Disintegration

Isn't there an expression: No news is good news? I guess I get lulled into thinking that when I don't get news about Pedro for a while. Actually, I've just assumed that since he hasn't been living at my parents' house for the past 6 months, things can't be too bad. In my conversation with Mom last night, I realized that might not be the case anymore. Granted, Mom and I are similar in always fearing the worst, but truly, just the details I know sound rather grim.

So, here's a summary of what I know of this kid now: he's gained a lot of weight at the Children's Home b/c his eating is not restricted; he was caught shoplifting two bracelets a few weeks ago and refuses to talk to my parents about it; he "bought" an iPhone from one of the kids in his house, but tried to say Cely gave it to him (b/c of course 10 year olds are able to get iPhones); he choked a kid in the Children's Home a couple of weeks ago b/c the kid talked about him with someone else; he has told my parents that he isn't coming back to their house, but tells other kids that they kicked him and didn't want him anymore; and most recently, his counselor told my parents that he doesn't want any more contact with them at all. In fact, it sounds like he told his counselor that Mom and Dad did all kinds of terrible things to him while he lived there.

My mom was pretty sure any court of law would believe him over the hundreds of people who could be character witnesses for her and my dad should that be necessary. I tried to tell her that surely that couldn't be true; surely no one with any sense would ever think my mom and dad could hurt a kid, even though this particular kid has caused little but pain since they've known him. They are the gentlest, holiest people I've ever known. Maybe I just say that because they're my parents, but I truly believe, after spending time with many other families, that my parents are about as committed to love as a couple can be. It does make me wonder at the purpose for Pedro's presence in my parents' lives. They prayed for 1 1/2 years for the right kids to come their way to adopt, and Pedro and Cely were brought in their lives. And while I think they have some hope with Cely, Pedro has brought nothing but a steady slam of hurt. On the one hand, I know that he no doubt has been through far too much, but my parents were very misled as to the nature of this kid's problems. They didn't even know that he had been adopted previously!

I do believe in adoption, but I'm very concerned about how CPS handled this one. To the bottom of my heart, I believe kids deserve to be loved and cared for and to have a family who provides that, but what if there are cases where the kid is just too damaged? I think we have found one. I don't wish ill to Pedro, but damn it, if a court truly believes him over my parents should it come to that, there is something seriously wrong in our world.

Playing mom

The weird thing, among several, about having new siblings who range between the ages of 10 and 13 when you're in your late twenties is that you often feel very "mom-like". Case-in-point, today. Today, August 2, marked my parents' 30th wedding anniversary. A year ago I started thinking out some fantastic things for us to do to celebrate. A year later, I did none of those. But plans and circumstances are quite different than I anticipated a year ago, so that stands to reason, I suppose.

For one my mom and dad and Cely have come to OH rather than the other way around this summer. It's really great to have them here; it makes me wonder how I will deal with it when they leave. I hate the emptiness that occurs when guests leave. But we still have a few days together. I'm rambling and not meaning to. What I'm actually trying to get at is that today was my parents' big day, and rather than getting to spend the whole day with them and celebrating, Cely and I spent the day with each other. Mom and Dad took a little trip for themselves. It was the first time I've ever spent so much time with just Cely. She can be so quiet and share so little that it's hard to hold a conversation with her, yet she can also be so sweet and lovable. We played games like Battleship and Connect Four together. I took her to see Toy Story 3, which was in 3-D. I didn't know I'd have to pay for 3-D, but her pleasure in watching the movie that way did make it more bearable to shell out the extra dollars.

We also went swimming at the condo's community pool. Of course the regular tanning women were there. Some of them remind me of toasted pita chips they are so thoroughly baked. Personally, I don't find that much tan attractive, but then it's not my call. Anyway, there's this one well-baked woman with nice abs who seems to have three or four daughters who frequent the pool side with her. After I left Cely to play in the pool a little more by herself, the youngest of the those other girls, I think her name is Ella, invited Cely to play tag in the pool. Hearing that strident, pushy voice boss my little sister around made me feel both protective and concerned. Cely, I think, was glad to have someone to play with, but this little girl obviously liked to do things her way and her way only. Cely just kind of went along with it, and I attempted to intervene a little--in as pleasant a way as I know how.

