This is one of those "I gotta get it out, but already know that I am not necessarily right" posts.
Just warning you now. It's not meant to get "Oh, you're so awesome" or "Oh, you are a role model for taking the higher road" comments. This is a venting, theraputic post on me being me. Petty, selfish, exhausted, broken, and defeated. This is a post on WHY I chose to reject the visit that was supposed to happen in the next two weeks.
Remember the story of King Solomon? I totally stole this off wikipedia...but here it is....
The story is recounted in 1Kings 3:16-28. Two women who lived in the same house and who both had an infant son, came to Solomon for a judgement. One of the women claimed that the other, after accidentally smothering her own son while sleeping, had exchanged the two children to make it appear that the living child was hers. The other woman denied this and so both women claimed to be the mother of the living son and said that the dead boy belonged to the other.
After some deliberation, king Solomon called for a sword to be brought before him. He declared that there is only one fair solution: the live son must be split in two, each woman receiving half of the child. Upon hearing this terrible verdict, the boy's true mother cried out, "Please, My Lord, give her the live child—do not kill him!" However, the liar, in her bitter jealousy, exclaimed, "It shall be neither mine nor yours—divide it!" Solomon instantly gave the live baby to the real mother, realizing that the true mother's instincts were to protect her child, while the liar revealed that she did not truly love the child. King Solomon's trick succeeded. The imposter revealed herself by her heartless cruelty. After all, no mother would have let her own child be killed just to spite another woman.
Now I have neither the wisdom of Solomon, nor the strength of a king.
I am a weak, wounded women who is trying her best not to break beneath the crushing weight of what the negative turn in my own adoption journey is doing to me or my family. And it's hard.
There aren't words for the sadness I feel, the obsession I am fighting, or the loss I am trying to work through. The reason I bring this up is simple. My decision to place Lauren for adoption was based on what I thought was best for my children and her at the time, with the information I had at my disposal. Whether L* and M* like it or not, or whether I have even come to terms with it, Lauren was "mine" first. There is a natural attatchment there that I FEEL even if I don't fully UNDERSTAND. More importantly, that being said, Lauren is also NOT a possession. She is a living, breathing person with a past, and a present, and a future. She is not "mine". She is not "theirs".
She is simply a child, placed in between two women who are fighting for her love...and she is too young to realize it. And by the time she is old enough to do just that...I don't want to be the one yelling, "CUT HER IN HALF!" My love is strong enough to walk away, whether I want to or not, and let life run its course.
If you are still reading this, and don't think I have totally lost my mind, let's move this discussion from the bible into the real world. Let's talk divorce...Let's talk child custody. I was raised in a "broken home". My husband was raised in a "broken home". And like the sad statistics we have become, we have caused "broken homes". He is my second husband, I am his third wife.
I have a beautiful, amazing, talented young women I am PROUD to call my daughter from my first marriage. She has lived with her father for ten of her thirteen years. She has loved me, hated me, been confused by me, been validated in seeing how much of who she is is from me. I love her with my entire heart, and for the most part, have a successful relationship with her, despite the fact she was not raised in my home. I have loved her from afar. I have loved her upclose and personal. I have been lucky.
My husband has four children from previous marriages. One from the first, three from the second. In his second marriage, he is unale to build a relationship with the children, and they are troubled, lost souls. Their mother cares only for the check she receives for each child, and that is a nasty can of worms that I care not to dive into here.
But his oldest child...the one who was born on his 19th birthday...his first born...that is an all together different story. When they split, she was a young child and for years Perr fought tooth and nail for visitation rights. Going to court time and time again, submitting to drug tests, and drama, all for the RIGHT to see her. And he will be the first to tell you it was all in vain during that time frame. Time and time again, he would go to pick her up, following the miserable visiting schedule that the court laid out for them, and time and time again, the cops would show up and turn him away from the house without seeing his daughter. He'd stand there...waving his little white visitation order in front of the cops...demanding to see the child that was half his, and still being unable to. Eventually, after the child witnessing this enough times...he chose to let her go. He stopped fighting for visits. He stopped trying to reason with the police who would throw his visitation order on the ground and escort him off the property. And years and years and years of him wondering where she was, and how she was doing went by.
Then, on her 18th birthday, out of the blue, she called him. And we went to meet her. And we were able to build a relationship with her on our own. Granted, nothing in this world is perfect...but when left to her own decisions...she made the one that showed she wanted to know him. And it was tragic, and it was beautiful, but it was real. And no visitation orders were needed, and no cops were called, and no sword to divide her in half was needed.
Sometimes, we have to let go in order to be reached out to. That is what I am choosing to do now. I cannot fight a battle with someone who feels entitled to what they have been given. I cannot argue the pros and cons of an open adoption with those who choose to learn nothing of it. Who don't WANT to know that there are other courses of action than the ones they are taking. And I cannot be any type of successful mother to my own children if I spent every second of every day worrying about theirs. And in case you aren't aware...that's exactly what I have been doing. And we are all drowning from it. I can't forget. I can't just "get over it". I can't pretend that my heart isn't in a thousand pieces within my chest, and that my mind is focused where it needs to be. Because it's not. A visit, at this time, would do more damage than good. It would satisy MY need to see her, MY need to hold her, MY need to try and reason with her parents that I am not a bad person, that I am supportive of them as her parents...but that would be the end of any progress made in trying to repair MY family. I would walk away more hardened, more hurt, and even emptier than I already am. And she being 18 months old would walk away with no memory of the event at all.
Just in case you were wondering....