The birthday still in my heart

My three fave pictures of kiddo on his birthday!!!

Because  I know tomorrow will be hard and sorting through my emotions with a concussion even more, I sit in the quiet today and try to just let the wonder of my son and his excitement for life flow. Last night we saw a falling star, clear , steady in course. I am sure it was kiddo , giving us the reminder he is still with us.

Tomorrow December 27th , our baby should be turning 20. More than any holiday or lost night wandering the house searching for him, this day hurts the most. Birthdays the celebration of life and creation. And here it is my crisis of faith again : knowing my son is eternally safe and loved and knowing him , having himself one big glitter dance party, and yet I want my son here, I want to see my son become the man he was destined to be.

Michael more than anything loved his birthday. We talked about it once: after years of being in care where you were never celebrated , never felt wanted anywhere, to have family and friends be there because he existed was pretty cool to him .His birthdays were a validation to his heart  that he did the right thing by never giving up and holding hope his tribe was out there .

In some ways with birthdays we did go overboard, they were in our way the way of making up for years of crappy foster care birthdays. .We made it about him for several days. His first party started the tradition. It was in some ways magical. we had a to be 17 year old acting in some ways like 6. His self and inner Michael running in joy . Much like a toddler going "i want a batman cake, no a dinosaur cake, no a minion cake, the picking out of the cake could have made any bridezilla jealous. What other kids took for granted, picking out your own cake, he had never had. When he could not decide , we bought both .You would have thought we just handed him a million dollars. I remember him saying but mom my cakes are not you or dads favorite. Baby we told him, that is  fine , its about you today, what you like. His beaming could have lit up a small village.

Getting ready for his first party was epic proportions. Since we had so many people coming we rented out a room at a local pizza place.. No one would ever know but he fretted so hard before the party.The kid whose 16th birthday was cake with a foster parent thats it, did not really believe folks were going to show . He changed outfits about 6 times and paced until we got in the car and picked up Brandon and Arik.It was a great night , about 30 people, pizza, cake , laser tag and then his buddies sleeping over.Each time we had these milestones you could see the parts of my sons heart that had gone dark form lack of nurturing light up, each time it created a better part of him he shared with all of us .

The next year , still epic. And we began what he told us was his birthday tradition. Family and friends party , then him off to cerebrate with his buddies. but always mom he said  first with you and dad and grandma and everyone.We spent 3 hours before his party getting his tattoo and him then finding a shirt to hide said tattoo from grandma at the party. Still pizza , still laser tag but the next day out dancing with friends.

This past year not so great , we had just came home from losing my mom and experiencing family freeze . Mike did not want to have a party , he loved my mom  his grandma in a way I do not think he understood and he just wanted low key.We kept the tradition low key: dinner with dad and I then he went and hung with friends. His sadness over mom was that he had not known my mom for long but was enamored with her as much she to him. But we kept our tradition time with us then time with friends. Next year mom he would say , we are whooping it  up. I think after my pizza party and friends we should all go to Seattle for a day and dad and I can take pics.Next year it will be amazing.

If you take nothing else away form our life with Michael please take this : no matter how blessed you feel , life is not guaranteed. Good people die before you are ready . Dont take these days for granted We thought we had this year, we were wrong.

I know with Leonard Cohen, Prince and George Michael gone, kiddo is having one heck of a party tomorrow.,  Dad and I maybe not so much. For me the loss on his birthday is the loss of time with me son. I do not get to hold him, hug him, hear him, smell his cologne , watch him dig for outfits. I do  not see him achieve his goal of being a trauma nurse, graduate college. i never get to be mother of the groom, grandma, the mother in law. Selfish I know but they all stem from watching my son have milestones I wanted so badly for him .

So today let me introduce you to what Michael achieved this year , what gifts he had before he turned 20. Some  he shared some he just did.