Eventually, another sister joined the game and seemed to balance things out a little. I think Cely liked playing with that other girl better. And finally I called Cely from the pool so that we could get ready to go see our movie.

I guess what struck me was wondering how on earth anyone ever survives parenting. Cely isn't my daughter, adopted or by birth, but my age and hers makes me feel very parental towards her. Watching that little girl boss Cely around made me so angry and then disgusted. I can't help but wonder how any parent can get through the worry about how other kids will treat yours. I love Cely, but I can't make others love her. I can't protect her from the hideous pains that the world can strike her with. And so I only marvel that so many people seem able to function with the fear that must be inside at times.

When love and the best of intentions aren't enough

Isn't it funny how when you don't hear bad news for a while, you start to assume that things must be fine now? I just made that mistake.

Yesterday I was attempting to start on cleaning out my classroom (really I was being entertained by two students who just graduated.) I flipped out my phone and noticed I had four missed messages. How I didn't hear those little trills from my phone that indicate a new text, I have no idea, but there they were sitting. All were from KC. She sounded panicked and/or very stressed. "Pedro is leaving our house today" one said, and "They're moving him to the children's home where I work" said another. "Please call me if you can," ended the last.

What? What? I thought things were ok now. I thought they were ok! I skim through the messages again. Yes, it was all still there. Pedro was leaving. I text KC back b/c I couldn't really call right then. "What happened? Is everyone ok?"

Sometime later, KC responds. "Yes, we're fine. Call me when you can." I work out that I'll try to call her after her flight to OKC lands. In the meantime, after my former students leave, I see that my dad has called, and I return his call. He fills me in on a lot of details. I guess Pedro has been continuing to obsess about this idea of being Mexican. He had a dream where Dad was trying to take out his (Pedro's) blood and fill it with our (white) blood. Apparently, Pedro was sitting on Dad's lap and telling my dad how even if he was dying, Pedro would never want a blood transfusion from anyone other than a Mexican, even if it were from our family. My mom tried to explain to him how there is really nothing different about blood from person to person. Everyone is either A, B, O, or AB. He didn't care. He refused to listen. I guess he got pretty forceful about it, and the scene became really ugly and hurtful. Pedro said things like, "If my real dad dies, are you going to tell me? Or if my real mom dies? If they die, there's no point in living. I'm just going to walk in front of a car." My parents tried to assure him that they don't even know where his biological parents are. Dad didn't go into too many other details, but I can imagine. I've seen how words can fill up a whole room and seep into the hearts of everyone in that room till all you can think and feel are those words. Those words become so heavy, so scarring. They sap your energy and control your focus, and even when everything around you is fine, you're sure nothing is really ok. Everything is really a ruse, and you know the bottom is soon to drop out from under you again. It's just a matter of time.

In her pain and uncertainty, my mom calls the counselor who's been working with Pedro for several years. LeeAnn takes action. She wants to know if Pedro is suicidal because if he is, he has to be admitted to the Pavilian (Amarillo's mental hospital). Mom and Dad have to make Pedro sign an agreement that he won't hurt himself, and if he does want to, he has to first contact these certain people. Then, when Pedro said he wasn't going to hurt himself, LeeAnn said he had to move out of our house. He had to go to a children's home and stay there for a year. Or, I guess the program requires that he stay there for a year. He will have no privileges until he earns them through a point system. Dad said Pedro was leaving that day (Friday). My dad had to take him to the home. Although my mom offered, they were afraid Pedro would turn violent against her. He has no respect for female authority. My dad sounded so sad. I couldn't tell if he felt like he had failed or not; I hope not. I know he and my mom tried so hard to bond with Pedro, but all Pedro wanted to do was play violent video games and watch movies with gangs in them. He wanted to be "Mexican" like his biological family was. He couldn't and didn't want to understand that being Mexican has nothing to do with being in a gang. He refused to do anything with my parents, and I guess things got harder for him because now KC has a job that keeps her away from home a lot.

