Adoption Loss, or my attempts to keep Bren "normal"

Gosh, time sure got away from me, I will blame it on a PCS quickly followed by a deployment: brutal. Any way, we are settling in Colorado, and Jason is settling in Afghanistan, and it is as awesome as deployments can be, which means I have kept three kids, two dogs and a kitty alive for over a week—yes, don’t mind me while I pat myself on the back!

I don’t know if it is the deployment, starting preschool, just his age or most likely a combination of all three, but Brendan is becoming more fully aware of what it means to be adopted. He is aware that he is “chocolate” and that we are “white chocolate”, and he is aware that he came from a chocolate Mommy. We have always had an open approach to the subject of adoption—being subtle really was never an option with our color extremes.

I am currently reading Twenty Things Adopted Kids Wish Their Adoptive Parents Knew, and I’ll be honest the book scares the heck out of me—quite frankly, it should come with some kind of disclaimer. This is one of THE books in the adoptive world, so I feel kind of obligated to read it…like maybe there’s going to be a quiz later. A large premise of the book is that children have to grieve the loss of their birth parents…or they may grow up to be angry time bombs who “steal, set fires and destroy property” and then turn violent. Okay, I am not sure I am totally buying all of this, but like I said, this scares the heck out of me, so I’d like to stay on the right side of this one, so let’s start grieving!

Since the day Jason deployed we have had behavior problems in preschool. I suspect part of it is he is reacting to someone leaving him, and he doesn’t know how to process it. He is strong-willed and wants to control; I don’t really blame him. So, the other day, I decided to sit him down and have the adoption talk with him. I explained to him that sometimes mommies and daddies can’t take care of their babies—either they don’t have the ability or the resources. Maybe they don’t have food or even a house. When that happens, God calls in his “Plan B” mommies and daddies. I don’t know that he understood. His immediate response was, “We have a refrigerator AND a pantry! And we had one in Florida, too!” He also tells me, “Before I was Brendan Michael Wright, I was Brendan Michael Foster,” and I realize that all along when we have talked about the foster family, he thought it was the Foster Family! I had to laugh…I say no, you weren’t even Brendan Michael. “What was my name?” he asked. I paused, “I’ll tell you all about it when you are a little older.” I don’t have the heart to tell the little guy he was named after our worst president ever—Thank God we saved him. J

In all sincerity, I do totally buy into the loss. Absolutely. His is a loss greater than any I have known—we will face it, and I will do everything needed to help him through it and know he is loved and wanted. I don’t necessarily believe, according to this book, that everyone who is adopted feels this huge hole and uncontrollable anger toward the adoptive parents at some point. The book seems to focus on trying to fill a void that makes adoptees not feel normal. Seriously, my biological kids aren't normal...wait, we may be on to something...Seriously, I am not overly concerned, although this book may give me nightmares. Brendan appears really well-adjusted; he REALLY likes attention—I think he actually enjoys being the different one in the family—the special one.

Yesterday we were in the car talking about how when I was pregnant with Aidan she was a constant kicker, so we named her Aidan, which means “fiery one”. Bren said, “I am sad because I was never in your belly.” I don’t know that he is really sad and ready to grieve, but I am trying really hard to let him talk out any feelings he has about adoption (you know, so he doesn’t grow up to be a violent criminal…). I went on to explain to him that we chose “Brendan” for him because it means “brave.” He is, and he will need to be.