For the love of God, I am his mother( or getting removed out of a grieving mothers support group )

I usually write these blog entries for me and usually are stunned that anyone besides me reads them. But today if you read this  and your heart hurts for me, Ty or Mike  . Please share this . Share this for every parent who did not birth their child and fights the stigma of being less of a parent because our child grew in our hearts not under it . Share this for me because if I lost my biological 3 1/2 year old , I would not be getting challenged on how deep my grief is . But because my 19 year only lived with us for that same time span somehow my grief because I am not bio mom is viewed as less.And anyone who knows my relationship with my son knows it was more , more for both of us, for the 3 of us and as a family more than we ever could have dreamed, any of us.

I found a mothers support group online and while I am devastated by what happened and I will not share the group name as this was an admin decision and not the group of very sweet woman in mourning .I liked the group as it was for moms who had lost their child separate from a miscarriage. Because of the layers of losing a child you are carrying , the group had a specialized support group for the moms who never got to have time with their angels. Which I thought was sweet and sensitive. I liked the group , I liked having people in all stages of losing their children and seeing stories and support around things you feel so isolated with.

I have been working with my therapist a lot lately , Folks who read this and  have lost a child will understand. I am not suicidal . However the loss of such love in my life has left me tired, devastated and with no will to be here. I will occupy the space and folks call me a warrior or champion , but that's not the case . My child is gone , this world is so hateful right now , I will be here but its hard to care why . Am I going to kill myself , no . Do I have a will to be present in life , no. Its been a private struggle that I have been dealing with and supported by Ty. It's Not something you publicly say but now I feel I need to because if I was suicidal , this would have been the straw....

This was the blow by blow of my morning via messenger

admin: seeing your post , was your angel adopted 

yes

at what age did you adopt him 

16

you know our group is only for biological mothers 

I did not know that , I am sorry I am his real mother

I understand your pain is just as great as all the other mothers in this group. But this group is set up for biological mothers only We will have you in our thoughts and prayers but I have to remove you from the group . I hope you understand . Sending you prayers of strength and peace , If you every need someone to talk , I am here .

For folks who may not have had this impact set in: here it is.I was just removed from a group of mother who support each other over the loss of their children because I did not birth Michael.Really one more knife in my heart. I was just cast out of a group of the one place I saw folks understand because "your not the birth mom " Thank you for praying for the mom you just took additional support from. Yes its their group they can set it how they want but here I am sharing and caring and feeling like wow a place to check in and bam not welcome because well why , the message for me felt like  again your not his real mom . This is not a boycott call because most of these members wont know why I am not there. They are grieving moms like me , they need their space , but its incredibly fucked up to not be validated becasue of biology.

There are not any support groups out there for parents of adopted children who passed and do you know why? Its becasue we unlike birth parents do not distinguish . He was not my adopted child , he was my child who came home via adoption not labor and delivery . Every feeling and loss these moms have I also am experiencing becasue he was my son. I fought a hard battle to educate folks about creating your family through adoption , every adoptive parent deals with those little stings and jabs. But to be discounted in the depths of pain over my child's death becasue my vagina played no part in creating our family, oh my God .

My son's birth mom has not been in the picture since according to Mike he last spent time with her at 7 years old at some visits. It was fuzzy details for him because she was not a piece of his life. I find that sad , not just for him but her too. She missed out on one hell of a child. But who Michael was when he left this earth, she could not answer, I could. Its not a slam or judgment just reality. She was his biology, I was his parent . I am his parent. I am his mother and always will be. And when my time here is over , I will be with my son again. I am proud that adoption created our family and sickened that in our society people still challenge the love adoption creates as equal.

For folks who cannot comprehend  a non bio mom being a real mon , here is what us "other " moms do or a sample from my life

• soothed my child's fears on his first day of school , made his lunch every day 
• ate dinner as a family every night 
• helped create his IEP, worked with dyslexia specialists and spent about 2 hours each night helping him gain reading skills and do homework
• cried to see him dressed up for prom
• prayed the first time he had a serious medical procedure
• advocated for the correct treatment of his migraines
• let him curl up with me and cry when he was upset about friend or boyfriends

sound familiar , yep that's what moms do. And while I never had  that moment in the delivery room , here is what we also deal with as "non bio moms" as we clean up the damage left by others. Not just me but so many adoptive parents. This is why our bond is just as strong as a birth bond , its the miracle created when our children feel safe in life and blossom into their best selves.

