Valentines Day or in our house:the day we became family

what kiddo looked like our first skype Valentines Day

Oh our love, has it been any easier yet, no. However while each day I still look for you, a text a call or wake up going to see if you are awake only to remember, now at least I can bring forth those memories of pure you without shearing my soul in half. Even in grief, I now can see those bits of light that were life with you as a gift.

Before you, Dad and I did not do Valentine’s Day. Somewhere in my 30’s I rejected the idea of one day of forced love, I guess after working watching people stress out over the perfect card, meal, and date. Love should not be forced on some grand display and then I met dad. Your dad and I have been together since the first day we met, there is something in your dad’s spirit that always calls to me and on my best and worst days it is him I want. We despite some naysayers created a relationship, a home, a family. We worked to be in a place where you were able to come through.

Tomorrow is February 14^th and I do not think I can bear social media that day but today I think back, How 4 years ago on the 13th we were nervous wrecks waiting until we could Skype the next day with you. To be fair we had done a little recon, I had your file and adoption pictures plus a video of a very young very obviously over medicated kiddo talking about fashion. It hurt to see you that drugged kiddo and I feel blessed that Sonja and Kris took you off those cocktails of lethargy and compliance.

I had done some recon because in your file in one line your name was not blacked out, your whole name. You never knew but I saw your Facebook and your youtubes long before you every showed me. What I saw was this spunky kid, lonely kid, my kid waiting for us. On February 10 th, you scare the crap out of us kiddo when you attempted to take your life. If I had knew what those kids had said to you about us not wanting you either, I would have seriously beat down some parents for not teaching their children to be human beings. I did not sleep those days you were in the hospital, I had no legal call to you yet and non one could give us info direct. I prayed, for God to hold your heart, for you to feel us 1392 miles away. I prayed for you to be safe until me, your mother could take that load from you. I know you are in a place of all knowing so you know now when I say I loved you since the first time I saw your picture, its truth. You were meant to be ours, and us yours, period. 

And then the day rolled around and the hour. One Skype light up for all of our worlds to change. And there you were sitting in Sandy’s kitchen with Sonja and Kris. Looking at these 2 people from Oregon who said they wanted you and you deciding to let us in or not. Dad and I held hands under the computer and squeezed each other when you did things that just melted us. There you were with your tousled hair, pink shirt, black vest, horned glasses, so trying to gussy up for us. You our child were the quietest you ever were with us, day one, then it was game on. You would talk to us and when it got to be too much flip through the welcome book dad and I sent out. You were so overwhelmed baby but you kept talking, getting to ask us questions. Sussing us out. Dad’s first words to you, we will never give up on you, do not give up on us. You agreed and we all have kept that promise, forever. I liken what was happening for me to be like a first ultrasound, I could not stop looking at you, you were remarkable and beautiful and from the second you said hello, mine. My son, my child, my baby forever. You did not know but the wheels were in motion. Dad and I and A family For Every Child being relentless calling the ND governor’s office, DHS and everyone to get you home. And in 38 days from that first call, you were in our arms. And in 1 year and a week from that day you were ours legally, Michael Wyatt VanWoert forever.

It was always you Michael. You were who dad and I were destined to parent. I wish we had you as a baby and you did not have abuse or multiple homes. But somehow this was God’s plan. It was always you from the first picture to our drive in a blizzard to get you.

You were always and are always ours.

Our world lit up the day we met you, it became bigger, brighter and expanded dad and I as people, as a couple as humans. Our goal was to create a life for you filled with love and safety and infinite possibilities and shiny wonderful memories. And I guess we did, I just wish we had more time kiddo. Just like we celebrate the day we all met, I wish I could have done that with your children, my grandchildren, now empty hopes and ghosts.

So on the day of love it was not chocolate or hearts for us. Instead each year a celebration, a moment to remember there are no coincidences, to celebrate all of us and our child coming home. The world is struggling with love kiddo, I am trying to put my peace in it. There are not words big enough for how much we miss you or how much we love you. Just know when you bask in the peace of God, that part of his love is what we also have for you.

Happy Family Day kiddo, we love you to the moon and back

We never gave up on you , don’t give up on us , ok

PTSD, My son and the rise of the human heart

PTSD, or post-traumatic stress disorder, is a mental illness caused by an external traumatic event. There are many traumatic events that can trigger PTSD, including accidents, war, assault, violence and natural disasters.

Since my son passed, I have had some reactions in life that are somewhat confounding given my nature and temperament. I break into cold sweats at ambulances with lights flashing, I shake when I see cars that have their front ends smashed in. I panic anytime there is wind, rain, snow and people I love on the road. Every night around 10, I get violently nauseous. This was usually the time if not home, Michael would text me to tell me when he was coming home that night or if he was staying with friends or at his sisters. When we pass the exit for the road he was killed on I have anxiety attacks. I thought I was just bat shit crazy. Apparently in 15 months of breaking a leg in a violent fall, losing both parents, being at ends with your sibling and having your child die is an external traumatic event. I was shocked when 2 weeks ago I was given this diagnosis.

But this rambling is not about me or mine, this is about now more than ever being in awe of my son and all he was, is and will forever be. How people like my son are amazing reminders of the human spirit and how lucky and grateful we were to be gifted by God to see his journey through. This is going to be a hard read, and things are shared are things Mike was open about sharing in his life to help others.