• He aced organic chem 
• He decided that because of his moves in care he did not have an internal structure needed to compete in nursing school. He researched, applied and was accepted into a medical tech program in WA to get a leg up before he went into his nursing programs.He would have been 6 months in this month.
• He gave blood twice this year
• He volunteered at 2 homeless youth events 
• He began not to just listen to opera but study it 
• Just in what I knew with him he has bought lunch for folks on the street 15 times.
• He was actively addressing his PTSD from childhood abuse
• He was steadfast in his promise that if he was unable to drive he would text me and tell me he was staying the night
• He kept a friend from committing suicide
• He jumped into the dating pool
• He began perform drag and went dancing every chance he got 
• He found a job he enjoyed with people he enjoyed 
• He learned to change his tire, his oil and his headlight
• He began not to just reconnect with his sisters but know them on a deeper relationship
• He no longer feared his bio sperm donor
• He created a recipe for salt and vinegar fish tacos which is freaking awesome
• He had more than one of his moms friends wrapped around his finger enough to get them to make him pozole anytime he smiled and begged
• He was learning to sew
• Apparently he rocked a pair of camo ledderhosen 
• He saw Rocky Horror 2 times
• He still held Ty or my hand out in public
• He still hugged us both 
• He taught OZ to sit and wait for his food.
• He saw grandma and papa wayne at least once a week 
• He was starting to run again
• He had began to edit alot of his pictures in Photoshop and created some amazing art, he would just take off with his camera and capture what captured him
• I know he had at least 2 but probably more nights him and friends slept in the car at the beach , just to hear the ocean and see a sunrise.
• He and I healed the biggest fight we ever had. He admitted to me that at times he did not know what to do with how much I loved him , dad loved him. He said if his bio threw him aside , why did I stay. He told me I was his real mother point blank and he was testing me to see if I really would always stay. I passed.
• He became Ty's biggest supporter telling him not to cave in and be happy and be himself or Mike would be mad at him .
• A friend told us after he passed that he did not move out like he planned. he told us the deal fell through, the friend he was renting from told us  he told her he changed his mind. he was not ready he wanted to stay with his parents longer, he still wanted to be with us . 
• He lived a life that had challenges and sadness, he liked at times the drama but in the end his desire to be present in life always trumped the crap .
• He is amazing, he is our baby 

Requiem for my Mother and Michael's Grandma

my last  picture of mom I have  I  see the grief from losing dad and still smile as she is wearing what see always called blind gypsy chic jammies

In two days, my mother will have been gone for a year. She passed away suddenly in her sleep, 89 days after we lost my father. Ironically our family had always prepared ourselves that if mom went first, dad was soon to follow. My dad, the wear your heart on your sleeve guy, made no bones he could not function without her. My mistake was my mom was more aloof but deep in her love but when he died, I really saw who she lived for. After my dad passed, mom lived with us for about 2 weeks while my brother got their place in California ready. I would hear her at night, after seeing her worn but still standing, talking to him .It was the most heartbreaking thing I ever heard and the most intimate pieces of their relationship, I was ever privy too. Her life was going on but not with him and she could not make sense of it. It was a frantic place for her trying to be strong but her heart just laid our flat for grief and God. It never in my wildest dreams occurred to me that 6 months later, I would be having the same conversations of loss, on my son’s bed willing him beyond hope to walk through the door. Even more devastating, my pleas to mom and dad, especially mom to help me live through this, were also conversations with ghosts and no answers. Most of the time , I am glad they are all together in the next life but sometimes so angry they left me to what at times feels like the wolves. I will not celebrate my parents 60th anniversary, dad getting a cancer free diagnosis, my son growing up, getting married. I will never be a mother or a grandmother to a child on earth. And the one person who knows me for my whole life, the good, the bad, the fucked up, the awesome, is now a conversation to nowhere in the still of the night. I lost my child and I want my mom to help me survive this.

