An Unexpected Contact...

So the letters arrived from birth mother.

I wasn't sure how I felt as I opened the letter within a letter. But what I found and my own reactions surprised me immensely.

Birth mum had written a very basic letter - but it wasn't emotional, very matter of fact and, amazingly, a simple thank you letter to Papa and I for taking care of 'her' boys. She talked about her favourite things, her family, her pets - it was as if I was reading a letter from a child. Then I had to remember that she wasn't much older than KC when she became pregnant.

Then I opened the other letters - they were thank you cards, one for me and one for Papa and a separate card wishing the boys all the best for their future, may they follow their dreams type thing...

TJ had said that he didn't want to read it and I told him he didn't have to. He has every right to be angry with her but, in the end he wanted to look at it. He said it 'intrigued' him. He was very matter of fact about the whole thing. Then he wanted to look back at his 'Life Story' book. I've always edited this before whenever I've looked at it with him. But this time he read it by himself, including the really 'difficult' bits about the abuse undergone by both boys and what 'neglect' actually meant.

After he went through it all - he gave it me back and asked me to put it away. He simply shrugged and said, "I don't remember any of that.' For that I am very grateful.

He then went to play on his Playstation - life continues as normal.

Then it came to KC. I left the letters out and told him he could read them by himself if he wanted or with me, it was up to him. He shrugged and went out.

I left the letters and his Life Story book on the dining table for a few days.

Then yesterday, as I took him to his cadet club, I asked him if he had had a look at the letters.

He simply stared ahead and quite calmly said, "I have no interest in that woman. TJ told me what she said and I really don't care.'

I started to take to him about it and he stopped me. It was his calmness that worried me most.

"Don't use the 'therapy' voice", he said, "I'm old enough to decide if I want to read a letter... and I don't. I don't want anything to do with her and I'm not interested in her card."

The idea of my 'therapy' voice made us both laugh.

As he went into his cadet group I told him I was proud of him and would support whatever decision he made.

He looked back and said, 'That's all I want, for you to be proud of me - not her."

I sat in the car for a while before returning home and putting the letters away.

I still don't know how I feel...

On the one hand I am sorry for her but on the other she was instrumental in the abuse and neglect of my children. It's a tough one... but it must be much tougher for our boys...

Urinetown...

Sometimes adoption throws up the strangest of challenges designed to push all of those 'parenting' buttons.

We've had a busy couple of weeks. TJ's 'emergency' CAMHS (Children and Adolescent Mental Health Services) finally came through - it was originally referred by the GP last June when TJ's anxiety became so heightened that he threatened suicide and refused to go to school (see School Refusal post) and the GP signed him off school whilst we awaited his EHC plan to be completed, thus allowing him to attend a specialist school. During that wait TJ gained his plan and obtained a place at an ASD specialist school - I wont say he loves it there but he had a really good parent's evening where he was seen to be a popular child who is meeting all of his expected educational milestones - they even have him on a GCSE pathway - something his previous schools had all discounted.

Anyway, the CAMHS meeting finally happened, where we were told we were doing al the right things and that the change in school had obviously had a major impact on TJ's mental health and that he was settled now and could be discharged from CAMHS - although they would offer a recommendation of a referral to a sleep clinic as TJ told them he still has trouble sleeping.

Thank goodness we weren't relying on that appointment - for us to have waited 8 months, as an emergency, reflects that state of mental health care at the moment - its not the fault of the professionals - they simply don't have the resources. I dread to think how long we would have to have waited if if wasn't an 'emergency'. Sigh...

So we thought TJ had finally turned a corner and then.... I walked into his room... and the stench hit me. It smelt not unlike a gents toilet and not one of those fancy new toilets with lovely air fresheners and background music playing. Think more of a gents toilet in a railway station circa 1985 - horrendous.

I spent the next hour on my knees sniffing various parts of the room. He hadn't wet the bed, he hadn't been seeing into a box or the bin (these are usual occurrences). No, he had wee'd directly into the corner of his room - all over a pile of teddies and bags. It was everywhere. For a thirteen year old he can certainly hold a lot of urine.

So he was duly called in for a 'chat'. After a long period of listening to a variety of stories involving each of the pets coming into his room and wee'ing on his toys, alongside his brother doing it to get him into trouble, or even a stranger breaking in during the night. Eventually he admitted he had done it, but he didn't know why. I reassured him that he wasn't in trouble -I just wanted to help him an to make sure it didn't happen again. Maybe he had been in a deep sleep and thought he was in the bathroom (which is next to his bedroom), or he was caught short - but no, he was quite happy to tell me he got up and wee'd on his stuff - it was bizarre. So he helped me clean it all up. I say clean - we can clean up the mess but the smell remains... its horrendous. But a quick google and trip to the supermarket has enabled me to find a new carpet cleaner and urine neutraliser. The mess is easier to clean up. the mental issues less so.

A chat with my online support group led me to the conclusion that he is anxious and is possible going through a period of regression. As a child in his birth family he was locked in a room for hours on end with no food, toileting - anything. When he first came to us he used to peel wallpaper off during the night so he had something to eat. Food is a huge issue for him. He has to know that fridge is always stocked. The smell of urine was probably a comfort to him - reminding him of being a baby. in the same way we only have to smell Johnson's baby powder and we feel warm and cuddly - for him urine has the same effect.

I don't know - the damage that was done early on in life is so difficult to both understand and impossible to correct - for both him and us. But I guess that's adoption - trying to teach the young people how to deal with their past trauma. how to recognise that this is a throwback and isn't going to happen again. And just when you think you've sorted it all out - it rears it's ugly head again.

