...unable to forgive myself for failing...until now...the reality is that it was not and is not about me...God never fails...we sometimes fail to see clearly our role in His plan...
She was eight years old when we met her. She was nine years old when we lost her. She is nineteen years old at present. I miss our daughter.
The telephone rang last night and I answered the call with the usual "hello" which was responded with "Melody?"
"Yes" I replied, "this is Melody."
"Hi, this is L. How are you?" asked the now recognized voice.
It was a dear friend. Well, actually much more than a dear
friend...she is Lee's godmother and former foster mother to several
fortunate children including J. After the usual polite exchanges L remarked "You know J is graduating from high school this weekend, don't you?"
And J's name echoed through my mind, through my heart, through my soul. Her name has echoed through my life for almost ten years, and tonight along with the resounding name came the tears. The tears weren't a surprise but rather are the after effect every time her name is spoken...has been spoken...will be spoken.
J came into our lives at about the same time as Mac. J was an energetic little girl of eight and Mac a sick, fragile little baby of two months. Lee was almost three years old, and our oldest son was sixteen. We had not yet been blessed with Wil. J was to become our daughter by adoption and how my heart danced with joy...purple joy. It was J's favorite color. We shopped for purple everything...you name it. We would come home with our purple treasures, laughing as we talked about how C would roll his eyes and make that gagging face again. C is not particularly fond of the color purple, but he tolerated it for J.
We settled into a seemingly normal family life...the six of us. There were family gatherings, birthdays, holidays, every days, school, chores, playtime, hugs, kisses...lots of love. J was loving and had a kind heart despite the traumatic and abusive childhood she had been living. Parental rights of the biological mother were being terminated and J would be our daughter. So we thought.
After a few months J began to regress in her behavior and school work. She had learning disabilities and was receiving special education services. C and I worked with her daily and encouraged her to gradually become more independent in her school work and in her daily activities. But still J continued to regress. After months of trying, talking, seeking all avenues of therapy and help with the situation, reality slapped us in the face. J needed more than we could give her. All I could do was ask myself how, how could we not be enough for her, how could this not work, how...I loved her so much. I loved her unconditionally. She was our daughter. But the truth was that since coming into our family she had lost the amazing gains she had made in her previous foster home, and this was a harsh reality to accept. J had been the youngest of two children in the home. She was not adjusting to being one of four children and the next to oldest child. J could not handle what must have felt like a competition for attention. She began to act more like a preschool child doing any and all things to get attention, and no matter how much attention she received it was never enough. She was unable to function in school. The situation was too stressful for her. Bottom line, she needed to be in a family where she was the only child or at the very least the youngest of two children.
However, true to my nature...the nature that says I can fix this...I can make anything work...I hung on longer. We would try harder, yeah, we just weren't trying hard enough. That had to be it. This could be remedied. One day as I lay across our bed in a heap of sobs from another day of watching J struggle, C said those words, those words that must never be spoken..."Melody, we have to let her go. We have to let her go. She needs much more than we can give her right now. We have to let her go. With Mac's medical problems, Lee's blooming behavioral issues and a sixteen year old son testing the waters of life and ruffling emotions, she is overwhelmed in our family. It's not fair, it's not working, it's not right to keep her in this situation. She has lost so much ground. She is stressed and unhappy. She deserves more."
The words would not come from my lips yet my heart was screaming "Let her go? Give the child away? Let her feel unwanted, unloved again? How do you tell a nine year old sorry, this isn't what's right for you. We have to give you to someone else. No way will I do that. We will try harder, longer...it will work...she will improve." All the while my mind was whispering "He's right. You have to let her go. You can't be selfish." I had realized the truth long before. I knew we were making a mistake with this foster-adoption. God was answering my months of prayer...it just wasn't the answer I wanted to hear. He was not fixing things...He was not making everything all right. God was not coming up with the same answer as me. My answer had to be the right one...
The tears flooded from her eyes...from my eyes...from C's eyes. My arms could not release their embrace, nor could hers. And all the while her whispers...her angelic voice..."why, why..." splintered my soul. The social worker gently unwrapped the embrace which struggled to keep our lives entwined. I watched our daughter walk away. I felt that special place in my heart ache. It was the pain of death...a part of me died that day...
J was soon adopted by a couple whose only child, a son, was leaving home for college. Sometimes we pray for the wrong things. I prayed for J to flourish and never leave us. God knew that she must leave in order to flourish. J has grown into a beautiful, intelligent young woman because of the love, attention and time her parents have given her...because of the calm, stable home they have provided...because God answered my prayers His way...
We have not seen J since the day of "why". We have remained in contact by phone, letters and photos. The words J writes and speaks to me are an affirmation that God's will was done. She is neither bitter nor unforgiving, but rather sees her life as following God's plan. J continues to say "I love you. I understand. I thank you for all that you did for me. I thank God you are one of my mothers." I thank God that the world is blessed with this amazing young woman. By all rights she could be viewing the world as a cruel, unfair realm. She chose to unconditionally accept God's plan. I can only aspire to her faith, her humanity, her ability to rise above adversity and the beauty she brings to life. She is a hero.
In a few days our family hopes to attend J's high school graduation, if God allows. I will again embrace J...shed tears...feel pain...a healing pain. For I realize our vines of love cannot be broken...our lives will forever be entwined...
"I love you, J, always."
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