More personal stuff. Feel free to skip. Again, S, if you’re reading this, nothing new here. Surprise.
I ran across this card today while cleaning. I didn’t remember it at first, but it quickly came back to me.
This card was for my bio son, S, the one who has all the problems. My maternal grandparents sent it to him, full of hope and faith and love.
We found it like this, hidden. Examine the hatred on the last page, see the pain. But remember: It wasn’t for us to find, it wasn’t for us to see. This wasn’t some kind of “cry for help”; this was pure sheer rage.
One of the hardest things about seeing this rage consume the kid that could have been was the utter and complete lack of support for us during the process. The reaction of my grandparents was typical. He just needed more support, more love, more caring, more tolerance. We, both by implication and explicit accusation (thanks sis!) weren’t doing a good enough job.
We keep this card to remember. That this is what love, caring, and acceptance broke against when it reached my biological son.
We like to believe that there is no-one we cannot reach, that there is no situation that cannot be fixed. That all we have to do is just try a little harder, understand a little more, pray a little better, give a little more. And sometimes – perhaps rarely, but sometimes – nothing will be enough.
Regardless of what he thought – or thinks – we did love him. We cared. We tried, at great mental, physical, financial, and social cost to ourselves. We’re still paying the price – both in lingering aftereffects and social workers still pushing for “reconciliation”.
We had a choice to make, and we made it.
We can either break ourselves against that kind of hate, or we can pick ourselves up and help those we can.