AAC Conference Part 4: Losses

Ever hear of a book called Primal Wound? I had heard enough to be concerned; so I went to hear the author speak at the conference.  Nancy Verrier is an adoptive mother and psychotherapist who speaks on “the effects of separation and trauma and genetic confusion on adoptees.”

Disclaimer: I have not read the book. However, I think I was able to pick up the essence of the theory. The idea is that adoptees become “dis-regulated” because they are taken from their original mothers at birth. The sounds, smells, and so forth that babies have grown accustomed to in the womb are replaced by different sounds and smells. Verrier says the mother-child relationship is the cornerstone relationship. The child’s loss of that relationship – even though he/she doesn’t remember it – makes it difficult for the child to trust again. The adoptee is fearful of losing relationships. The adoptee fears intimacy. The mannerisms around them in the adoptive family do not reflect their mannerisms. Verrier stated that 7% of communication is verbal. The rest is non-verbal. Children read the non-verbal communication of biological relatives much better than they read non-biological relatives. Adoptees become chameleons, trying to fit in wherever they go. Many are diagnosed as ADHD because they are hyper-vigilent regarding their surroundings, trying to make sure they are not abandoned again. Their imitation of the adoptive parents/family becomes a false self, based on external cues, instead of a genuine self based on internal cues.

Verrier identified a number of common characteristics among adoptees: low self-esteem, self-blame, compliant or defiant behavior, disassociating or daydreaming, and use of drugs or sex to escape the pain. Adoptees are not as sensitive about how their behavior affects others. This is because they believe they don’t matter much. Verrier argued that adoptees can learn to be responsible for their behavior, but it is a learning process that requires validating their feelings, but asking: “How do you think this behavior affects me (or another)?” Verrier also stated that it is hard for an adoptee to become his/her genuine or authentic self while in the adoptive home. (Are you depressed yet?)

I am trying not to be defensive. I am trying to absorb this information and make use of it. I never thought of my children as having “attachment” problems the way that term is usually defined because they had ME from Day One. But, of course, MY Day One is calculated from birth.

I think about my middle child who has exhibited most of the behaviors Verrier described. She has been a chameleon in different situations. She would do whatever it took to be accepted by her peers even if the behavior hurt her. She has also been rebellious and seemingly uncaring about how her behavior affected others.

But then I think about her birth mother. Her birth mother has also exhibited these same behaviors, and she was NOT adopted. It’s her personality. Is it a “primal wound” or genetics? I/we will probably never know. Whatever combination of factors, Skye is learning to self-regulate. She is learning how her past behavior hurt others and herself. She is making conscientious decisions about who and how she wants to be in the future.

And I think about our fully open adoptions. Our four older kids have spent time with their birth families from the beginning. They see their own mannerisms, traits, and so forth reflected in their genetically related families. Doesn’t this put salve on the wound of the loss?

Adoption is about losses. I won’t deny it, though my impulse is to want to fix it or make it go away. Every parent wants to protect his or her children from loss. This is a particular kind of loss we face in adoption. But if we face it head on, and help our kids deal with it, I suspect we are helping them learn to cope with other losses they will experience as time goes on.

I also went to a workshop on infertility and third party reproduction that, again, dealt with losses. The first presenter counsels people dealing with the loss associated with being unable to create a biological child. She called it a “major life crisis.” Thoughts such as: “I am not a real woman if I can’t produce a child” or “Maybe I wasn’t meant to be a mother” are devastating. Infertility treatment takes over her (and his) life – procedures, scheduling clinic visits, not being able to leave a bad job because of insurance concerns, the astronomical cost of $18K per IVF cycle (not including the drugs), etc. Family gatherings where there is a new baby or announcement of pregnancy remind her of what she doesn’t have. Feelings of anger, guilt, blame and so forth affect the marriage. The sense of helplessness and being out of control is often new to highly successful women and men. Outsiders who think they are helping say things like: “Just adopt. There are lots of kids who need homes.” The infertile couple can be pushed into adoption without ever really dealing with the loss… All of this resonated with me.

