Grief hits in the unexpected.
We got an email from our adoption agency yesterday letting us know we are getting close to the time when we need to complete our two year post-placement report.
My brain just stared at the words on the screen.
How could this be true?
How on EARTH are we at this point?
It doesn’t feel like we should be here…
we should be SO MUCH FURTHER ALONG.
Two years! I’m thankful that a little over two years ago I was blissfully unaware of how challenging life would be as we neared the two year mark.
I sighed. I moved on. Because that’s what life does. There’s no pause button.
Last night, the kids were all tucked into bed asleep and I was reading before bedtime. I reached into my bedside table drawer to find something to use as a bookmark. I happened to grab a picture of our oldest daughter sitting with Cinderella at Disney World. She was five and a half at the time… the exact same age Julianne is now. I completely lost it. The grief of all of the lost time, lost attachment, lost everything just crashed on me. The realization that two years is NOTHING when it comes to healing her hurts made me feel like I was gasping for air. I know that we haven’t even scratched the surface on all of the pain associated with abandonment and loss and that knowledge is suffocating. The magnitude of the differences between a five-and-a-half year old who was brought up in a stable, safe home versus a five-and-a-half year old who was not is breathtaking.
Many days we just plug along, doing what we do every day, and the past seems to fade a little. And then there are days like yesterday when grief whips itself up into a tsunami and seems bent on destruction.
I’ve grown accustomed to walking with Julianne through her grieving processes, but I realized yesterday I rarely allow myself the necessary time to grieve for myself. It’s important. I cannot hide or change the fact that adoption has rocked my world, nor the fact that I don’t always appreciate the rocking.
I mourned. I am mourning.
There are days when it’s just too much.
Sometimes, the post ends well. There’s encouragement. There’s a silver lining.
It’s okay to be surrounded by the flames. It’s okay for the waves to crash. I know this. Something good is happening, I just can’t see that right now.
And so… the post just ends.