This post is really about me. I’ve talked a lot about Naso’s transitions, but I’m hesitant to talk about mine. I’m so far from perfect. My friend today reminded me that we all are so far from perfect. So, read with caution. I’m going to lay it on the table.
I love this little boy. I am quite surprised at how attached I am to him already. It only took a couple of days to go from . . . ”what do I do with this person that is now a part of our family,” to “I feel like he has been with us forever.” He is loving, physically and emotionally. He says everything in his little mind which makes it easy for us to help him transition – there is very little guessing involved. Although, that quality is one that makes me want to wear “ear protection.” He has accepted our routine. He does his daily jobs with little complaining. He sits through 3 hours of church like a champion. He and Nora have some sibling rivalry which is very comforting in a way. They play and get in trouble together more and more.
When we were preparing for Naso, our Social Worker told us to be prepared for the fact that he would not appreciate that we are “saving” him. I thought, “No problem. I’m an adult. I can take it.” It turns out, I can’t take it. When Naso is a little rebellious and I say it’s time to practice counting, he says, “I wish I wasn’t in this family.” When he asks for a remote control car and I tell him he can save up for it by doing jobs or he can put it on his birthday list, he sometimes says, “I wish I lived somewhere else.” Often, when I tell him he is done with television, I hear, “I wish I was with my dad.” Sometimes on a particularly rough day when I discipline him, he will say, “I want my mom . . . not you.”
Here’s what I know. Naso has never known his real father. His mother did not even want the hospice to know who he was because of his violence. The “dad” he is talking about is his mother’s boyfriend who used to abuse her and spent a lot of time drinking. The police even asked him if he would be willing to take Naso and he declined. Naso has spent much of his life homeless. He talks a lot about the time he was with his mom and they lived on the street or in a place with dirt on the floor and broken windows and sometimes he didn’t have lunch or dinner. His mom died with him by her side.
Even knowing all I do about Naso’s background . . . . I am a selfish person and his comments pierce me. Most of the time, I say something like, “Sorry. We are yours forever. You are stuck with us.” Sometimes I pull him on my lap and hug and kiss him and tell him I love him. Sometimes I ignore him completely and leave the room while he continues to repeat the insults. Once in a while, I lose it and say (a little heated), “Go ahead . . . . .” I always regret that, immediately. Definitely not what he needs to hear. And, a big no-no according to all of the adoption seminars and books I’ve viewed.
These episodes are getting farther in-between, but they weigh on me. And the days following a “blow-up”, Naso’s anxiety returns and he is a little more difficult to manage. There is some distance. We are both affected. All because I am having a hard time not feeling accepted.
I have said this before, . . . I thought I was saving a little boy. It turns out he is saving me. I am grieving and changing and growing. And, it is painful.
Follow Up: I wrote the above, a couple of weeks ago on a very bad day. I didn’t have the courage to post it and I didn’t have the desire to post anything since then, but I’ve had plenty of time to reflect and change strategies.
Me teaching Naso what he needs to know for First Grade is not as important as Naso feeling safe with his Mom and family.
When he makes those comments that pierce my heart, he is really testing me to see if I’m serious about keeping him.
When he talks about all of the wonderful things he did before, it is all a bit skewed because what else do you do when your life was so crummy that you wished it was different.
Naso is a wonderful, loving boy and we are fortunate to have him. When he cries, it breaks my heart. When he lashes out, I try to picture him where he was before, and that’s when I take him in my arms and tell him I love him, and I’m glad he was brave enough to come home with us.
