You Will Be Found II

Tonight in the car, my daughter was telling me about a song from Dear Evan Hansen that one of her friends is always singing. I'm not yet familiar with the entire show, so when she said that it was something about a kid in the bathroom, I just raised an eyebrow and looked at her blankly. I pulled up youtube on my phone, and she played the song for me.

Immediately following that song came "You Will Be Found," the song I had written about last week. I told my daughter that it's my favorite song from this show, but didn't say why. We're about four lines into the song when Lucas pipes up from the back seat.

"Guys, I know this is really weird, but this song totally sounds like they're singing about me."

[Don't cry don't cry don't cry don't cry]

"You know what, bud? I thought the same thing. I heard it for the first time right after we met you."
"You did?"
"Yep... and I'm hoping that everything ends the same way as the song ends, too."

He listened to the rest of the song in silence... I heard sniffling from the back seat, but I was on the highway and couldn't turn around to look. By the time we reached the exit, he was chattering again and on to deep discussions about exactly what's needed to make the end portal in the stronghold work.

he will be found.
he has been found.

Mentally drained.

I didn't realize how exhausted I would be. This is all so emotionally draining.

I spent three hours in an interagency meeting with the IU yesterday to determine his educational placement. I think I made the right choice on how to approach it. Tomorrow I meet with the new school.

He argues with me over everything. It doesn't matter if it's trivial or important - he has to have the last word, and he has to feel like he is in control. He pouts, whines, and throws tantrums. It's not impossible to handle, and he's not violent... it's just absolutely exhausting. Some days he is so agreeable, and others feel like a battle all day long. He mutters under his breath about how things are unfair. He hasn't yet learned how to ask for what he needs or wants without being passive aggressive in this way. He reluctantly responds if I cue him. On some days I am better equipped to deal with it without taking the bait.

Every day - every hour - is a new lesson about how things work in a functional family. Yes, you are expected to take out the recycling. Yes, you are expected to fold your clothes and put them back in your drawer if they are not dirty. Yes, you are expected to take your dish to the sink and rinse it after a meal. Yes, you are expected to make your bed every day. He does not have a good sense of what a kid should be expected to do, and he is always on the lookout in case we would take advantage of him. Every day is a never-ending cycle of quietly living consistently into being believed and trusted. If plans change unexpectedly, even for reasons beyond my control, I am treated as if I knew all along and lied to him.

He is used to having to be sneaky to get his needs met. He is slowly (ever so slowly) learning that if he tries to sneak screen time early, he will not get it at all. He tries to use semantics - I told him he cannot have two of the same snack, but one pack of fruit snacks was grape and one was strawberry, so that's technically not the same. He technically had no fruit snacks that day and had to pick something different.  He has been denied food as punishment, though, so I have to be careful about what I do in this respect. He has the ability to go on a major hunger strike, too, which doesn't help at all.

And interspersed through all of this, he will have a great time with his sister, have a successful riding or swimming lesson or tae kwon do class. He will run up to me arms outstretched with a huge grin on his face. He is standing on the very structure against which he fights tooth and nail.

It's getting better, little by little... but I can't remember the last time my brain was this tired.

Nervewracking.

We had a permanency hearing today. The judge ruled to keep him in care in our home.

We are officially a pre-adoptive placement.

The next step is to pursue termination of parental rights. This all depends on whether or not his biological mother follows the plan set out for her. I cannot put any details here, but suffice it to say that she has not done so to this point.

We sat there, flanking him, listening to the testimony of the caseworker. I didn't know if we would be called up or if he would... and though we have not done anything to merit losing him, that room was so stressful. The judge was soft-spoken and kind to everyone involved (and complimented Lucas on the sharpness of his bow tie), and he even allowed more interruptions than I would have ever expected, but I still held my breath. I wish I could trust the system, but the people are so overworked and underpaid, manipulated and lied to daily... it creates a situation in which kids can fall through the cracks. I don't want him to be one of them.