• hug your child and soothe them without changing your loving expression and then quietly going to the bathroom to puke because the horror of the abuse your child suffered and just told you is too much  and murder seems rational at that moment
• Find out some of your child's medical issue were caused by physical abuse / stay strong while letting them process the hurt and anger around it
• Being challenged in new and exciting ways with PTSD because your child loves you so much but fears you will abandon them like every other adult they trusted. 
• Cleaning the ants up and convincing your child you will always feed him, no hoarding food needed
• Fighting with every ounce of your being to let your child see your love for them will never waiver  

and lastly something I never want any parent to do :but me, me the non bio mom did. Me, his mother did . Me, the woman, the mother who should have never had to do this with Michael

• have your entire family come to tell you your child is dead
• watch your partner who you both worked so hard to create a family with, die a bit inside 
• go see your son at the mortuary not knowing what he would look like after the accident
• hold your dead child
• plan your sons funeral
• wake up each and every morning without  him and figure out how to go on.

I am Michael's mother I am not ashamed that that is through adoption. But for me how he came is no matter but its obviously a big deal to others. You do not need to demean my role and love in my child's life to make you feel better about the role in your child's. He came and we love him and parts of us break each day without him. I think adoption is wonderful but folks its not a plan b its not less than birth. In fact being given a child who has no real reason to trust or love and be able to have them give you both, that is birth, that is  the miracle , the gift given by God to our families.

For all of my people who celebrate how we became a family and support families being created through adoption with the same merit as birth , I love you . For those who can only ramble on about Mikes past abuse this is why I need you to shut the fuck up for a while. Mike is my son, I don't need him validated as a cautionary tale on foster care or the triumph of love over darkness. Right now like any other mom, I just need to be his grieving mom and he our lost angel . 

I am just Michael's, why cant I just be his mom ?

I am not his biology but I bleed when you stab me me around his memory. And me willing to trade my life for his has nothing based in biology just pure love.

The rant of the broken

For anyone who has never done energy work with therapy, I seriously recommend it. It hurts like hell, physically when they hit the stuck energy, you almost puke and the guttural sounds coming out of your body are truly like an animal in a trap. But it’s worth it, your head is clearer after.

I keep hearing this term gas lighting, honestly I never paid it much mind, well cause my thoughts have been elsewhere lately. The long and short of it is that you live in toxicity and see the truth but others convince you you are the crazy one. You believe it and become that crazy one without a grounding in reality. Your memories are imposed on you and you never know what is real so you create it. My life is a blank tape from about 11-21. I have no wish to piece it together, I trust some peoples filling in and have learned others flat out lied to me for their perceived payback, which I guess is fair enough but I no longer owe penance to anyone .I am done, the belief that locked me in are gone , fuck you , moving on .

This rage is freeing because it’s clearing out the shit literally. I will move forward in my life with love and honor to my child but from now on the love does not place you above me, If you know me this is hard , But its work that has to be done.

The past few days have gotten harder and harder.2 nights ago a friend pulled me from that abyss where all the monsters under our bed live, where each ounce of fear and self-loathing is measured and counted with precise and controlled lashes to the soul. The place in me that preaches love that I imparted to Michael that love is important was dying quick. Jayodin thank you for grounded me back to sanity.

Flash ahead to my therapist office, and she asked me the question I think alot of folks have wanted to ask. Do I have any will to be here anymore? The answer is no. The struggle and the loss compounded is too much too soon. I am tired too tired at times to fight for me. I really do not like sharing this, however for folks who lose too much too quick or lose their child, someone has to admit we go there. Please understand this is not suicidal. I have no desire to end my life, I would never devastate Ty or in the next life Michael. But my will, my energy, my desire to be here and engage really engage is waning at times. Every time I see hate spewed or joy of others pain it breaks me down. When people are sharing my life and my sons history  publically after I have asked them to stop, I channel anger. Will is desire and while I do not have the will to end it, the will to engage or make it better fails me.

