These Two Things

There are two themes that seem to run hand in hand when I reflect on the darkest days of the past few years: anger and grief. Sometimes one takes precedent over the other and sometimes they run parallel, playing off each other like a joy-sucking duo. They are not the prettiest parts of me, so I keep them hidden well below the surface, only to be seen by those closest. But they are real and although they are not always right, they are being used by God to shape me, slowly mold me, into who he wants me to be.

The first time anger hit me was when Zeke was a few months old. Moms with infants that don’t sleep well are not known for being overly rational and I was no exception. Further, as I’m sure you can tell by now, I’m not a go with the flow kind of gal. I’m just a wee bit more Type A than most of my friends who ride the waves of babyhood and toddler-dom with ease. Throw a very discontent little one on top of all that and it did not take long for my perfect little world to come crashing in. I had no control and I didn’t like it.

In my mind, Zeke’s incessant screaming was a sure sign that I was a complete failure. I could not make my baby happy. No matter what I did, he cried. He might be happy for a few minutes so I could snap a photo to send it off to his birth mom to show her how he was growing and developing just swell, but those minutes were short lived. I was left with a fussy, inconsolable child that I was having a hard time loving like I knew I should, like a good adoptive mom would. Why wasn’t our family just like all the other adoptive families I knew? I sat on the edge of my bed and screamed at God. I told him I did not ask for this kid and I did not want him. He could have him back. I was done. And it only left me feeling more alone and more hopeless that anything would ever change.

I knew God was with me. I knew he loved me. I knew he loved Zeke and created him exactly as he was, for purposes I knew were good. I knew all that and I believed it too. I just didn’t know how to live it.

The first wave of grief began a little later, around his first birthday. We started to see that Zeke didn’t escape the damage of drugs and alcohol after all. Rather, he was profoundly suffering those effects day in and day out. As we went from doctor to doctor, and were asked to fill out form after form, we found out more information from Zeke’s birth mom about how much she drank while she was pregnant. My heart broke for our son as we realized the devastating effects this had on his developing brain. Knowing he should statistically be dead and thankful that he was spared. Knowing his life would in no way shape or form be “normal” as a result. I grieved for what was and what was not ever going to be. In those moments I realized just how deeply I loved our son and how badly I wanted everything to be different for him.

We were researching as much as we could and began to understand that it was the alcohol that was at the root of the problems we were facing. It was the alcohol that did permanent damage to his brain. The alcohol that caused him to remain in a state of fight, flight or freeze, making it impossible for him to sleep. The alcohol that stunted the development of his central nervous system, so he screamed constantly, unable to soothe himself. The alcohol that caused the angry rages when he didn’t get what he wanted or had to wait. The alcohol that caused cognitive delays, the inability to understand consequences, and cause / effect. The alcohol had already done the damage, but we realized we would be spending the rest of his life trying to cope with the wake it left behind.

There is a John Piper quote I reflect on often. He says, “Occasionally weep deeply over the life you hoped would be. Grieve the losses. Then wash your face. Trust God. And embrace the life you have.” That is exactly how I think we need to deal with the hard things. They aren’t what we expected and they certainly aren’t what we wanted. But they are what is. And if we believe in a sovereign God who loves us, they are what is good.

The anger and the grief still come and go, and sometimes it is still very ugly over here, but I’m learning how to wash my face, trust God, and embrace the life I have been given. It is good.

 

If you would like to read more on Zeke’s story, please visit my previous posts: Ezekiel, Our Son’s Mom, and Coming Home.