What I can't decide, and what I guess I won't get to know for a long time, is whether or not this will help or hurt Pedro more. At the end of this year, Pedro will be able to make a choice as to whether he wants to come back to our family and try to live with us, or if he wants to stay in the children's home until he becomes an adult. Should my parents have stuck it out longer and said, "You can stay with us even though you don't want us as family," or is it better for Pedro to get out of the home and be in a different environment? Will that just make him feel more abandoned? My parents didn't really get to choose to send Pedro to this home; they were told he had to go because he hadn't improved in the year he lived with them. I know how hard my parents tried, how they completely changed their lives around to accommodate the arrival of these two children. Cely seems to be able to give and receive at least some love, but Pedro can't.
So I'm left with three questions: one, how can anyone have children and then destroy them the way Pedro has been destroyed? How can the idiotic, selfish choices of people still consume the generations to follow? Two, how will this affect Aracely? Will she be able to stay with our family? Or will she too be trapped in the cycle of violence that has enveloped her family? And three, if the love and commitment of two absolutely unselfish, giving people like my parents aren't enough to heal the brokenness of kids like Pedro and Cely, will anything ever be?

waxing nostalgic

ever have one of those days (or weeks) when you really can't find any purpose for being where you are when you are there? when i was home visiting my family, i felt rather purposeless and thus wanted to be back in oh. now i'm in oh, and all i can think about is how much i miss my family. and it's not like i miss them because we do so many exciting things together, or i have the best time of my life with them. (not that i have bad times, but you know). it's more that i'm craving that connectedness that family gives you. for me, truly, they are the people i count on 100% of the time. they've disappointed and hurt me sometimes--whose family hasn't? but they have never, ever not been there for me or not loved me when i needed them to. they're the people i can assume with. what i mean by that is, think about holidays. don't we all just assume that we'll be with our families? or if something goes bad in our lives, like a job loss or a tragedy of some sort. it is our family that we turn to. you know, i love my friends. i truly do. i know i have been blessed with some truly exceptional people as friends. but i have to say, friends have never, ever been there for me the way my family has. and that is why i think family will always mean more to me than friendship in so many ways. it seems like everytime i've found a friend who feels like family, i move or that person moves, or so and so gets married, or some other normal life event. and i know those are normal life events, and they need to happen. i don't wish to stop life from occurring. but every time a major event occurs, something in that friendship is lost or changed forever. and i'll be honest, sometimes i grieve for what was lost. because then i have to go back and find a new friend until something comes along and changes that, too. so in my life, it seems that friendship is in so many ways something i can't count on forever in the same way i can count on my family. and i guess i'm just feeling the lack of that constancy in my life because my family is so very far away from me. it's been my choice to stay here, in oh, so far from them. i do love so much about living here. i feel strong and confident in a way i've never felt in tx. but i don't feel the same love here, the same sense of absolute trust that no matter what, i can always rely on that same person or few people to just be there. is this what all single people feel? that lack of an anchor? how does one not just curl up with grief and give up? and is this all a sign that i should move back to tx? is that the way to resolve this sorrow i feel? this lack of rootedness? i just really don't know. i just don't know.

and any dear friends who might read this, please don't interpret my words as a slam against you, because that's not what i'm trying to say. anyone who still reads this thing is obviously a friend close to my heart (or voyeuristic!). this is just my way of working through my own shadows.

new obsession

oh, i really should be getting ready to go hang out with friends. i need that--some time away from my new obsession.

i have found when i worry about something, i seek to understand it. so i look up articles, i seek out books, i call and/or email people who might be able to help. such is the case right now, as i seek to understand how to help my family with these post-adoption struggles.

