Grief

During a work-related phone call taken in my office this morning it surfaced - that connection, the absolute understanding that only another adoptive parent can have.  The knowledge of what it feels like to parent kids that have gone through so much in their short lives, kids that grieve real losses, BIG losses, losses that no child should ever have to experience.  The caller asked how things were going.  She choked up (wasn't this phone call supposed to be about the latest water conservation certification program?); I did my best not to.  She knew.  She understood exactly what I was doing and feeling last night.

One of our kiddos seems to be moving into an new phase of their* transition into our family.  They are opening up.  They are allowing feelings to surface that they have been keeping buried for quite some time.  They are feeling sad.  They are needing reassurance.  They are trusting more and snuggling more and asking for more support.  It is scares them and it hurts.  They are re-testing boundaries.  Sometimes, like last night, it leads to really big feelings.  Feelings that don't easily go away - even with hours of cuddles and back rubs and hugs and kisses and soft words and accepting silence from mommy - until sleep finally overtakes them.  Fitful sleep.  Sleep that can only sustain itself in the safety and warmth of mommy and daddy's bed, where they can velcro their small body to either mommy or daddy's side all night long.

Last night was rough.  While its easy to hold and love and support my kids when they're hurting (its truly an honor to have the opportunity), it tears me up to witness such an optimistic, joyful, and brave child feel so big and hurt so much.  It's rough not being able to talk about it because we don't have enough shared language yet to talk about things like feelings that aren't concrete.  It heartbreaking to wake up the next morning and sneak quietly out the door without waking them up to see how they're doing in order to ensure they get as much sleep as they can before another day at school.

In retrospect (there's never enough time in the moment) it's almost just as painful to pick them up at school the next day and be greeted by a huge smile and excitement for the day's accomplishments.  When questioned, their teacher reported that they had a great day.  How can these kids experience and process so much and still wake up the next morning ready to take on the world by its horns?  I am continuously left in heart-wrenching awe.

Family.  It's starting to mean something.

 *Ambiguous pronouns used to protect the privacy of our kids.