The next hearing is at the beginning of July. I'm hoping that by then, Independence Day will take on a whole new meaning.

You will be found.

There is a huge, raw vulnerability that comes with falling for a kid whom a county could simply decide isn't right for your home and vice versa... we've fallen for kids who go back to their parents, and I cannot explain the excruciating pain of releasing a child to someone who allowed their teeth to rot and allowed them to live in filth with no food and no clothing. I wish it on no one. I cannot say that it isn't worth it, but if you're not up for that pain and up for opening your heart anyway because it's what the kids need, then maybe think twice about fostering. I still carry photos of those boys in my phone. I probably always will.

I fell for Lucas the first weekend he was with us.

It was the Monday after his very first weekend with us. I was driving home from work, exploring some of the new Broadway albums on youtube. This song suckerpunched me, and I was ugly crying 30 seconds in. It became his song to me, though he's never heard it (and he won't until I can make it through without bawling).

"You Will Be Found" from Dear Evan Hansen 

^^^ Youtube link - click to hear it ^^^

Have you ever felt like nobody was there?
Have you ever felt forgotten in the middle of nowhere?
Have you ever felt like you could disappear?
Like you could fall, and no one would hear?

Well, let that lonely feeling wash away
Maybe there's a reason to believe you'll be okay
'Cause when you don't feel strong enough to stand
You can reach, reach out your hand

And oh, someone will coming running
And I know, they'll take you home

Even when the dark comes crashing through
When you need a friend to carry you
And when you're broken on the ground
You will be found

So let the sun come streaming in
'Cause you'll reach up and you'll rise again
Lift your head and look around
You will be found
You will be found
You will be found
You will be found
You will be found

Tan.

Him: “I shouldn’t say that. It sounds racist.”
Me: “What’s racist?”
Him: “You know, like black and white.”
Me: “It’s more if one color or race feels like it’s better than another color or race. Like if you felt you were better than black people because you’re white, that would be -
Him: “What? I’m WHITE? What do you mean I’m white?”
[I stop for a moment, considering his freckled day-glo skin and auburn hair]
Me: “What did you think you were?”
Him: “Tan! I thought I was tan!”
Me: “You know what, man? I love your answer so much more. You go on being tan. I think I’m going to be tan, too.”
Him: “Why does everybody talk about black and white, anyway?”
One day I will teach him, but he has already seen far too many disappointing and hateful adults in his nine years. Maybe after a few months of gaining some positive influences from all shades and religions, we will explore that topic a bit more.
For now, I just love the innocence of his answer.

Too much change.

He starts school today.

This is his seventh school, and he's in only third grade.

He is not happy about going. He is tiny and has been bullied at other schools. He's not excited about having someone in the classroom to assist him, either... it's embarrassing and he doesn't want to stand out.

I'm worried for him and am trying to not show it.

Nightmares

After a bio visit and finding out he starts school this week, it was nightmares all night long.

I'm exhausted.

*edit* I just reread this. They were his nightmares, not mine. *


I fixed the comment thing. I had to change the settings.

comments welcome

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Where the light enters you

Lucas has been asking for weeks to see A Wrinkle in Time. I took him today.

I wish I had done my research. I didn't remember much of the book - a dad who discovers how to fold time/distance, gets lost in the universe, finds his way home with the help of his daughter who discovers herself along the way. What I forgot was that there was a little boy about Lucas's age who was adopted by the family just days before the dad vanished into thin air. There were adults talking about the kids in earshot, discussing what they went through as if they weren't human enough to hear and understand. There was bullying.  I peeked over and saw him wiping his eyes twice. About twenty minutes in, he leaned over and told met that he thinks that maybe we should have waited for my 14 year old daughter (here known as Elizabeth) to come with us. Three minutes after that, he grabbed onto my arm and put his head on my shoulder, telling me that he was sleepy. I let him know that if anything in the movie was upsetting to him and he wanted to leave, all he needs to do is say so and that I wouldn't be angry.

