I love this boy with all my heart and soul. I know that. Now. Finally. But it wasn't always like that. I know you may judge me for what I'm about to say but I have to say it. Because it is our story. Our truth. Our life.
It took months. No actually it took years for me to love him. I realize how wrong that might be to say but I'm saying it. I am saying it because it is nothing but the truth for me and my family. It is the truth for many others I imagine. The truth for some who are unfortunately living in that hell right this moment, and for those who may one day walk down that painful dark path.
The journey to loving my son was the most difficult thing I have lived through to this day. If you are not an adoptive parent you will not understand. If you are an adoptive parent and you fell madly in love with your child good for you. I have lived that side of the story as well. But for those of you that have walked in my shoes or are walking in them, hold on tight. At the end there is always hope and healing for your family.
It was a few months ago I realized I loved him. I was napping with Mimi in the guest bedroom and Abraham was in his crib on the other side of the house. I heard a fire alarm. It was loud. It was in my dreams. Then I realized it was real. I jumped up. I had no idea what was happening or where the fire was. But I knew one thing. I would be running through open flames to get to my son in every attempt to save him. I would die doing so. I ran out of the room and down the hallway. There were no flames. It was the neighbors damn fire alarm going off because of yet another meal she must have burned. But I realized then and there that I loved my son. And no matter the bumpy road we had for many a years, he was now my world, my heart, my soul, my everything. And if anything happened to him, I might as well bury myself beside him in a grave of grief.
I know this sounds like any mother declaring her unconditional love for her child. But its not. See I didn't always love this boy as I mentioned above. I know that may be wrong to say, but it is the truth. I wanted to love the chubby little 8 1/2 month old with an angel face that was placed in my arms in that orphanage in Ethiopia. But from day one he was so difficult. He rarely slept more than a couple hours at a time. He refused to let you hold him or cuddle him or even feed him a bottle. Nope. He had to be placed in the corner alone with his bottle to suckle it down. He was demanding. Even as I prepared his bottle for him he would scream bloody murder until I tossed it into his arms. I could never go fast enough for him. It seemed like whatever I did wasn't good enough for him. He always wanted more. And when he was given more, it was never enough. He still was angry. He still was withdrawn and disconnected. He still was in his own world. It seemed like I was never good enough for him. He didn't want my comfort. If he was upset I would pick up my baby boy and talk sweet and tenderly to him. This would only piss him off more and cause him to become even more and more hysterical until he vomited in complete despair. I couldn't stand it. I tried to comfort him. To love him. To adore him. But everything I did just seemed like it made him even angrier and more upset. Which then in turn made me angry. And upset. And filled with despair.
It was hard. To say the least. I didn't want to parent this child. I shouted that fact at David through my grief more than once. He made so many things so difficult. Every single day was a struggle. And as he grew he only became more difficult. Although he did began connecting to us. To a point. But is was always on his terms. He still had behaviors that most children who were loved and nurtured since birth didn't have. He had (and still has) major control issues. Parenting him takes more patience than I ever thought possible.
Luckily one day I came across this book
http://www.amazon.com/The-Connected-Child-healing-adoptive/dp/0071475001.
And began researching the work of Karen Purvis who wrote the above book. And the light bulb turned on in my head. I realized finally. All of his behaviors, the aggression, the lack of connection, the control issues had nothing to do with me. Or my husband. Or our family. It was all a result of my son's past and the fact that his first eight months of life he lived in a way no infant or child should ever have to live. My son is a survivor. He is a survivor of neglect. That is for certain. And possibly physical abuse. At least that is one account from a little girl who was verbal in the orphanage where he lived those first 8 1/2 months. He learned after just weeks in the orphanage that crying wouldn't get him what he needed. So he sat alone in his crib, in complete despair. No one held him, loved him, adored him like he should have been. And this changed everything for him. His little brain changed for the worse. Brain connections became disrupted and damaged. And he suffered. Night after night. Day after day. His brain would never again be the same as it could have been.
And even with the consistent love and care from us 8 1/2 months later, the damage was already done. To a point. But we learned we could help him. We could heal his post traumatic stress and pain. And we began to do that. It was difficult. So difficult to hold a screaming tantruming toddler. Whispering to him that he was safe even as he kicked you in the head in a fit of despair. But we perservered. We continued following the advice from the woman who was an expert of parenting children "from hard places". And with time it paid off.
My son loves me. I know this for sure now. Not only because about 12 weeks ago he told me so for the first time in that sweet boy voice "I love you too mommy", but because I know. We look into one another's eyes with a loving connection I longed for since before I became a mother. That loving connection that took months and years to form. When he is upset or hurt he now runs into my arms and wants nothing but my love, comfort and adoration. Which I gladly give him. As I said before. He is my heart. He is my soul. He is my everything. He has taught me that love has no boundaries, that love is being patient and kinder than I ever thought I could be. That love is sticking with one another even through the awful horrible times of complete pain and despair. My son is a survivor. He has lived through more pain and loss than I probably will know in this life time. And for that, today and every day after, he will always be my little hero.
I love you Abraham. I would not be the person I am today without you buddy. You have made me a stronger, kinder, and better person. I owe you the world for that. And until I breath my last breath I will gladly give you my world.