Since June 10^th 2016, my skin has been alive, my gut and instincts always on alert, my sleep crap, my sense of logic sometimes failing. My son lived with this for over 10 years of his life, yet he found humor, grace and himself in the journey. To meet my son you would never have known he was diagnosed with PTSD and that at times it spun him into incredible places of loss, sadness, pain and fear. My child was taken away from his birth parents and put into a system that was designed to “protect him” and while he had many good folks along the way the journey like so many kiddos in care , eroded parts of him , some that came back , some still in hiding when he died. My son was physically, mentally, verbally, sexually, medically, and nutritionally abused. There was an attempt on his life that resulted in no care for his injuries. Many folks never believed him, but his untreated injuries and ramifications of that tell a different story. Here you are triggered in life with an illness caused by trauma, moved 24 times and expected to be on your best behavior, complaint and respectful. I liken this to emotional waterboarding of foster kids and us as a country must wake up and realize without a better system our system by its broken nature is emotionally torturing these kids. I have read my kids file, listened to him, walked the floors when he would not sleep because of flashbacks, and saw deep pain in a child whose spirit was really set on flying in love. The fact that we had Michael, really had him not just had a ghost or zombie or addict is a testament to him being able to tune into the love of himself and God. He never called it God but he would talk very openly of something pulling him to be better, to love harder, and to have hope.

As his parents we bared witness to our amazing peaceful warrior, our prancing glitter filled queen, or compassionate would be nurse, club dancer, grandmas baby and defender of the little guy and compassion in this world. We helped him navigate this world but some things were inherent: He knew to open doors, help folks with walkers, buy veterans and homeless coffee, give someone freezing a jacket.

As his parent who he knew loved him unconditionally and without hesitation or fear, we also carried the fall out of his PTSD. He knew he could rage and spin and spew and always, always we were still there. The 5 days of hell when his bio called him just to tell him she was getting married not asking about him at all that sent him into a tailspin about being ripped away from his sisters, The breakdown that took grandma intervention just to get him to speak because his fear of loss was so great, The 8 day insomnia and food binge set off about almost being murdered. The spinning out of control when fighting with friends because his fear of abandonment was over shadowing their arguments and the 2 weeks of death poetry, sad fb posts and tears because he over reacted and felt he had lost people he loved and did not know how to get them back. Being pushed  by well meaning others to talk to his bio dad while grieving my dad that brought up each and every old fear that conflicted with the natural desire to learn more about his birth family that set of his running away calling me a cunt telling me to fuck myself. And he with the help of friends and therapists coming back to us after that knowing my love for him was unchanging even when I was not happy with his behavior. All of this these behind the scenes places where Ty and I had to evaluate whether he was being a typical teen or was his PTSD triggered and brewing . And as passionately as we love him, we fought with him to help this PTSD just be a part of his life not a controlling factor. We supported, found the therapist who helped open parts of him to love and healing and kiddo himself determined to do the work. My awe for him know no bounds, to love my child and watch him be in the depths of such pain, there was no words. He had to live it and each time, each time he came back from an episode and could talk through it, a part of him healed, he grew stronger and to witness that triumph in anyone is amazing to see it be your kid, divine and glorious. He was not perfect none of are, he was stubborn beyond belief and his tantrums were of epic proportions, but he never let this cast him as a victim, it never propelled him into the mire of non movement. He fought because he was loved and safe and knew that life no matter how tough was worth living. Michael’s grace was that he had every right to be a hard, cynical, cold person, his soul choose love. He choose the light in him not the fear. He rose above his diagnosis. He not the past, not the PTSD , he defined himself. He was one of the most strong and emotional pure humans I ever have met and there are no adequate words of thanks to God for letting him be ours, for making this wonder my son , for gifting us with the child so strong in spirit .

There is a lot of fear as the driving force in this world, fear of selves, others, loss real or perceived. It makes us look at the picture right in front but not delve into human condition because that is hard work with complicated answers. Foster kids, veterans , refugees all groups with high levels of PTSD, droves and droves of human who all have in common that through no fault of their own have lived through and now must process how to go day to day. It’s so easy to take this to money, resources, time. But I think of my peaceful warrior and believe in the big questions: how do we globally connect so soldiers are not thrust into war, how do we keep people safe so they can stay in their homes and not flee , how can we start caring for all children like they are their own? And if in our humanity we are not at or cannot get to that point of minimization of harm , how then do we all believe there is room , there is enough, love is not a limited resource where we have to choose? Enough love, compassion, understanding, prayer, hope given to those so wounded. To lift the human spirit, be witness others pain without our own prejudices derailing us. I don’t know  what the answer is, it’s a process for me but commitment to the dead, a deal with my deceased son. I fought for him to be in a place within himself to see the beauty in the world and hold hope, I must continue that path.  I may be this traumatized PTSD mom with hippy ideals and rose colored glasses and that is ok in my heart and with my God I am right in my place in life is to support the world I wanted for my son.

Michael we all kept our promises the first day we met, we never give up on you, and you never give up on us. Your presence in this world was glory and love and lightness. You awed me kiddo, I love you.

Forever mom