"The wound is the place where the Light enters you," (Rumi) was one of the quotes in the movie. For him, I don't think it could be more true.

He leaned over two minutes later and told me we should go and wait for Elizabeth. I put my arm around him, and we left. He was pensive for the rest of the afternoon. I can't help but wonder which parts got to him.

"I wish I could trust CYS," he said in the car today. "They don't know everything. They don't even know half of everything."

I'm working on learning to be soft and be steel all at once... because when he starts telling those stories, I need to be his pillow to crash into and still stand upright and support him.

... and then, after he's asleep, I'll need to find a quiet place and cry my eyes out.

"Oh you poor little thing."

I have decided to call him Lucas here. I just love the name.

Toys R Us is closing, so Lucas and I were out hunting down some deals. It was in part a bust, as the LEGO sets were only 10% off. He wants to build the huge Ninjago sets and display them in his room, but they are about $100-150 apiece. We did, however, manage to score a Nerf crossbow at 40% off.

While we were in line to check out, he quietly said to me, "I love my Nerf thing and all, but I can't wait to get out of this place. The baby stuff reminds me of too many things."

"What kind of things?"

"I'm not telling you that here. Someone might hear me, and they will be all, "Ooh, you poor little thing." He rolled his eyes.

We checked out and walked to the car. Once inside, I told him that he never has to worry about me feeling sorry for him.

The truth is, I won't. I may grieve for his innocence, but I won't feel sorry. He doesn't need that. He doesn't need someone making him feel like he is a helpless victim who has no control over any part of his life. He wants to feel empowered. He wants to feel strong. He wants acknowledgment that at five, six, seven years old, he figured out how to survive when the adults in his life failed to meet his basic needs.

I told him so... and that I hope that in the future he will feel better telling me things because he knows that I will not get all weepy or angry. He needs to worry about himself in those moments, not about me.

He did end up telling me a few things later, none of which I will put here. I'm sure some things will be harder to hear without a visible reaction, but I'll take them one at a time and share those feelings with him as they come up. Sometimes, he's going to need to know that someone is pissed because of what someone else did to him.

He will need the validation. I will just need to offer it with control and level-headedness so that he does not feel his world shake as he tells his story.

I should be sleeping.

There is something about all of this that I do not understand.

When people find out that we are hoping to adopt from the foster system, there is a fair range of reactions.

I don't understand the whole superhero thing.

Don't get me wrong; it is nice to have people tell me that they admire us for what we are doing... it just doesn't make sense to me. It is no superhuman feat to love a child. It does not take radioactive exposure to make a conscious decision to handle trauma-based behaviors with empathy. I mean, what is there not to love about this freckle-faced, mischief-grin kid who one second has the raw emotional needs of a young toddler one moment and the sage wisdom of an aged warrior the next?

I began typing, "You've got to know when talking won't do - when to just scoop them up and hold them," and found myself humming a bastardized version of "The Gambler." It's far too late for me to try to write anything without my "SQUIRREL!" attention deficit moments sneaking their way in.

I digress.

Sometimes, I do just need to pull him close, hold him tight, and tell him that it's okay to be afraid or angry or sad. Sometimes he just needs permission to feel and to be told that a grownup has the watch. He needs to be reminded that he won't have to go foraging in the middle of the night to try to find food, that he will have warm clothes that fit, and that consequences for bad choices may be uncomfortable but will not involve physical pain. These moments are quiet and reflective. There is no super anything involved.

I will, however, say this: this week, for the first time, I am thankful that I was placed in an alternative education school for the past few years. I find myself constantly using techniques at home that I use at school (often with much more success at home). If I hadn't taught here the past few years, my toolbox would have considerably less in it, and I might have felt as if I couldn't handle this. When he gives me a hard time about going to the end of the driveway for the garbage cans, I recognize that it is in part fear of being on the street where I cannot defend him. When he tells me things about his past, I know he needs me to vocalize that I believe him. I know that he needs to be consistently noticed when he works to adjust to a home with structure. Thank you for remembering to ask me before you pick up the remote. Thank you for remembering to put the toilet seat lid down. Thank you for remembering to rinse your dish and put it in the sink. I recognize that he needs to feel heard and seen for all of the things that he does right after feeling so rejected and wrong for all of these years.