oh, pedro. you kill us, kid. so angry, and we just want to help. my poor mother, who sounds like pedro has pretty much rejected her; my stressed father, trying to be the strong one; my darling sister, the buffer zone; our precious cely, no doubt hurting in her own way; and me, the distant one, wanting to help, wondering if i have to move back to texas, hoping all the pain will quickly recede into a memory everyone is glad to have made it through.

but who really knows? pedro may be going back to foster care a few months if his attitude doesn't change. yesterday i was ok with that. today, i want to think that maybe his anger can be worked through. but i'm still afraid to call home, afraid to hear what i'll hear about the pain since yesterday, afraid to talk to my mom and dad to hear their sides of the story--knowing that that will make my fear for them grow astronomically. i guess that makes me a coward.

i'm not ignoring them, though. i've thought about little else in the last 36 hours. i bought two books today, spent hours on amazon looking up book titles, and emailed a counselor from catholic social services in cincy. i need reinforcements. and my parents need support. i don't know how they make it from day to day.

Unexpected

First of all, thanks for the messages from people reading the blog:) I'm either not tech-savvy enough to figure out how to respond or too lazy to really try to figure it out. Anyway, I appreciate the comments!

Soooo, we've had a bit of excitement in the past couple of days--my dad had to spend the night in the hospital.

Gasp. Yes, it shook me up a bit. I think I get that my parents aren't invincible, but then things happen which remind me of their mortality, and it rattles me a little.

Since we've lived in TX, my parents have made at least one yearly trek via car up to Iowa to visit their respective sides of the family. Apparently, it can take a toll on one's body. Two days ago my dad complained of having a charley horse in his leg. In my infinite wisdom (since I know soooo much about things like that), I suggested that he drink some water as I've read somewhere that charley horses are caused by lack of water to muscles which then spasm. The next morning, when I finally roll off my air mattress and join the rest of the world, Dad tells me he's going to go the doctor's to check on his leg. It's swollen and tender, and he limps around. Mom worries that he has a blood clot and orders him off his leg. Dad, of course, has already been out riding the horse that morning because apparently that hurts less than riding his bike. Um, ok.

As his doctor never returned his call, Dad prepares to head to the emergency room, and I offer to drop him off as I take the kids to the Skate Plex. I plan to pick him up after we're done skating. The skating doesn't pan out, so we head to Transformers 2 (warning: it's really long) and call Mom post-movie. She says nothing about Dad, so I assume he's safely at home and doesn't need a ride. Surprise, surprise. When I get home, Mom informs us that Dad is still at the hospital, he does have a blood clot, and he might have to stay overnight. Mild heart palpitations accompany this announcement, but I make some lame joke, and we proceed with dinner. Then Mom receives a phone call from Dad.
"In the lungs?" she says.
What? What does that mean? I shoot her a glance. She has that focused, serious look that she gets in dramatic situations. When she hangs up, she looks at me.
"They found clots in both his lungs."
"Um, what does that mean? Like, what do they have to do?"
"They'll put him on blood thinner, and they may admit him to watch him overnight. He has to stay off his feet. I guess he got up to change the channel in his room, and a nurse caught him and yelled at him." She grinned at that, but I could see the worry.
So we played the waiting game for a while, wondering what would happen. Eventually Dad learns that he will be staying over night, so he asks me to bring him some things. I ended up waiting with him for an hour or so at night while he waited on his room. It took two hours from the time they said he would stay over night to actually get him in the room. Poor guy didn't get a meal or drink or anything for the 8 hours he sat there. He did learn that it was the long hours in the car that caused the clot to form.

Today he is home, hoping for insurance to kick in. I hate insurance companies. Of course they're going to try to deny paying for any of this. I mean, why would they pay for a health concern? I feel like growling at them. As it is, I must content myself with shaking my fist in the air.