Ironically though they did not spend a lot of time together, Mike and my mom were tight. Tight in that way that I was always like hmmm where is the pod with my mom? My mom did not cook, bake or be the “bestie” of her daughter. But she loved in a very straightforward way. She always said what was on her mind and she was always there for me, even when others gave up. Her love was whole and in some ways hurt me, she was so afraid of losing me that she did cave to various doctors who put me on large amounts of meds that we now know are bad for teens, damaged my liver and wreaked havoc on me. She taught me to keep it all a secret from folks, so they would not think badly of me. But hiding that secret, those meds, those effects, how they actually made me more insane than they helped, blew up my world, wiped out part of memories of childhood. We talked about it as I got older and it killed her knowing that drug after drug was causing me more and more violent reactions, but she trusted the doctors who were in fact wrong. I never blamed her because my mother with no medical background, she was trying to keep me safe. It was the wrong path but as I learned being Michael’s mom, sometimes you mess up out of love. In my mid 20’s she was terrified when I finally said no to the meds and terrified that she would lose me. She became more devastated when nothing happened, I became more level, more cognizant, and more Rachel than I had been in a decade.  She felt she had failed me and I spent years letting her know I was ok now and that’s all the mattered, When she came to Eugene and met with a top psychiatric doctor and me, she cried to learn that misdiagnosis back in my teen years was not uncommon and I showed no symptoms of bipolar disorder. The rapid cycling bipolar with stints of psychosis were in fact not organic to my brain chemistry  but the side effects of being on Lithium, Depakote, Trazadone, Paxil, Prozac and so many others when my body did not need them. They in fact caused the moods they feared and instead of stepping back the answer was always up the dosage. It took a long time for her to forgive herself, I was never mad at her. She did what moms bullied by doctors do, reacted to the threat and tried to keep her kid alive. I loved her more for helping me save myself. And I knew she always had my back.

So this very matter of fact, speak your mind kind of mom, became this gooey gooey mess with my son. I think she really saw his wounds deep in his heart and something about him brought our huggy grandma. My son in some ways was an open book, full of love. He sucked at lying or deception and while he thought at times he was getting over, he fooled very few. This led to a lot of very uncomfortable conversations at time about what was going on in his life, what he was doing. What he was not. It did make us stronger because we could get through those tough things to love. However my son was a child who grew up in no safety, no permanent love. He was as a small child abused and abandoned in horrific ways and as a teen left to rot in a system. He did not become bitter or a victim, yet there was a part of Michael that would always be his, his wounded little boy was never going to share that again. We talked about it once, ending in tears for both of us. I never felt cheated, I knew this was safety piece for him. But I always believed he would live long enough to figure out how to unlock it.

My mother came the closest to unlocking that piece even for a minute. Mike loved grandma’s no filter and no bs approach to life. My mother was always also the honey for gay men, they flocked to her mainly because she would care less about who they slept with and I think had some Bette Davis charm. But at times she would simply disarm him. In the most gentle voice ever, she would come up behind him and just say “Michael I just need to hug you, Love you so much , you are so much .” and she would just hold him and stroke his hair. My son’s eyes always gave him away. When my mom did that to him, every time I saw the eyes of a toddler. For those who have toddlers you know those eyes, full of wonder and joy in the moment. She for a minute could get into kiddos no fly zone. I loved her for that and that my mother just believed in finding happiness, sometimes she sacrificed it in her own life so she wanted it for me. If she ever had any qualms about her lesbian daughter and now trans gendered partner adopting a 16 year old gay male, she never shared it with us. Her only request was could Ty have his name Tim instead easier for her, of course. She said as a family we made sense and in her heart Michael was always supposed to be all of ours. She would tell me, I only have had him for 3 years but Rachel I love that child so much, my heart just melts around him. Mike was planning in February with her to go to California and spend just a weekend them together. He was saving money to take her to the beach.

I have seen Mike cry a few times in our life but the sobs when grandma passed, he was incoherent for about 2 hours. When I went in to say goodbye to mom at the funeral home, my child became a man and he held his mom up while I fell apart holding my mom for one last time. 6 months later when I fell apart holding my child in the mortuary, I had a distinct feeling they were both there physically keeping me standing and willing me to breathe.

My mom was a damn good mom, not perfect but mine. The things she did with me that mattered: open door communication even if it was sucks, unconditional love, unconditional support: I kept those pieces and used them to help my son blossom and find himself. The things that did not work I used as growth when I became a mom. I never took for granted what an “expert “told us about our son. We learned together what he needed, what worked and fought to find options and not make decisions out of fear.