I don't feel that I'm special in being able to recognize these things, though. It is not some rare talent. Now, being able to show a nine year old how to build a redstone powered railroad in minecraft and push pigs, cows, and sheep on it for a farm merry-go-round... THAT may be rare mom talent. ;-)

You too could do this. You know that, right? You could do this, and when you make a mistake you could own it just like I do... to be a good model for taking responsibility and making positive change.

I know. I am afraid of the system, too.  It is flawed at best, and my heart has been broken. I still carry photos on my phone of kids who have tattooed their names and faces on my heart forever. Those children will never think that I did not fight for them though. They need to know they're worth it.

So if you see me as super, look in the mirror and see the super in you.

Growth charting

On the first day he came to us, he refused to acknowledge any bad choice or mistake he made. He would blame it on someone or something else - whatever and whoever was nearby.

*note: I really need to come up with a name to use here. Leaving him without a name feels like an injustice... he has been nameless for so long.  I will decide on one before my next entry.*

My first inclination was to argue and make him acknowledge and take responsibility for his actions, but then I stopped to think.

Every single time he has acted out or inappropriately in any way, there has always been a trauma root to the behavior.

I let it go, and I asked him later why he did it.

He thought a while, and then he told me that if he said he did it, he would definitely be in trouble and get punished. If he said he didn't, maybe I'd believe him and he wouldn't get punished at all.

I asked him what "punished" looks like. In his ridiculously articulate, sage way, he told me that he didn't know, and that was the problem. "I don't know you guys yet, you know?"

I explained that honesty always works better in our house, and that I will always respect him more for owning his mistakes when he makes them.

Ever since, for the smallest thing, he says, "Oh, sorry - I got distracted," or, "I didn't realize it was so breakable." He owns it every single time. Hell, he's better at the whole concept than I am at this point. We take a moment each and every time to thank him for his honesty. On the tougher ones where there might actually be a chance of a consequence, we tell him how proud we are of him for taking a chance and thank him for trusting us to not hurt him when he makes a bad choice.

I am stunned at how willing he is. A kid who, I am told, never so much as allowed anyone to touch his shoulder will now jump into my lap or throw his arms around me spontaneously when I walk in from work. He has suffered so much and yet is so resilient.

I teach kids who have given up. He has not. I intend to do whatever it takes to keep it that way.

From last week.

A few moments:

I took him to buy sneakers. The ones he was wearing were ill-fitting and full of holes. He picked a pair of Adidas with a clamshell toe, but they didn't have his size. I ended up ordering them. After walking out of the outlet store with one pair in hand, one pair on foot, and a third on order, he turned to me and happily exclaimed, "These are so cool! No one has ever even worn them before!" My heart broke, and I had to fight the urge to go back in and buy three more pairs. 

I love both his smiles... the one he shows when he thinks he should be smiling, and the real one when his eyes match.

He is happy go lucky on the outside, but there is so much stress contained within. At the mere mention of a county or agency worker, he will spontaneously get a nosebleed and a stomachache. When I told him he was staying, out of his nine year old mouth came a 50 year-old, "Finally! Permanency!" and a hundred questions about how it could all go wrong. For the first 48 hours, he worried silently and was stunned when one of us would sit him down and "read his mind" about what was bothering him. I doctored more nosebleeds than I can count over those two days. He is beginning to believe it now - that we do want him, even after he makes mistakes, and that he can stay.

From earlier this week.

