husband for his unending love, deep compassion and the constant understanding he shows me, he wasn't enough to make me rise out of bed in the morning and draw another breath.

No. The only thing that moved me out of my reverie of self-pity and grief was the broken looks on my children's face. Their blue eyes were haunted and their world turned upside down. It was my desperate desire to bring the light back into their eyes and hear the echoes of laughter that rang in my heart which motivated me.

I did what any mother would do. I sucked it up when I needed to and cried when I had to. I stopped running from the storm of pain and let the emotions rain upon myself. I sought help for the depression I had sunk into and I started taking care of myself so that I could take care of my children.

I needed to show my kids it was okay. I would be okay. They would be okay. We would be okay together. We would just take it one step, one emotion, and one milestone at a time. Together.

Time has dulled the edges of grief and I've we've begun to experience joy again. I found solace in the oddest place: myself, through my blog.  By sharing online I found a safety net of love, support and community. You gave me the courage to keep on keeping on. If I hadn't had the ability or luxury to sit at my computer and focus on the funny in my life and start anew, I'd probably be sitting in a padded cell trying to stab myself with celery sticks.

With every day that passes and every post I write, whether inane, or funny, or serious, I am taking one step closer to becoming a person I can recognize in the mirror. Not the old Tanis; she is buried with her arms tightly wrapped around her son, but a new Tanis. One I'm just starting to understand and appreciate.

Life carried on and love carried us through and eventually Boo and I found ourselves opening up our hearts and our minds to the idea of doing it all again. After much deliberation and talking we decided, as a family, we would adopt.

It's been a long journey for us. Two years in fact. When we started the adoption journey I promised myself I would share our story with anyone who wanted to read about it. I've been brutally honest in our walk down the road to snatch a child out of the clutches of government and call him or her our own.

We've been through the ringer as a family, enduring unending waits, home assessments, psychological evaluations and mind-numbing preparatory courses. We have filled out a forest worth of paper work and faced rejection.

We've survived having my blog discovered and my words tossed in my face. (Word to the wise: It's never a good idea to call the lady who holds the keys of your family's fate in her hands a bureaucratic asshat. Just so y'all know.)

We've celebrated our application approval and held our breath for the phone to ring. For a child to be dropped out of the sky and into our laps. We have waited impatiently and patiently and tried to remember there will be a light at the end of this tunnel one day, a new little redneck to call our own, another child to duct tape to my wall.

(Totally kidding dear adoption peeps. I only beat them with wet noodles. Wink.)

It hasn't been easy. There has been much whining (primarily on my part) about how life is passing us by and still there has been no sign of a child to call Redneck Child Number Four.

Then one afternoon, the phone rang and Boo and I were offered a child. We rejoiced and held our breaths. But after learning more we instinctively knew he wasn't the one. He wasn't ours. So we declined him and opted to wait for a child with more needs, a child who I could look in the eyes and know he was the right one. It was one of the hardest decisions Boo and I ever made.

Still, the choice was made and our wait begun anew. Boo went off to work and I sit at home twiddling my thumbs and blog. I have grown tired of waiting. There are only so many blogs a gal can read before her laptop starts to grow to the tops of her thighs and her ass starts to spread from inactivity.

I no longer jump whenever the phone rings. (Mostly because it takes energy. Energy I could expend clicking a mouse.) Heck, most of the time it's telemarketers or bill collectors. (Just kidding Boo. I totally pay our bills on time. Cross my heart.) I can only have so much fun tormenting total strangers before growing bored of that game, like a cat pawing at a mouse.

Which is why, when the phone rang and I didn't recognize the phone number, I almost didn't answer it. I was deeply absorbed in some mindless television drama and I was in a pissy mood tired. But at the last second I thought what the hell, it's a commercial, I may as well play with some underpaid telemarketer's mind and so I answered the call.

"Hello?"

"Is this Tanis Miller?" a delicate female voice asked on the other line.

Rolling my eyes and cracking my knuckles, I thought to myself 'let the games begin' as I answered, "Yes."

"A friend of yours gave me your name. I think I have an eight-month-old baby you will want to adopt. Are you interested?"

A chorus of heavenly angels was singing in the background as I smiled and asked her to tell me more.

My heart raced as I listened to the woman, who was about to make my dreams come true, tell me about my son.

To be continued...