For those out there holding me up as a badass, that lesson of how to survive, stop. Stop putting me in that place of giving you false hope that bad things happen and we all come out ok. I am not in this instance a badass. I am a mother who lost her child too soon, her parents too soon together, her health and her world, too soon. I am not that badass you want me to be, I am in fact broken. And my need to hide how broken has done me no favors.

Confessions of a Crazy Lady

Michael wanting to get our of North Dakota to Oregon and HOME!!!

Over and over, I hear from people: Friends, family, acquaintances how well I am doing, how strong I am, how they do not know how I am holding this together. When I hear theses accolades of support and love, first off I am completely melted and humbled by the support given to me and the faith in my strength people see. Secondly, I think to myself if this is mourning you "well", I would hate to see badly.

People are wonderful machines are we not? Our bodies all have the basic mechanics under the hood, but our floor model options and customization are endless. Some of us inspire to be sleek, luxury models that show opulence and turn heads. Others fuel efficient hybrids: peppy with great miles. Some of us are like Ty: a big ass pick-up truck that looks all intimidating, but is there to help you move and come on really everyone likes a truck.

Me, I am like a 67 VW bug. Everyone loves my eclectic paint job, my bumper stickers. But get up close and I am a hot freaking mess. You can see the holes in me. A VW bug classic, well you may not have heat, the gas fumes may kill you, the wiper does not work but by God you can drive it into the ground. And the next day after you drive it into the ground, it will still start again. I am that VW bug, I get up every morning. I do not want to but I do. The pragmatic part of my being knows the only thing I can do is mourn my child, I cannot bring him back. So each day I turn the heart over and start again , there is no choice but to do so.So much like the rusted out sputtering bug , I putter through the day and folks marvel at that engineering miracle that somehow keeps me standing.

I guess there is a way to not mourn well, to keep it locked inside or to play the I wish or what if game until you win the grand prize of victimization and bitterness. I cannot play that card, one because my internal owner’s manual cannot go there but more importantly because of Michael. My son never ever bowed down to the victim card. He tried to own his demons and his history. He knew they hurt him, they affected how he looked at life and how he interacted with people. Sometimes he did it well, sometimes not so much but he learned each time and went forward. To roll over and die would be an insult to my child and everything he was working for his life. Too many people discarded my child in his early life. My job as his mother is to celebrate the life he created when he came home and embrace his light even though the fire of my grief is searing.

When I talk about my son, I always think of angel chimes at the holidays. That beloved little piece of whimsy where you light the candles underneath and the heat and smoke moves the angles up top and the chimes. That’s his memories and the piece of him that comes back to me to live on. Light and warmth with the sole purpose bringing joy. When I share him with you, its because of how amazing he is and is selfish for me: as his mother I will carry him in my heart and his memories to my own grave. As his mother, I should have never out lived my child. So no I carry his legacy so he sees how much I love him still and how proud I am of my child. I the ultimate hippy car spreading love and light in now the stardust that Michael is composed of.

What folk’s don’t see is the inevitable breakdown of the machine. Where I stand beside myself, kicking the tires. The hardest part of losing him is accepting no new memories, no continuation of my family, no college graduation, no grandchildren, no seeing my son as a happy adult. My battery can be jumped by moment s of being present in the world, with Ty and people I love. But that internal spark that is gone. Spiritually my son comes through and does pull me from that muddy ditch of despair, but him in flesh that is never again. And that is so fucking hard, It’s where I spit and sputter and screech and scream. It’s where I fight life in the most primal part of me and the deepest part of our reptilian brain. Fight or flight. Flight from this world is not an option so fight it is. 

I rage and I mean rage. I love my son through my soul, into the marrow of my bones. Bringing him home reshaped my DNA, it created pathways of great love, I never thought myself capable of. In those same pathways now where the Oxytocin once flowed, the love hormone, another substance sometimes flows and boils. It is rage pure white anger. I want my child, but my want cannot change our reality. I wake up thinking about him, I fall asleep with him on my mind. I still think I cannot wait to show this to him or that to him, and then the ball pin hammer re shatters my heart. I hold my breathe hoping against all hope his car is in the front of the house when I pull in. I lay in bed and stare down the hall waiting for him to come in late and come by to see if we are awake, to say goodnight. I go in his room to just catch his scent and my body at times physically hurts and abandons me when I just want one more time of him in my arms. I cry numerous times a day, talk to him constantly.

