Matthew

we waited anxiously in the hallway outside the doctors office at Seattle children’s hospital for the foster mother and our case worker to arrive with the baby boy that we would be taking home.  The clinic was for children with Down Syndrome and this would be his six week check up.
The birth mother was only Sixteen, and had picked families to adopt her baby, but the surprise of Down syndrome caused them to back out.  It was at that same time we felt the tug to adopt another child and called our caseworker to update our paperwork.  When she asked what our preferences might be, the answer was, “whatever child God has for us”.  She wanted more specifics, so we told her, as young as possible and maybe a Down Syndrome child.   She laughed and told us of the baby that needed a family like ours.  I love the way God brings a plan together.
As we waited in the hallway, I watched for a little dark haired baby,; we were told he was Hispanic. Babies came and went and waited.  When his name was called, I was surprised to see a tiny, blond, pale.....almost translucent.....little boy wrapped in a blue blanket.  I met my son.
He was healthy, though small, and cute as could be.  No heart defect , as is common in DS, and was eating well.   Our adventure began.

Emily

Our first meeting with the wild child who would be our daughter was terrifying. She screeched and spit and ripped at our clothes, glasses, and anything else in reach.  The Social worker and several of the staff from the group home told us of her alcoholic mother and an abusive stepfather who inflicted a traumatic brain injury requiring a subsequent craniotomy at eighteen months, and of her extended hospitalization in a "vegetative state". She was anything but vegetative now.  She was frightening.
When it was time for her nap, they suggested I take her upstairs to her room, change her brief, and lay her down in her bed that was enclosed by a fence to keep her from escaping. I had no idea how to change a brief on an eight year old and fumbled my way through it like I was changing a diaper on a baby. Shock waves hit me as I discovered menstural blood, pubic hair, and other evidence of  precocious puberty.....a result of the head injury. She was watching me. I was trying to not to look as horrified as I felt. I kept smiling at her, chatting aimlessly.
Pulling the covers up to her chin, I sat on the edge of the bed, feeling emotionally exhausted and inept.    How can we possibly do this? What are we getting ourselves into?  Taking a deep breath, I pushed her hair back out of her face, my fingers finding the scarring from the burr holes and brain surgery.  I was dizzy and nauseous, but again, didn't want to let her see my emotions, my fear. Blowing out another ragged breath, I said into the air, " I wonder what you will call me when we take you home?" Half asleep, she looked at me with her crooked little eyes and said "Mama".
It was the only word that she spoke, but it sealed the deal for me. I knew that we would overcome whatever problems or obstacles lay before us, that we would go wherever the road took us.  I was, at that moment,  Emily's Mother.

Mother's Day

   Emily died in the middle of winter, just as the new year began. She had struggled, fought against the inevitable, and finally gave up.  She wasn't afraid, she was tired.
  The loss of a child leaves a gaping hole in a mother's heart that may not be visible to anyone else, but casts a shadow on every aspect of life. In the spring, life had returned to what ever state normal would now be without Emily. Cooking and cleaning, laundry and shopping, work and church all fell into a routine.
  On Mother's Day, I was driving over backroads to work when I drove past two little handmade white wooden crosses stuck in the dirt by the side of the road. I had seen them as often as I drove by them.  Girls names, and dates that told me they were young when they died in this spot, were printed in black paint and stood out ...today, of all days.  I thought to myself, "Well, there are 2 mothers whose Mother's Day will never be the same... "
   Even as I thought about those mothers, and others who have experienced loss, it occurred to me that I was among them.  I was jolted as I realized that my Mother's Day would never be the same either!
   Suddenly a voice, Emily's voice, in her whispery, halting inflexion spoke clearly.  In my heart?  In the car?  Was it real?  I'm not sure, but it was her voice and her words, " Hap-py Moth-ers Day, Ma-Ma Bear."