As for Dad I think he'll be ok with some R and R. I get to take the kids places now that we were supposed to do as a family. My only resentment (yes, I am shallow enough to feel that way) is that I really wanted to do some of these things all together. I leave on Thursday. Won't be back for months, ya know. But, well, that's life I guess, and it goes on.

"We are family"

Saturday morning, July 11th. 3:30 a.m.
It almost would have been easier to just stay awake all night to catch my flight to IA. Turns out it's good that I didn't. If I had, I wouldn't have slept at all before meeting my new siblings.

My flight arrived early, and I intended to call my parents to urge them to hurry to the airport. Just so happened that they were early, too, and I saw my dad standing next to a short, dark haired boy with his hands in his pockets. My heart gave a frantic flutter, but I firmly pushed aside my nervousness.
I approached and flung my arms around my dad, who I haven't seen since last December. Then I turned to my new brother.
"You must be Pedro." He nervously nodded. "Oh, come here, you get a hug, too!" I admired his Texas belt buckle and nice clothes. They both were already dressed for my cousin's wedding.
"Mom and Aracely are in the bathroom changing into their wedding clothes. Oh, here they are."
They both receive my wide-armed hugs, and it was finally done--I had met the new sibs.

The events of the past few days have been crammed full of family. My cousin Karla got married, and my mom's family, quite the party crowd, jumped in wholeheartedly for the occasion. It was pretty fabulous. I wondered how Pedro and Cely would do being surrounded by the masses of people that make up my mom's side--she does have 9 brothers and sisters--but they hung in there and seemed to have some fun, too.

We left IA on Monday after lunch and began the looooonnnggg car ride home, finally getting here at 3:45 today, Tues. I taught my new siblings the fun of the Yahtzee handheld game; Cely seemed to get into it, but Pedro gave up quickly. We shared music on our various instruments of music playback options: my iPod, Pedro's mp3 player, Cely's cd player. Pedro and I have discussed some rap songs I know--not too many--but more than my parents know for sure. Cely showed me the song she likes from Magic Tree House (I guess it's a show)--it's a brother and sister singing to each other about how they couldn't live without the other. It's actually really sweet. Pedro likes Eminem and Daddy Yankee.

Pedro is pretty outgoing; he likes to tell stories and drive me crazy if he can. But he can also be very sweet. I can tell family means a lot to him as he constantly tells me of things of the past from his older cousins, older sister, real mom and dad, etc. He sounds like he got in some trouble at school in the past. Cely is quieter in general, but loves to giggle and listen to Taylor Swift and play games. She has a real sweetness about her. Both have huge grins with dimples. Both have new nicknames from their big sister: Cely has been dubbed Cel-Belle and Pedro is PC. (Pedro quickly redubbed Cely "cell phone.") Both hate to read but have to practice 30 minutes a day to help them get better for school this upcoming year. My dad makes them read to him. I guess they're pretty behind in school.

Their life now must be much different than before. I know my parents have different rules and expectations than they've experienced in the past. I know all this getting involved in the Catholic Church has been less than exciting for them. They've been attending a Baptist church with their foster parents.

I can't help but admire my parents for the commitment they're making for the rest of their lives, but particularly for the next several years. However, it's the kids that make me tear up at times. As my mom said to me yesterday, "If their birth parents had any idea what they're missing . . .I just can't imagine how they could give them up." I feel the same way. It's just so hard to understand how anyone could give birth to kids with a lot of needs, but such a genuine sweetness and desire to be loved, and then allow them to be taken away. How could you not fight tooth and nail to be worthy of them? These kids have to relearn so much to belong to this family, and they have to learn to feel a part of a history and a family very different from anything they've ever known. They've been made fun of and put down by other kids because they're not with their real family. I feel infuriated at the thought.

I guess my biggest hope is just that they do feel like they belong in this family, that they soon see that the rules and chores they do here are annoying maybe but a part of being at home. I hope they can see themselves as Sullivans always:) Now I need to go watch that Hannah Montana show with them (bleh). Oh, and see about getting their initials added to my tattoo.