Letting go

My kid is 13 now. E is 8. We've long since passed the point of babyhood. We've also somehow passed the point of intentional decision making as to whether or not we would try to adopt for a 3rd time. There's never been a conversation that resulted in us saying, "ok, no more kids". It was more of occasional, random, comments about missing babies, or how challenging it would be to be outnumbered by children. Comments that never really turned into conversations, deciding anything one way or the other.

But, now, it doesn't seem possible that we could go back to that place. The kid will be in 8th grade this year. E in 3rd. I cannot imagine having a baby and a teenager in high school at the same time. And, truthfully, I cannot imagine the emotional (and physical!) labor involved in parenting another child, when I already feel like I'm doing the vast majority of the parenting of these two on my own.

Last week, a student I previously worked with posted on fb that she and her fiancee were about to be approved to be foster parents. She was asking for baby items. We have closets full (literally) of baby items. Clothes (newborn - 3t), cloth diapers, infant bath tub, crib, pack-n-play, toys, bed rails, books, crib sheets, burp cloths, bottles. All. The. Things. Why have I held on so tightly to these things, y'all?

Earlier this week, she came and got them. I kept a few things. The outfits they wore home from the hospital. Some of the books they each loved, or I loved reading to them. A few toys that I can see using for play therapy at some point. The cloth diapers, because those were expensive and I need to just sell those. A few blankets that were made by family members. But the rest - an entire SUV full (seriously, trunk, backseat, and front seat) - she took all of it.

I wish I could say there was relief as she drive away with it all. But that would be a lie. Mostly, I was anxious. I worried that I hadn't looked through the clothes thoroughly enough and might have missed keeping something important. Or that I gave away a book that I didn't have fond memories of, but the boys might. WHAT IF. "What if" what, I have no idea. Just, what if...

I realize this is grief parading as anxiety. Sadness about a more definitive "no" to more babies. I'm a much more confident - likely, competent - parent of babies than teenagers. I am refilled by rocking babies night after night, and exhausted by driving children to endless sporting events. Even though I assuredly get more sleep now than when my children were small, I am more emotionally exhausted on a daily basis. I love them, and I love parenting them. But parenting older children is just more challenging for me. Babies were easy. Yes, even when E was waking every 1-2 hours day and night for almost 2yrs.

This grief is reminiscent of the grief I felt when we decided to stop fertility treatments and pursue adoption. It was - is - the decision that I knew was - is - the right decision. But that doesn't mean there aren't feelings of sadness. It's taken me a long time to get to this point. And I know, in order to get through this grief, I need to sit with it, let it be, honor it, all before I can let it go.

Today's Lesson: Not making a decision, well, it's still making a decision. Sometimes that decision is just a stopgap until you're ready to make a more permanent one. And that's okay. Sit with the decision. Make the decision. Sit with the grief. Let it be. And then move through it. You don't have to do all of it all at once. Grief is a process. Not a finite thing.

Funerals

The last funeral I went to was my MIL's. It was almost exactly 8 years ago. E was just an infant. The kid was a very busy 5yo. Overall, it was awful in the way funerals of people who were generally healthy and died unexpectedly often are. Mostly from that day, I remember my exhaustion, trying to care for two children (one of whom didn't sleep for more than an hour at a time), and being overwhelmed by the intensity of everyone's feelings of sadness.

Funerals are hard for everyone, more so for those of us who feel every one else's feelings. Empathy is often a double edged sword. People joke about how I exude a bubble around me in public. I don't pay attention to what's going on, who's there, etc..., and seem to be able to repel others from infringing on me and those with me. I think I developed this skill as a protective factor. Because, seriously, have you been in public lately? There are a lot of people there and they all have their feelings with them. Letting down my defenses and feeling that, well, it's absolutely exhausting.

Funerals, tho. Shew. People's feelings are just too strong to be able to block them out. Even my bubble can't repel all that. I find myself crying whether *I* feel sad or not, simply because I feel everyone else's sadness (or grief, or anger, or whatever). Adding in people I love, experiencing their intense emotions, and I'm a hot mess of feelings, just sobbing. To others, it's probably confusing why I'm having such a strong reaction. And whether anyone judges me for that or not, I don't know. But I at least imagine they do, which makes me feel embarrassed, and doesn't help me feel any calmer.

You can see why I'd generally avoid funerals. Thankfully, there I've had to attend any in the last several years. Until tomorrow.

Tomorrow I have to take my child to his brother's funeral. A brother he hasn't seen in years. A brother he has only small snippets of memories about. And be surrounded by family which is his, and yet not his. Most of them don't even know he exists. The church is small. It will be obvious to many that we don't really belong, or at least are "other". But, his parents want us to come. My child wants to go. To grieve this brother who he he doesn't know, and yet knows. So of course I will take him.

And while this is not about me, I am already exhausted by it. Mostly because I do not know what to do. How to make this easier on him. How to protect him. I'm worried about unintentionally upsetting his parents even more, just by being there. I'm worried about what to say should/when anyone asks how we knew this child. I'm worried about how my child will be affected by it all.

And I *know* all I can do is go and be his person (sobbing mess that I will be). He feels things as strongly as I do. I wish he didn't because I know how hard that is. And I know how confusing this is for me, as a fairly functional adult. I can only imagine what's going on inside him; he isn't great at articulating such things so he can't really even tell me.

I know he's thinking about his brother, "Momma, are they going to cremate him or will we be able to see him?" (at dinner last night), "Poppa, my brother died. Me and mama are going to go to his funeral" (immediately upon Poppa walking into the house after being gone all weekend), "Momma, do I look like him?". I'm glad he can ask me these questions. I wish he didn't have to. I wish I could protect him in my bubble tomorrow. Always.


Today's Lesson: People joke all the time about how parenting doesn't come with an instruction manual. And, of course, it doesn't. But adoption even less so does. I've yet to find a book, or even a chapter titled "How to support your child at a sibling's funeral when no one knows that sibling is your child's sibling". I mean, if you know of that book, by all means, please help a mama out. I could certainly use it for tomorrow.