Saturday, January 7, 2017

Such disturbing news today. My mind is going a million miles an hour. The little boy that we were going to adopt 7 years ago is now living with a cousin of mine because the biological mother is not in a good spot and can't handle motherhood; to be frank, she never could. I told her at the time when she told me she was going to keep him that we could offer him a better life than she ever could, and I'm watching the pain for him play out. It kills me. I still consider him our son. I've never been able to let go. My mind is spinning thinking of ways to get him with us. I keep thinking how we could change the master bedroom into a bedroom for him and Matthew. We could get him enrolled in the school district here. We could start him in counseling. All these thoughts running through my head! But it's been over 7 years since I've spoken to the biological mother. She's not going to want my help. And, really, as much as I want to help, am I really in a place to give it? I know I've always felt like this is the son I've lost, but I have three other children to think about. I have an adult son with bi-polar disorder who can't seem to stand on his own two feet and get this grown-up thing figured out. I have a teen-age daughter with anxiety and depression who needs a gentle yet firm guided hand. And I have my Matthew, who is still going through evaluations to determine everything that he may need assistance with. Oh, my brain. I just needed to get this out. I've never stopped thinking about that boy. I occasionally creep the biological mother's page to look at pictures. I think about him every birthday. I mourn the loss of him as though he were one of our own, because he was one of our own. This kills me.