I talk about missing Michael a lot and it’s not for lack of missing mom and dad. However I look at trauma from a new school of therapy which is essence illumination. Studies show that emotional trauma in the body really lasts for about 90 seconds. If you can allow that pain to pass through you, it helps you heal. When we fear the pain it gets trapped in our bodies and we replay it in detriment to ourselves. I do a lot of daily 90 second breakdowns about Michael, sometimes hourly. The release when the heartbreak and rage comes keeps me standing, keeps me functioning, keeps me keeping his love in me, and keeps me alive. Combining all 3 losses is something that is so physically painful that in working that out I have lost my voice for few hours or have dry heaved blood. My parents and child may now be celestial beings, but I am still human and the combined loss at this time does not flow throw but tears holes like bullet piercing armor. Like Mike, I am always ware of mom gone. No weekly phone calls, so 6 am I just want to vent to you calls. No hearing “how are you my love’ No mom. My son shares a lot in common with my mom, meet them once and you never forget them. I love you mom, I miss you mom and if you ever had any misgiving just like I was the mom Michael needed, you were the mom created for me. I love you and miss you so much, take care of kiddo for me , ok .

I go back to our first real christmas

Michael’s stocking is 3 times larger than mine or Tys, blue sequins, fur trim. It is the hard to contain joy that was Michael. Like us all he had his dark times, lost thoughts, feelings of less than. But his heart was joy and that often filtered over the brain, the overthinking, the past loss.

Watching a child who had holidays in almost 25 different places, with often strangers, with people who treated him different than their own children, is a lesson in being present in the moment. Michael's last Christmas before us, was so hard. We knew about him and paperwork was moving but he had no idea we were out here, waiting and praying for him. My babies last Christmas in foster care was in some ways harder for us, he had adjusted to institutional holiday cheers,  but we knew we were moving to bring him home and I just wanted to be with him , have him feel our love, let him know he would never be without family again. I cried that first holiday without him because I yearned for the child alone in North Dakota. This year I cry because I yearn for my son, this time though he is safe with God, my mother, my father and Ty’s dad. He is in love and support. It is now us, feeling the emptiness, not sure how to be in this moment, be without you this holiday. If tears could form a river truly, dad and I would have wept enough to flow to heaven to see you several times over. 

To not self-destruct this season, I am opening the heart and floodgate to the deepest parts of memory about your first Christmas home. For most people the thought was we created this wonderful life version of Christmas, big, flashy for him. We did not, instead we focused on using some of my families’ traditions building on them. Like any teen he liked stuff, swag but for him his anxiety showed in he just wanted us, the family, traditions and memories that were finally his, never to leave. 

From making cookies to trimming a tree (complete with his chosen Halloween lights too) he just wanted us close. He wanted to absorb his family and make his mark in it. From using his great grandma Marion sugar cookie recipe to  pacing until everyone hot here for Christmas eve dinner , his moments very so very focused on what sales, and stress, and consumerism sometimes take out of us. His love was in feeling where he was, how he was with and connecting in deep moments. At 16 he had in national average less than a 5% chance of finding his family. We found each other that is a miracle. His first Christmas and all our others always brought us back to power of family. That in the end family, your tribe, not always blood but your people, we stay no matter what. Last year, kiddo and I had a big fight around the holiday, it was bad. But mom died, and our Christmas Eve was spent in a hotel in Calif , cut off by other family and seeing grandma at the funeral home for one last time.  But again as we mourned my mother and his grandma, Mike and I came back to love and again he learned that there was nothing he could do that would change my love for him. This year I am without them both, but they together and my love for both still as fresh as yesterday.

But I always wander back to his first holiday and how it has set the tone for each milestone in our life. Michael gaining more confidence that we are where he always had a safe landing of love, we are his parents and family. We are always his, and he ours. That we were given a child who was raise literally with very little and for most times without true love, safety or security. Yet instead of making him cold, his heart expanded to others in a divine way. My son was not religious, just figuring out his spirituality, but there was alight of God deep in my child, he just did not know the words for that.

I found a Facebook post from our first Christmas that set the tone for how Mike looked at the holiday season. Each year kiddo did a lot of random acts of kindness, many never advertised, quietly leaving presents, buying a solider a meal etc. Him just wanting to share the peace he had in his heart.

The post:

Ok there are so many reasons I love my kid but one of my favorite things is the empathy, kindness and love that the system could never suck out/beat out of him. Ty works this Christmas day, Mikes idea first we are doing serving at a shelter then we adopted a group home and are doing a secret elf bombing of gifts and stockings. The system did not raise my son, the love and light in his soul is all Mike !!!!