Then, to cap it all, I had a call from social services. Birth mum has decided, after years of not showing the slightest interest, that she would like to get in contact with 'her boys' again. i'm not going to deny her that - maybe she's changed, maybe she's remorseful, regretful, whatever. I'm all about forgiveness. But it's easier for me to forgive, I didn't suffer because of her neglect. I don't have Foetal alcohol syndrome because she drank so heavily during her pregnancy. I didn't sit crying in my room unattended and having to eat wallpaper and sit in my wet nappies for hours on end.

I always said I'll support both boys if they want to meet her eventually. But I'll also understand their decision if they decide not to.

Not that it's my choice to make...

But not until they are ready.

The Unexpected Post...

Today's post was supposed to be about the success of National Adoption Week, about the National Adoption Awards and the fun we had followed by a successful presentation to would be adopters with the LGBT group Spectrum at Barclays.

I say supposed to be...

As I was putting my notes together this morning there was knock at the door - the postman - he usually delivers the registered letters and parcels for everyone in the street to me, as I'm the only one at home all day. We joke that I run the sorting office for the entire street. Its not a funny joke but we make it every time.

But this time I had to sign for a letter for myself and Dylan (I'm using his name now - so he doesn't feel like chopped liver). I sat down and opened it and onto the kitchen counter fell a picture of a beautiful little girl. I then opened the rest of the letter. I didn't need to read it. I knew who it was.

It was the first picture we had seen of the boys' sister in nearly 5 years - the only picture we had previously was one in their life story book of a grinning baby.

As I said in a previous post, the social workers had managed to misplace our contact agreements and as far as the sister's family knew we didn't want to have anything to do with them. However, that has all been resolved and we agreed to swap photos and letters once a year. I had sent mine off last month and today theirs arrived.

It was a lovely photo of a beamingly happy little girl who was the mix of both of her brothers - she had KC's incredible hair colour - the hairdresser is always telling him that 'people pay to have their hair coloured like yours!" and TJ's cheeky little grin.

I looked at the photo of the little girl with a fat dog in her lap and cried. I just cried - ridiculous - but there it is.

I am one of three - myself, my brother and our baby sister - just like our kids. My only thought was - what would have happened if my brother and I had been separated from our sister (whom I love dearly).  We are even similar in age gaps.

Of course, the sister is completely happy and probably blissfully unaware of two brothers she has never met - but to the boys? I'm not sure - they know about her. We have talked about her and they have asked after her. Now we shall sit down with them and chat about this picture and how happy she is without yet knowing if and when they can meet - and should they meet? Would it be more damaging? Are we going to get family jealousy - 'Why didn't I live with her parents?' etc - is this constant sense of insecurity peculiar to adoptive parents alone?

I'm forever concerned that my boys will one day wake up and realise that I'm a fraud and have no idea how to be a parent.

As National Adoption Week has focussed on siblings this week I think it is also pertinent to look at those that can't be together and the incredible job of the adoptive parents to manage that contact - as was said at the awards on Tuesday, brothers and sisters are all we have once our parents have gone - they are our immediate family and that bond will and should always remain.

To be honest, I don't really speak to my brother now - he distanced himself when the adoption went through - whatever his reasons are I know one day we will all need each other again.

But for now...

I think I want another child...

Maybe I'm just being sentimental...

Maybe...

Contact Letter Time... and Facebook!

Its that time of year again.

Time to write our annual contact letter to birth mum, not that she has ever responded but I do it anyway to ensure that in the years to come when the boys decide to look for their birth family (and I'm sure they will) they know that we did our best to keep birth mum informed.

Its always such a difficult letter to write. We are told to keep it brief, not to go into any personal details and to make sure it is positive - don't dwell on any of the problems we face on a daily basis or in any way blame the birth family for causing those problems.

There's a part of me that just wants to say "You caused this mess, you destroyed our children's lives and ruined their childhood, you could have stopped the abuse at any time - but you didn't - surely you should be writing to me and thanking us for giving them any hope of a future!" Of course I don't. I say they are doing well at school, we had a great time on holiday, they love sports and games... stuff like that. It basically becomes a completely rose tinted view of our lives. A facebook view of adoption.

Facebook - love it or hate it, its part of our lives.

There will come a time when the boys end up online and so this week I did the inevitable - I looked birth mum up on Facebook... and there she was.

Her whole life displayed publicly - no privacy settings.

I went through it all, eating it up, reading everything about her - desparately trying to find something about the children - not just ours but also the others she has had removed and have been adopted elsewhere.

Nothing.

Not one mention.

Just lots of lovely pictures of her with her friends and her (and I guess the boys') family. Lots of parties and pets - the usual pictures a young woman would put up on Facebook.

At first I was relieved that she wasn't showing any interest in the whereabouts of her children. I think I had been afraid to look before because I was worried that it would be filled with pictures of our kids as babies with her desparately pleading for someone to help find them.

And then I was saddened by it.

What would the boys think when they eventually see this? (Which won't be for a long time, but its bound to happen and I'd rather it was with me and papa to help them navigate it rather than for them to take a sneaky peak when no-one is looking) - how are they going to feel when they see that they aren't even mentioned?

Of course, I get that it may be too painful for her and that not everyone shares their lives on Facebook (although some of the stuff she did share seemed incredibly intimate) but with birth mum not engaging in letterbox contact my fear is that this will be the first time the boys hear from their mother again and it doesn't make for pretty reading.

It made me realise both the importance of letterbox contact and also the threat of social media, or rather unguarded social media in the lives of our children.

But for now - I'm back to writing platitudes...