You all see strength, I see illusion and a fraud. Maybe one day I will see what you all see but for now I see a broken woman who really does not know how to put the pieces back without her child. So thank you all for being gentle in the care and feeding of this crazy lady

Michael, I will never leave you and I know you never me. I am trying kiddo, I promise

A letter for my kiddo

Hi Baby
I really do not know how the other life works and I know it is not for me to know yet. But it tickles me to think that somehow after you explore the universe, my child of social media checks in on the ultimate cosmic internet and sees my posts. I know I am kidding myself though because when I write is when I feel the closest to you , On my right side and over my shoulder. This is the time when all these emotions flow on paper and make sense instead of being the hamster wheel to my brain. Yesterday I kept really really busy  from 4 am until 3 am , distraction. Yesterday was hard , too hard to think or feel too much.

90 day  and folks tell me how well I am grieving you , ironically I think I am bat shit crazy most of the time , but I appreciate the  belief in me. I really in 90 days know how much you were and dad and I are loved. Not just family but friends who are family, your friends , so many folks reaching out to offer us just space in love and hope. You used to ask me with all the bad stuff and all the hate, even when I was frustrated did I believe in humanity? This is the answer I always wanted you to see , the lesson was love. That if you tried to love with your heart even risking being vulnerable , the world can find a way to respond in time. Not talking about being perfect, but always going back to the belief that love  moves mountains. It took me decades to embrace that . It took you only 19 years. 90 days ago people did not step in to fill the void left by your passing but anchored Dad and I so the void did not consume us . While we are being spun at 10 gs of force in a tipsy curvy new reality , we have not been sucked into that black hole. There are times when dad and I meld into each other just because we either in tangent feel you with us or search for solace in the space where we are desperate for you.We are surviving and just baby stepping it to living without you and that my child is not easy.

Our first 90 day countdown  began  that January after we were cleared and moving to becoming a family. That 90 days had structure and purpose. Up at 4 am so I could Skype with you before school and dad coming in from work in time to say goodbye to you . drive to work call our adoption worker, juggle red tape, cry when the fight got so big. Drive home from work , grab sandwich turn on computer , watch Skype light up . Talk with you until bed time . Weekend you and dad playing video games via Skype. 155 Skype. You may not know this, I saved everyone of them. A steady and steadfast metronome until March 22 which was the date we either got to take you home or dad took a leave of absence and went to work in the oil fields out there in North Dakota just so one of us could be close to you, so you would know that we meant when we said we would never leave you . You never knew that, but that was plan B if your paperwork did not clear the morning we met you at the house. Those were defining moments for dad and I. We learned how to move the system for you , for us. After the first time you fell apart over the red tape , we called a meeting . And I released the kracken ( aka dad) . The new plan was no one but dad and I were allowed to update you on the cases progress. WE never lied to you but yes we kept the challenges away from you, we let you be the child for the first time and us the parents . We learned we could be warriors not screaming  banshees but systematic , calculated machines to move through a system that would have to kill us before it kept you. Day 90 was our day of when we marked time different , everything else became before Michael.

90 days now and our world is measured into before the accident and after.Our first 90 days our life truly began . These 90 days are pulling our-self out of when our life came to a screaming halt.We watch the world move on and are unsure how we do , if we will , how we get to joy again? I was not a helicopter mom, I let you make mistakes and learn form them, yet I was always in the wings , times you never knew, protecting you . I know I lost you on impact but as your mom , there is a part of me that failed you , I was not there when you left this world. In logic it may not make sense but in mom logic its excruciating. I am sorry baby , If I was there , I would have made that deal with God , I would have given me for you.

This 90 days I have learned a lot. I learned I can bear this pain of losing you because of the 3 and half years of unmitigated pure joy you brought me each and every day. If this is the price of unconditional love , I will pay it because baby you are worth all of it. I learned just how many people are there for dad and I , in big ways ways and small . That people I never thought would care are beyond allies, that we are loved . I have learned that people do stupid things in grief , some boundaries crossed  without a clue on how hurtful or inappropriate . One day I will have to deal with that but not now. Right now , I care only about you , dad and me .

