It has been really tough finding a way to balance regular life with this horrible thing.
Busy taking care of everyone, coming, going, planning, calling, hugging, working, writing, reading, daydreaming, cooking, cleaning, serving, praying, tucking in, personal time …. house shuts down, sweet messages being sent to and from my fellow night owls, find a moment to just breathe …. then I write.
All that we’ve been through, all we’ve missed out on, the constant worry about my niece, the hurt, the questions, it all needs to be written and it’s so important for me to tell our story. It never stops. Right now, we’re waiting on word back from the attorney about our visitation, it’s going on four months. It’s one frustrating thing after another, but I don’t care what it takes, or how long it takes, until my niece knows the truth, I will make sure I never fold.
Divinely, I have been given the strength, and the courage ( because it isn’t easy dealing with the “big shots” like judges and lawyers and state representatives on a regular basis, but it’s like cake to me now.)
I’ve been given protectors, friends, lovers, unforgettable memories, traveled the world and I have more hope and patience than I ever knew existed. I’ve been blessed and watched over and I have given my all into every detail of my life. I have never given up, I’ve never stopped writing, and I’ve never stopped praying. Call me crazy if you will, but you can only survive such trauma by Divine Intervention.
I am grateful to have made it through another day. As I like to say, one day closer.
Can you imagine yourself waiting for the love of your life, in a cloud of uncertainty if they will ever even appear before your teary eyes again?
Ahhhh yes, the walking of the tight rope, trying to find a way to be happy amidst such deep-rooted sadness. Sometimes I literally say, ‘ tell me everything is going to be okay ‘ because if I didn’t hear it, the tears would never stop falling down.
In the days before this nightmare, I used to write about all kinds of things. Poetry, real-life love memoirs, specific stories that needed to be told, correspondence of intimate letters, my worries, my deepest desires, my hurts, I was always writing.
After this terrible thing, it became less and less that I could even put two thoughts together, let alone create. To my surprise, I found some of my writing from years gone passed, and to be frankly honest, my knees got weak and I slid to the floor against my bed. I read, relived, and reflected. I smiled, I cried, I ached over lost loves. I got a rush through my whole body remembering the happiest moments of my life.
Post-adoption, I’ve made exceptions to write to whom I loved, I’ve designed a bazillion things, I’ve written a book of family recipes. But I’ve also written some very dark poetry, and I really noticed how profoundly different my writing is after the point that the timeline of my life split in two.
The feelings were familiar, yet it was like I was reading a different person’s writing altogether with the comparison of the two. Some of the things I read, I had no recollection of and had it not been in my handwriting, I wouldn’t have thought that I had written it.
Finding my way through this labyrinth of emotions has been hard on my heart, my mind, my spirit, hard on everything…. but nevertheless, I’m finding my way. I’m finding a way to balance the happy, with the hurt.
It’s incredibly hard, but no one ever said getting justice was easy ….