We've been waiting and hoping, fairly patiently, for news on the adoption front now that the holidays are past us. Hoping to hear something more about Mark M., or to receive a broadcast about another child matching the profile we submitted. This week we got both.
On Tuesday, a teacher preparation day at work (no students), I sat in my classroom at the computer, gushing over photographs sent from another of the couples in our training class. Our friends Mr. & Mrs. Y were matched with three children before Christmas and met them in Houston last weekend. I wish I could share the photos of the adorable new family. They had pizza, went to Build-a-Bear and the aquarium, hugged and cried and prayed and smiled. Such a rush of joy and envy I felt as I viewed them. A success story in the making, I was so happy for them and so hopeful for us at the same time.
In an unfortunate coincidence of timing, our caseworker emailed me about 30 minutes later about Mark M. She had finally received a communication from the CPS caseworker on his side, whom she'd been emailing about the status of his placement. She asked whether any decision had been made on a home for him. The six words we got in response:
Not yet, will let you know. Thanks.
I think about Mark sometimes, what he's doing, how the waiting must feel for the child. Earlier this month we attended an adoption support group meeting with our agency, part of the state's mandatory continuing education for approved families. From this particular meeting we left more discouraged than supported, as we heard two families share stories of submitting their home studies for children, being matched (chosen by the children's caseworker to be the parents), and then receiving the massive file history and finding details that made it impossible for them to move forward.
I asked one woman, the wife of a prominent local architect, if I might speak to her a bit more about their inability to adopt the teen girls for whom they'd been chosen. We've been trained to view these files, I said. We know what's in there — the abuse, the neglect, the terrible details — so how is it that you get to that point and you can't accept what's in the file? She relayed to me the girls' story, how their birth father was their pimp and sold them to his friends and on the internet for sex. With pain in her voice she explained how the girls, already teens, would need years of therapy before they could function in any home, having been so tortured by their initial "family." She talked about the guilt you feel when it seems God is leading you to these children and then you must say no, because some situations are just that bad. How could she stand it, I wondered?
We didn't have to wait long to find out.
On Thursday, Shawn and I received a second broadcast about available children, asking whether we wanted to submit our home study to their caseworker. I was so excited to receive the email, and even more so when I saw that there were two children this time — an option we had been open to since there are so many sibling groups in the system. M & K are 9-year-old twins, a boy and a girl, Caucasian, possibly in the metro area. Viewing photos of them at the Dallas World Aquarium made it feel so close, so possible. I emailed and called Shawn and we began pouring over their information.
I read the girl's file first. Dark hair, bright blue eyes just like Shawn's. Left handed, like me. Struggles in school, eager to please, loves her twin brother. The poor child had been physically abused, malnourished and neglected by her birth mother, and was adopted with her brother at age 3 by their aunt and uncle. Now, at age 9, M & K are in foster care with the state due to physical abuse of both of them by their adoptive family, their own biological relatives. The report read:
K has experienced a significant amount of loss in her short life and has a great need for long term stability.
I wanted to provide this for her. I opened her brother's file, expecting a similar description. As I read, my heart sank. At age 9, the boy is on anti-psychotic medication. He's been institutionalized twice in a psychiatric hospital. He would urinate & defecate in his bedroom, steal from peers, destroy property and hoard food. He's expressed suicidal thoughts, aggressive behavior, and has reportedly set a fire. For those who don't know, a child with a preoccupation with fire is almost as dangerous as it gets. Cruelty to animals is the only behavior that is a worse indicator of psychiatric instability in kids.
So we said no. We had to. And it made us feel like dirt. Because who will help them? Doesn't that boy deserve a home, a chance? And who are we that we won't make that happen for him? The guilt is excruciating. I now understood what the woman in our support group meant, and even though she was further along in the process, a bit of how she must've felt.
In a matter of days, I envisioned us joyful, with our new child or children, eating pizza and buying stuffed bears. And I pictured us destroyed and defeated, having taken on a psychotic boy out of desperation or guilt and living to regret it. Moving forward from this week of disappointment — mixed with the thrill
of happiness for our friends who will soon bring their kids home for
good — I can't help but guard my heart, and check my email with a bit more trepidation.
