Archive | February 2015

The Little Digs

It takes a special kind of evil in a person that laughs at another person’s heartbreak. Especially this kind. The kind that has it’s very own category; loss of a child.

Not only did we get thrust into a life-altering ‘thing’ but we’ve had to maintain our composure, which I frankly think we deserve a medal for at this point.

We’ve literally had to explain why we laughed, why we’ve cried…. all the while dealing with individuals that there isn’t a word awful enough to describe. But for the sake of painting an exact picture, think smug.

One by one, the people parading against my family and I shot us looks of death followed by a ‘ we have her ‘ smile.

I mean really, isn’t it enough that we were torn from each other, do we really deserve the ‘ F-U ‘ look? Not only were we breaking down to cry, we did it while under the microscope, looked at like how dare we fight for her. The looks they gave us, that smirk, smug, and intentional. It made me want to go berserk. Even when I think about it today I have to center myself, it irks me tremendously.

Empathy, the failsafe thing that makes you think twice before you hurt someone, none of these people have it. It is significantly missing.

It would have made Lupita not sell a baby away for profit in secret, it would have made that couple not receive a baby under such circumstances. It’s that thing that is supposed to keep you from hurting another person with such force that it leaves nothing but destruction behind it.

No matter what they say, these people don’t have it. In fact after we went through this case I actually said that I’d never encountered such a ruthless, heartless bunch. The attorneys, ever-so-Hollywood, I just rolled my eyes under my dark sunglasses. I was in disbelief. I silently thought to myself, this cannot be happening, this cannot be happening. But it was and it did, and we were left behind like luggage. Left to figure it out, left to hurt, left to suffer. Left to be empty.

When I write about what happened to us and its aftermath, I write it exactly how it happened. I’m trying to paint a vivid picture, nothing is exaggerated. This is a non-fiction account of what we have experienced, it’s a story that tells itself, I don’t sit down and make up what to write. I made an outline and as I’ve explained each detail I intended to, I cross it off and breathe just a little easier knowing it’s on record, it’s addressed. I won’t let anyone else tell our story, I won’t let that be taken from us too.

Those notes in my niece’s lunchbox that she couldn’t  even read, were they really necessary on that particular day?

For our visits, was it necessary to try to implement new rules and contracts more and more?

Was it really a good idea to have our visits at 8am in a freezing park while they sat in their car and watched?

Was it really necessary to have it in writing that we couldn’t call her terms of endearment, we were only allowed to call her the name they gave her?

Does this adoptive ‘father’ have to call my sister and harass her, beating her down over the phone every time she calls to speak to her daughter?

Did the adoptive ‘mother’ really need to come up to me to tell me how hard it had been on THEM? ( I was beside myself, I didn’t even know how to respond to that.)

Did Lupita really get ‘things’ for my niece? (Yes, she did.)

All the little digs made this even more devastating. The things they said and say, did and do, all make it worse than it has to be. This couple is really in a fight with themselves, a fight that consists of hiding my niece hostage in regards to her identity and place in the world. All the little things they did to add onto this already huge thing, shame on them. All I hope is that they get exactly what they gave us, no more, no less.

By Love, By Faith, By Patience ….

Ever since this awful thing happened to us, absolutely nothing surprises me. Nothing people do ever shocks me. Once you’ve had the carpet yanked out from underneath you, everything else is downhill from there.

Thrown into turmoil… check, broken heart, check… fighting for the very fabric of our family, our good names and our emotional stability… check…

I want space from this whole thing. I want everyone that isn’t in our family to stay out of our family.

I feel like this thing pushed me down and I’ve had to look up and go hand over hand to climb through it. I’m thankful that I’ve had my heavy hitters to block me from the everyday craziness of life. I’ve been blessed enough to have traveled the world and seen so many incredible things.

It’s like a double life. Half is so very happy, half is so very hurt.

I cook, clean, work, study, read bedtime stories and give bubble baths, plan birthdays and every other celebration, and I make time for heels, hugs, road trips, and homemade muffins. Everything else in life is a dream, with one nightmare in the middle of it.

All but this one thing, and this one thing is so huge that there’s no getting away from it.

I make the world go round for so many people, then when night falls, I pray and write.

I’ve been asked so often how I get through this and my response is always the same. I get through it by love, by faith, by patience. I love with passion, I  live as righteously as this world will allow, and I’ve learned that I don’t have to wait in misery.

I  don’t deserve  applause for my strength and I don’t need anyone’s approval. My life isn’t up for debate or discussion. I have to keep as much privacy as I can in dealing with something that feels so public.

In short, I face this and I get through it because I have to. My heart won’t let my niece go, and for now all I can do is wait and tell our side of the story.

I’m keeping it together because that’s what I do. Injustice in general is particularly irritating to me and I won’t just sit back while we’re made out to be animals.

One day, I won’t have to deal with this anymore, and I anxiously await the time I can set this bag of cement blocks down. I will smile until then, I will let love rain over me, I won’t feel guilty for being joyous…. 

Love, faith, patience…. Love, faith, patience, and round and round we go….

Wrapping Up Book One ….

Looking across the room on my writing desk, I see 450 printed pages of book one in the series of books written to my niece over the last ten years. The answers to questions I’m sure she’ll have, hopes and prayers, page after page of raw emotion, there it sits, just waiting to be published and read.

I had to be certain the truth was told, I needed to make sure that I explained ‘our side’ in great detail. I refused to let anyone bash us further, I was adamant about telling our story in hopes it will help in reuniting and mending our family, and maybe sharing our story will prevent another family from suffering the same fate.

Had I not written this book, I do believe I, and perhaps my sister, would have suffered a nervous breakdown or maybe something worse. I look at those printed pages and think that those were just a small fraction of the thoughts that are rolling around in my mind. If I didn’t write out everything I need to, I’d never get any rest. I’d constantly be thinking it out until I wrote it out.

As I check off topics from my book’s outline, I feel such a relief. I feel a little more free with each  part as it all comes together. I feel a little more peace.

In writing, I’m doing all any of us can do at this point. I won’t allow justice to escape us forever, one day those responsible will be held accountable under God. The ‘court’ of my niece’s opinion, and the court of ‘public opinion’ are what’s important. Judges and lawyers will always manipulate and confuse the facts, and they find ways to justify their behaviors and actions. They find every loophole they can slither through.

The way I’ve put this case together with reports, depositions, appointment information, I’ve made ‘A’ so obviously point to ‘B’. So now, I wait. I write Book 2, and wait some more.

As I stare at the 3-ring binder, I’m so thankful that I was able to get out all that I wrote about. It’s down on paper, it’s a record of this horrible thing we have been forced to survive. This book quite simply means less spinning thoughts, less restless nights ….