My son’s first Christmas his actual favorite gift was a

 hat knitted by Aunt Miranda. I found it recently, still smelling of my kiddo and I smiled. I have included picture of the first Christmas. I look at them and smile because of the pure radiance emitting from him. In this picture I see my 16 year old but I also see 3 year old mike, 5 year old mike, and 10 year old mike. My baby’s inner child getting his needs met, coming out of the shadows and sharing light.

Folks have asked me what they can do to make our

 holiday easier. In truth just the ask is enough, the thoughts for us because what I want I can never have again on this life. But what you can do is just be in the moment, be the magic my son finally got. Stop worrying about if the tree is perfect, if your child needs one more gift, or if someone is saying happy holidays or merry Christmas. That’s all just noise. For us be in the minute of the lights twinkling at night, your child’s laughter and that a stranger engaged in kindness or in vocabulary. Stop being consumed by stress, or petty dogma, see the people in your life because when they are gone tinsel and gifts are for naught.

Michael one day I can  celebrate again , this year 

though my heart is too heavy , the weight  of losing you too crushing but to help mom out , have God give extra blessing to our friends and family this season.

We love you son

Baby's First Tattoo and what's drawn on my soul

This month our son should be turning 20. Its surreal , I have said it before , to know you’re going to age and change , yet your loved one , a non malicious portrait of Dorian Grey on your wall. I should be getting ready to drive to Washington, to pick Michael up from his med tech program, reserving space for his birthday, and most likely checking out his new tattoo. With the anniversary of losing mom 3 days before Christmas and your birthday the day after, kiddo all I want to do is blow off bills and get a tattoo on your birthday. Shit we all know I would tattoo every memory of you onto my soul if I could. You’re already there but I think you would appreciate the artistic touch.

You liked hearing tattoo stories, especially that both dad and I have many and that it makes grandma nut. My first tattoo cracked you up because it came from an early love in my life, my first boyfriend. You loved that your die hard lesbian mom had boyfriends and that she did care for them and in the end, I had a boyfriend again. And that love was now your dad. You liked that I understood having a cool first tattoo. Mine for me was a reminder, I kept so many secrets from friends and loved ones as a teen. I thought the insanity I never talked about or shared was mine to bear because I was somehow less than. I kept those secrets in silence for years and paid dearly for it, so did others when the shrapnel exploded. But that ink, it always reminded me that in that mess, there was lovely lovely moments with some beautiful folk.

Since before you came home, you loved to talk tattoos. We knew the day you turned 18, you were getting inked. So like any responsible parents we wanted to make sure, that first ink did not suck. To be honest I loved watching your process, an 800 dollar tattoo budget is the stuff of dreams. I loved watching your brain work. You spent days going back to old sketchbooks, looking at different stages of the drawing that became your first piece. Talking to the tattoo artist, revamping your design. In the beginning your piece was a bit darker, torn flesh and such. You went more for a mechanic version, clean sharper. I asked you about the change and you told me, the cleaner lines made you feel more like you, moving ahead, no scars. It was your art on you and for you that piece made sense.

You thought I was weird, I know taking 3 million pictures of babies’ first tattoo. Look I did not get the first bath or kindergarten, I needed to document my baby’s milestones that were as unique as our family. I just recently learned in conversations with Lisa, that you really loved these. You knew I was mom and that was great. I never knew until after you were gone and it was shared with me that in those moments little Michael was getting his needs of mommy met. I am honored that I was part of your journey to manhood and that with love and safety you bloomed. But I am honored that my love touched the little lost child in you too. I love my artist and that your first piece was with dad and I, and a great story and memory for it.

My child had 2 other tattoos. His infinity spiral and his haunter. We had the mortician take some up close pics of the spiral. It is the tattoo you wanted all three of us to get, our family crest if you will; A sign of balance: representative of the bridge or the passage between heaven and earth. Eternal spiritual love. Again given our life circumstance, I think kiddo what did you somehow know without knowing. This year you wanted dad and I to get it from you for Christmas and you get some more design around yours from us, on your birthday. Just a simple family outing. Dad and I will be getting this ink but I need to do it when I know I won’t weep through it. You my child are my infinity, my bridge between heaven and earth, our purest love.