Time passing

Tomorrow is Dana's birthday. She has been reminding us daily for three weeks. She will be forty four.... I find it hard to believe that so many years have passed since her birth. I told her I would never forget January 19th 1967, I was there!! "You were?", she was incredulous!
Yes, my darling daughter, I was there. And, I remember it like yesterday. I worked all day at the store-front mental health clinic, taped a TV talk show in Buffalo, NY with labor pains beginning to get very uncomfortable, and the took a bus to the hospital.
I remember being embarrassed to be caught wearing men's tighty whiteys, which I found to be more comfortable because of the wide waist band. I was pretty scared, and I was pretty alone.
As labor progressed through through the night, I could hear other women screaming and crying, and was determined not to do likewise.
I look back at how young and how dumb I was, and shake my head. When the nurse and the doctor were having me bear down and push, my water finally broke, and when they reflexively jumped back, I was close to histeria thinking that the babies head had popped off!!! What did I know!!
About five AM, my baby girl was born, and my life has never been the same.
Dana's disabilities were not apparent at first. When she was nine months old the seizures began, and she lost her vision. When the team of medical professionals finished evaluating her, and the diagnosis of Tuberous Sclerosis was made, the only suggestion they had for me was to place her in an institution and go on with my life. There were no special education or early intervention programs back then. How times have changed!
Ten years later, after Michael and I had been married, and he adopted both Dana and Aaron, we looked into adoption to complete our family circle. It is because of Dana that we were able to consider a special needs child, and that's how the story of our family began. We knew the joy that these kids bring to the world, it was an easy decision... Over and over again!
So, I celebrate forty three years of her life and of the lives, including my own, that have been so blessed as a result of her disabilities. It is so true, when God closes adoor, he opens a window. The view from this window has been absolutely fabulous!
Yes, Dana, I was there; and I am still here and hope I will be here to celebrate with you for many more.
Happy Birthday.

Grown up Kids

My son has gone through a difficult time, especially since it is Christmas time. He has been a rock and a comfort for his wife and her family as they have lost her Mother. It was a sudden and unexpected event that took the family unawares, and has been devastating for all.
DiAnn was a strong, but gentle woman. She had experienced hardship and pain, suffered loss and her own illness. She radiated her faith in God and her love for her family and lived fully and with joy when circumstances would defeat another woman. My daughter-in-law will be like her, she has the same strength and grit; but not today. Not with the heartbreak of the death of her mother at Christmas. She is doing as well as can be expected.
This is where I have seen my son rise to the occasion, he has been " the man", an organizer, driver, reasoner, comforter, friend, and all around rock for his wife, daughter, and the grieving family members. He arranged the flight for the girls to get to Denver, then drove through a blizzard for two days to be with them. We have talked several times, he has been tearful; we are all saddened by her passing, but I hear such strength and purpose in his voice. He takes a leadership role in an amazingly kind and quiet manner.
I am so proud of him, of both of them. They are real "grown ups" now, and they are everything that both DiAnn and I could have asked for in our children. I am blessed in knowing that both she and I will live on in them, in their hearts and minds, as well as in their strength and love as they carry the torch we have handed to them.

The Beginning

We lived in a little eight hundred square-foot house on seven acres, straight out of Mother Earth News. There was a garden, an outhouse, a chicken coop, and a goat shed. Life was good, we had realized our dream of leaving the big city and moving to the country.  We named it "Goat Hill Farm".
We barely had room for the four children we had brought to the little house through our marriage, but had a desire to complete the circle, and adopt a child that would grow in the love and laughter we had in abundance. 
I remember the conversation so clearly. The message at church that Sunday morning was on 1John3, 17-19.....if anyone has material possessions and sees a brother or sister in need but has no pity on them, how can the love of God be in that person? Dear children, let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth.
God's love for us and in us will give us the will and ability to pass it on to others. Basically, it was a call to "Put your money where your mouth is!"  The word seemed so clear to me, so while we were all changing into work clothes to put up a field of hay, I asked Michael "How do you feel about adoption?"  With his usual humor, and without missing a beat, he replied, "Fine...adopt 'em all out!"  
We were still laughing as we all went out the door to stack hay bales, with no clue where the road would lead us.
This was the beginning of our journey.

IT'S TIME

It's time. It's time to write our story.
Last evening I sat in the living room at the ranch with two grown sons and their wives, and realized that the children have assumed the roles of the adults in the family, and my job; the  Mom job, is done. We must have done something right...they are fine, fine human beings.
I am like the farmer that sits back on his tractor, looking at the acres of golden wheat just before the harvest.... I am feeling that same pride, relief, satisfaction, and quiet joy. Like the farmer, I know that there are other factors that came together to make it all work, I can't take too much of the credit, but it still feels really good.
This work has been bubbling in my mind and heart for some time now, and it became clear last night, as I officially (at least in my mind) became  the Queen Mother.
So, over the next months or years, I will try to tell the stories of our family. They will be accurate from my perspective only, they will make me laugh and cry as I tell them, and they will be an unofficial history for my family to someday read. Or burn!!
The stories will not have any chronological order, but will spring out of memories that are kindled by events of the day. My hope is that they bring a smile, or that there are lessons learned.
Life is a journey, and I am at a place on this journey where I can look back down the trail and see how far we have come.
It's time to tell the stories.....