We read a chapter a night. He crashes halfway through, his head in my lap and my non-book hand smoothing his hair. I stay there, watching his lidded REM eyes dart back and forth. Is he dreaming? A nightmare? And if it is a nightmare, can he still sense me here? If sitting here until my back is stiff would keep his dreams free of the monsters that never stop chasing him, I’d do it. I’d stay up all night to slay his dragons... and hopefully in time teach him that he can slay them on his own.
I wonder if he will ever know how his stories break my heart, or how his grateful grin at being cared for melts it all back together again, over and over a hundred times.

 If there is one thing I must achieve, it is convincing him that he deserves better.

Don't let anyone tell you that you're not brave.

We signed him up for Tae Kwon Do. It's excellent for focus, self-discipline, a positive place to put negative energy, and exercise.

He did not know what to expect. There were bellyaches and complaints.  He had a moment of sheer panic when my wife took him to visit the dojang. There were tears... and eventually he managed to articulate that he was afraid of getting hurt. More than that, he was worried that he would have to get hit and kicked over and over again in order to make him tough and brave. It was heartbreaking to hear because I know the fear comes from somewhere.

This morning, when I woke him to get ready for his lesson, he told me that he didn't think he could go because his stomach was "dead".  We had an early dinner last night, so he agreed to eat some oatmeal and see how he felt. He was just generally off... complained about his stomach, about the "monkey suit" that he had to wear... but he was talking and not just being grumpy or acting out. I pulled him onto my lap, and I told him that Tae Kwon Do is something that I think he will really enjoy. I reassured him that I would never take him to anyone I thought would ever hit him or push him to toughen up by beating on him, and that I would throw myself in front of him if anyone ever did (he found the mental picture of this pretty amusing). I asked if he thought he could trust me on it and see what happened. He reluctantly agreed.

The Master at the dojang is an older gentleman - soft-spoken, kind, and quietly insistent upon respect. He is exactly what the child needs.  I was so impressed with the way the little guy received the instruction, too - eye contact, full attention, and he has a natural talent. After about five minutes, his whole demeanor changed, and he was all smiles. He's actually good at it. If I can speak of such things in musical terms, his movements were staccato sharp. I was really impressed.

After the lesson, I told him how great he did during the lesson and how absolutely proud I am of him for taking a chance on something that made him nervous. "Don't ever let anyone tell you that you aren't brave. You had every reason to be scared today because of things you remember, and you decided to trust me enough to try something new. That's something even some grownups aren't brave enough to do."

His little face lit up, and he threw his arms around me and buried his face in my shirt. He stayed like that, squeezing me for some time.

There were a million unspoken words... half his, and half mine... and yet in those few moments, we understood each other perfectly.

I adore that little boy.

Fuzzy.

He has been hanging with my parents when I am at work (mostly half days this week while I am running around for school registration, coordinating health providers, etc). It’s a very early start - we need to be out the door by six. Usually he is chattering away by the time we leave the driveway. Today, he was out like a light within a few miles of leaving the house.
Neglected as he had been in terms of proper nutrition, he’s just a little sprite of a thing. I carried him in from the car... he startle-jumped when I reached for him, but once he realized it was me, he latched on tight and nestled into the shoulder of my down coat.
These tiny snapshot moments come and go. When was the last time someone just scooped him up? (and when was the last time he allowed it?). It is in these little moments of vulnerability that my heart swells the most.

Entry 1

"Finally, permanence!"

It is the first thing he said when I told him that he had been placed with us and would be living here with us from now on. He had worried that if he didn't find a family who thought he was "good enough", he would have to go to a group home.

He is nine and has been in foster care for over a year.  I will make no comment on his biological parents except to say that they have not done what they needed to do in order to prove that they are capable of raising him.

There are a thousand things I'd love to put down here, but much of what I record for him and for posterity will be privatized in order to protect his privacy and meet the regulations that have been set for me. I will not be able to post photos of his face.

I will also not give the details of what he has suffered. He has the right to tell that story in his time and in his way, and I will not betray his trust in me.

Most of this blog will be little snapshots of moments that give a glimpse into our world and into his growth.

I adore this little boy.