Your last tattoo was in fact the last. I was your haunter. Before Pokémon go, my child was an animae fan, big time. We spent many nights him trying to explain the cartoons to me and me tormenting him by asking “is that a Pikachu? I see that tattoo a lot now. Dad, got one. And in acts of love and remembrance your friends have a mini army of haunter ink. Some pastel, some classic, some over the heart, in your spot, on the leg. All bearing slight and bittersweet tweak RIP MIKEY. You always worried, as the foster kid who never got to have friends, in your new life would you? You were loved so much child that people put memories of you on their body, you are a person they never want to lose.

I get that. I have not gotten a tattoo in over 15 years. But then my son drew me one, celebrating us as family. You again drew and re drew until the end result showed what was in your heart, hearts, flowers and a simple “family is forever”. Your art and your handwriting on me forever. On my skin like in my soul: bright, vibrant, beautiful and with so much life.

We love you kiddo, every day  

                    

my journey to mom, mom , MOM!!!!!!!

even when it was a exasperated moooooooooooooom, I loved hearing my son call me mom. I put in a lot of work and self healing , growth to get myself to the place to deserve the honor of that title . For us it was more than a word , for my son it was an evolution of learning a meaning behind a word . That certain words had power that he never believed would be for him.Just like I was never sure I would hear it applied to me, he never thought he would apply it with heart. We did good for two lost souls.

Mike had a lot of "moms". Sadly once he turned 7 he stopped thinking of his bio as mom and just used her name, That to me is a tragedy not just for Michael but the woman who by circumstance or choice missed one amazing kid. But 24 homes in 10 years he had a lot of people who wanted him to call them mom, sadly none of them mothered him . The foster system that fails children , sadly failed my son year after year. Mom was word , a person who had control over his life and control to unroot , unnerve or send him away. That my friends is the suckiest word association ever.

Before Ty was dad, we originally told Mike he did not have to call us mom until he wanted to . For the first time it was on his terms .I won't lie , it was hard and weird to be so in love with your child and have to restrain yourself, to let him come to you. To have him believe you are different than every other mom that came in and often wrecked him.He was my son from day one , him seeing us a parents not caregivers took a bit.I prayed those first few months to give me the strength to go slow , to not overwhelm him, to let him see through actions not words that he had us forever.

The first time he called me mom took me by surprise. It had been Rachel pretty steadily and sadly "mom sandy" ( his foster mom) and trust me so jealous. We skyped 2-3 times a day until he came home , often for hours,watching him do homework , sharing weird teen humor and culture or just answering questions. He had sent me a link I was watching and I guess he said my name a few times while I was watching it . Than BAM he slammed his palm on the desk and said "MOM !!!!!"
He was annoyed but it was the best sound in my life , teenage angst and all.

Mike was very quick to say I love you after he came home and you could feel that love . Mom at times though seemed tentative , like something that could and had been taken away or denied. He never understood he made me a better parent because we had to learn to not parent to our preconceived notions or beliefs but instead parent to his needs of boundaries, safety and love. We parented not for us but instead parented to help him find the best version of him. Like any teen he faltered and made dumb mistakes but he was understanding that path. More importantly he wanted that.

4 months into being home kiddo had a scope done because of severe stomach pains. Sadly like many kids in prolonged care, stress had damaged his body . In care ,Mike's case notes of him "faking stomache aches for attention" turned out to be an ulcer.I am proud to say a year into his new life , his real life ,the ulcer was non issue. Babies first medical procedure and Ty and I were flipped, Mike by the way lightweight with anesthetic.After the procedure he crashed for like 6 hours  and woke up starving. I remember  saying baby what do you want ? He wanted paprikash and he thought of that as the comfort food dish that tied him to home. After he ate he came and laid on the couch and me . He looked at me and said "mom your never leaving me " My response given our reality right now stands out. " love I  am never leaving you , your ours forever this life and next "  Cool mom he said.
From that moment on when he said mom, when he said dad ,the inflection was different , there was meaning and association he never had before. A realization of us being the who in his life not that what. Mike was always meant to be ours and us his , in that moment though he understood it , his heart told him it was safe.
That was my baby's first word to me , the first time he understood the power of his word.
I thank God that he lets my son come through to me and in my heart I hear mom .