The biggest  lesson is I no longer fear death. I once counted down to seeing you. That was measured , precise  and our life opened the day you opened that door, I know this countdown , I have no control over this time period. But I know this , when it is time for me to cross , dad to cross , it will be you that brings us over . One because I believe that while your soul is free you miss us too and getting to be the big cheese would thrill you . I will continue to embrace this world for you but please know my heart  right now swells with love and shatters simultaneously.

Mom loves you kiddo , forever

God in loss

My life has not always been easy. In my younger years I did a lot of things that sabotaged me and others around me. My move to Oregon was my spur to pull my head out and connect with the light inside me that had been squashed for so long. It connected me to becoming the person worthy of being Michael's mom. In the past years as Ty and I created our family, I have been called many things  ; crunchy, liberal, unrealistic optimist. These labels do not bother me, I like them. They are not untrue. The best labels have been having folks see the unlimited love that is in my soul and a few people having said they can see that part of me that is God.

That part of me opened up when I met my son for the first time and now because I am still not in agreement with God's plan for my child, that door in my soul is a bit jammed up. We talk about God a lot in our daily lives and world. Sometimes now speaking for him : who is worthy, who is saved, who is different. I am not sure we are his best spokespeople at times, with all the hate in his name we can be pretty poor endorsements. But my son brought out the best in me and while he struggled to find his path as a young adult at times and his version of faith, it cannot be denied : My son had those parts of God in him, those loving kind gooey bits of the divine, I am not sure how I feel that now , right now I feel more like Mary than an affinity to God himself. I am a human mother, my child was hurt , I had to give my child back. I however do not yet keep the steadfast faith of the original warrior momma.

What is part of God that lives in us and how do we access it in our darkest hours? The first day I saw my son I say I saw God. I will live by that statement forever. Michael was not like placing a baby in my arms, at 16 and after so much turmoil, I did not know if he would come to me that very cold March morning. I remember pulling up to his foster home and this small blond face at the garage door. He flew and I mean flew into Ty's arms and then mine. He smelled like a woodstove and dove soap, and it was done, that was my kid.

I do not know how other parents experience this but the first willing connect from my son bathed me in a serenity I had never felt before. In all the excitement after so many months and 155 Skypes, there was stillness. Just his heart beat and this warm loving energy wrapping us up. It was maybe a minute but it felt like a life time. In that time frame, I forgave myself and knew my purpose and where the universe had placed me time after time to lead to this child, my child holding me like a life line. There was power in that moment, everything sharper, clearer, less scary. Walls in my heart  that I carried for decades shattered. This moment as a family is what my soul need , what I needed. In that moment I saw God , I knew him. Not in robes or depictions in a church but as our family as non traditional and imperfect ,together perfect with each other and with love that to this day defies death.

The day we lost Michael, was the opposite. All I heard was noise and chaos and the open heart folding in on itself like deflated dough, smothering and weighing down. After losing my parents , Michael leaving was when it felt like any part of God had left me. Michael's brilliance of being part of the divine was that he was not sure of his faith in a religious contact. That made his love, compassion and drive for peace and betterment more magical. He had let some of his demons go, set them free. Some still in cages would rattle the bars and him at times. I got that , my demons do the same. For the most though, he was slowly letting those demons starve, feeding what brought him joy and not pain. He was stubborn and driven and sometimes secretive, yet in the next moment he would open his soul to people in the most disarming and true fashion I have ever seen. He was who he was with no apology and that was the greatness in him . That part now lost that I think would have changed the world or his corner of it.

Its hard for me to open my heart to myself, others and God right now. The heart is too broken, to shredded and at times feeling unworthy. My life 's believed purpose  is now gone and unsure where I go . I shied my heart because the peace that God gave me is disconcerted shrapnel  and the heart at time feels like a useless organ. I continue to try small space after small space, claiming the landscape of my soul back. I am trying because my son now exists where the tangible does not matter , only intention, light and love. When I panic, rear back, its harder for me to sense him, to feel him.But when I lay myself open, broken and vulnerable , that is where Michael  holds me up, makes me smile , gives me permission to engage in life again. I resent the hell out of giving my child back. I see no fairness and I have not yet been ok or made peace with it. But I need my son's presence to sustain me until I see him again. he led me to God once perhaps in healing Michael will lead me back again one day.

Our child you will always be our heart