The 16 Year Old

About ten or so years ago, a 16 year old girl (Also Black and Adventist), got in touch with me because she loved the love I have for my adopted children and she too had been adopted when she was three years old.

I asked her what advice she’d give me, as the only people I can truly learn from, are other adoptees. She said I should just tell them over and over, that I love them and that I’d never leave them. She said what she has felt, is a huge fear of loss. Scared her parents would leave, and scared her boyfriend would think she’s not good enough. Scared enough to do things for him that she wouldn’t ordinarily do. But she was scared. If she wasn’t worth keeping, fighting for, what if everyone else also thought so? At the same time, knowing her parents CHOSE her was a huge blessing and she loved them with all her heart, and feared they couldn’t tell how strong her love was for them. Also, she got scared that if she was disobedient, her parents would get rid of her, so she tried to be good.

What an exhausting life. And it is something the adoption agency we used did NOT mention. I’ve seen so many American agencies touch on this in their websites. They mention how even when adopted as babies, there’s a strong fear of abandonment and loss that adoptees have. Our social workers always looked at it from the angle of infertile parents. THEY mattered. And only them. So it was about how THEY were finally “paper pregnant” and about to get their brand new “own child.” The only difference between an adopted child and a ‘biologically theirs’ child would be that the child would very likely be from a different race. The ‘support’ offered was hair care groups and a very surface level discussion about how to discuss having different skin.

Not on. Adoption is a miracle in terms of raising an innocent child. Children are miracles But that child has lost something. And it has emotional ramifications for MANY of them- if not not all. The only angle was what to do if the child was virtuous about where they came from. And the advice was to tell them to wait till age 18 and then see if there could be a meeting, though one admitted stalking her child’s birth family on Facebook and told the child they had a nose like one of the parents. Nothing about emotions.

And thus, we come to my older adoptee. She has made it very clear that she feels I’m the only adult in the family who loves her wholeheartedly. She has made it clear she worries about me, telling her occupational therapist that too. She has told me that she is scared I’ll die and then she will feel “alone.” But I didn’t realise how deep that fear was till I was sitting with her teaching her earlier this week.

Far away in the distance, an ambulance siren was going off. I didn’t pay attention to it. She said, “I wonder where that ambulance is going.” I told her I wondered too, then tried to continue with the lesson. She then said, “I’m glad YOU aren’t in it.” I told her that hopefully whoever they were rushing to fetch. or rushing to hospital would be fine and I was glad too that it’s not me. Then she continued, “I’m really happy it’s not you. When I hear an ambulance, I keep getting scared that it could be you in there.”

Whoa! What? Every time? That was deep and so, so sad. That’s a lot of fear she lives with. I told her that I’m here and do not plan on ever needing an ambulance. I have never needed it and hopefully I never would.

Fear. Fear of loss. Fear of losing your adoptive parent. Not uncommon at all. And it apparently gets worse when they hit adolescence- exactly where we are now. At the cusp as her moods swing and her body develops. Textbook fears.

More adopted adolescents than non adopted , attend counseling and therapy. There are many reasons, obviously. But one is the anxiety they live with.

All I can give are silent reminders that I love her and not about to keel over and die. Her love language is hugs, so I dole those out often and long. I send her random notes. And remind her that I want to be her mommy for life. And in brighter colour I see the question she asked me after I saw the rheumatologist last month. “What if you are hiding that she said you are going to die? How do I know you are telling us everything? Are you sure you’re not dying?” Can you blame her? She sees the tablets. She knows when I have blood tests. She sees the inhaler for my AS-impacted lungs. She sees the limping. She sees degradation and dying.

💔

Many children have this fear of losing a sick parent. BUT,

MANY MORE adoptees have it even when the parent is not sick, and it lasts longer and is stronger than typical fear. All encompassing anxiety. Maybe she’s scared I’m going to die from over working and that’s why she keeps telling me to go lie down when I have to cook, or medicate them, or get them to tidy up… By the end of the day I am now unable to hide the pain and fatigue. But I can’t not care for them. And so.. She worries.

I hate AS. It creates extra problems we don’t need. More on THAT next time with the post on my sad OT cisit for my non-speaker. This post is about my ten year old. And any child you or a friend has adopted. Extra love is needed. Extra reassurance. And it’s a pleasure to give it.

Birth Mom?

You folk! I almost didn’t tell birth mom that our girl wasn’t great. She was trying to get a job- went for an interview the very day she was admitted. She had trial dates thereafter…

And I know how guilty she always feels when our girl has a problem. But I figured I should..just in case. So I told her.

Today, my girl asked if her birth mom knows she’s still not well. Did I feel happy to be able to say YES!? And I told her the truth, not only does she know, she was the first one to ask how we all are today, how things are going with healing and recovery.

I’m so, so happy! Happy that our girl knows she matters to her birth mom, and happy that we found each other despite the social workers lying to each of us!

God made a way. And human ingenuity and care made things happen. All to the betterment of my girl. I told her that I told birth mom that she’d asked if birth mom would have been able to afford therapy if she’d stayed with her. I told her that birth mom not only definitely wouldn’t have, but she herself told me while we were in hospital that she is so grateful for us, because she would have not afforded the medical care we could provide.

It’s sad. Very sad knowing your child would be untreated for many conditions. And subject to our not so great South African medical system. I can’t imagine being birth mom and losing a child she loves so much.

But I also know that I am keeping the promise I made years ago before we even knew who our daughter would be. When I promised I would take care of her just as I would my biological children. Nothing has changed. She’s my baby.

She’s our baby. And we love her to bits.

She even helped me do some scolding! I told my girl many times, even before we left hospital, to remain still. To stop being too boisterous. To keep her knee as immobile as possible and do other activities like watching, reading, colouring in…Anything that won’t need her knees.

Yesterday she was caught crawling around in the garage. Today I caught her kneeling. I told the surgeon that tonight in ER as she examined the still oozing wound that ‘should have’ shut by this Sunday. And she reiterated what I’d said. NO!!! She added that there isn’t much blood flow in that part of the body so things can break down if they’re stopped from healing well. And that while it stays open, other bacteria can enter and do to her what the others did that got us admitted to hospital.

I hope she listens. Even birth mom told me to tell her calm down a bit. But Ammy then sent her a video telling her that the brother “tempts” her, so she’s not sure she can comply. 🤣😫

We’ve come a long way. ❤️ Birth mom doesn’t hide when we walk about our girl. All is well. Now our girl must heal. Surgeon says the wound itself might heal and close up Saturday. Hoping we can try control her. Don’t ask me how unless I forget all other children and just sit with her all day every day.

I’m happy birth mom is sticking around. Proud of her!