The presenter encouraged a ritual of some sort to recognize the loss before moving on. She shared a poem that I really like:

“Today I have closed the door of the nursery I have kept for you in my heart.

I can no longer stand in its doorway,

I have waited for you there so long.

I cannot forever live on the thought of a dream we share,

You cannot enter my world.

I have tried to bring you across the threshold of conception and birth.

I have fought time, doctors, devils and God Almighty.

I am weary and there is no victory.

Other children may someday live in my heart but never in your place.

I can never hold you,

I can never really let you go,

But I must go on.

I can no longer live on the thought of the dream we would share.

The unborn are forever trapped within the living.

But it is unseemly for the living to be trapped in the unborn.”

The upshot is that families who acknowledge differences develop empathy and have better communication. I think we’ve done well with that in this family. For one thing, open adoption keeps us honest because we are surrounded by “reminders” – birth families. For another, having this many people in one family who are not genetically related forces the issue. And, finally, John and I are – because of our personal histories – both inclined to face reality and hard truths head on.

I can’t go without mentioning the second speaker at this workshop. She works in embryo adoption. Remember: there are more babies created through third party donors each year than all domestic and international adoptions combined. She talked about the importance of resolving infertility and about the couple who plans on purchasing an embryo owning the fact that this is THEIR choice to bring a child into the world created in this way. They need to be prepared to be their child’s advocate and to meet his/her needs whatever they may be. She pushed for openness in the donor arena – giving children a way to contact their genetic kin. (There is a donor sibling registry now, and 40,000 families are already registered.)

The speaker talked about the huge number of embryos in storage. Half of the couples who created the embryos decide NOT to decide what to do with them, and they remain in storage. The couples who do decide to donate their embryos do so because they believe they have gone through so much to create them that they want their potential children to have parents. The speaker works at an organization where embryo transfer is treated as an adoption. The genetic parents are counseled like birth parents. A home study is conducted on the prospective recipients of the embryo and they meet the donors and get to know each other. Although in many states embryos are considered “property” that is transferred to its new owners, in her practice, there is an adoption decree that finalizes the process… This makes sense to me. Wherever you stand on the beginning of life, if an embryo results in the birth of a child, this arrangement isn’t about a property transfer. These children wind up in the same position as any child who is adopted: they have a different set of genetic parents and deserve the same access to information and relationships.

I’ve said and written before: “adoption exists because life is not perfect. If it were, all women who give birth would be able to raise their children. If it were, the women who wanted to become pregnant and bear children would be able to. If it were, children would be able to live with their original parents and have all their needs met.” (EIIOT Preface) The people who came to this conference were self-selected. Either as professionals or as members of the triad, they are wrestling with personal feelings of loss or trying to make the process and policies regarding adoption better. That’s a good thing. But, I have to remember that the vast majority of folks affected by adoption were not there. And many of them are managing just fine. Adoption is not a bad thing – in my opinion – despite the inherent losses. There is much to celebrate. But it is also important to continue learning so that our eyes are open to what we can do better.

AAC Conference Part 3: Birth Parent Rights

I attended a workshop on “successful adoptions.” The participants were divided into groups representing professionals, birth parents, adoptive parents, extended families, child, etc. We were asked to discuss and define a successful adoption for the entity we represented. In short, connections between relatives and openness in communication about all aspects of adoption seemed to be the main ingredients necessary.

In the next workshop I attended, a panel of birth mothers told their stories. Some of the discussion focused on whether or not pregnant women considering adoption really had a choice in the matter once they contacted an adoption agency or adoption attorney. Marketing to potential birth mothers is very persuasive. Agencies and attorneys are very anxious to work with them and offer “options.” These options may include: (1) you can choose the adoptive parents; (2) you can choose what happens in the hospital; (3) you can choose the amount and type of contact now and in the future, etc. But are pregnant women truly given any option other than adoption?

In my experience, most private or agency domestic infant adoptions are conducted in the following manner:

1. Wait until after the first trimester has passed to counsel or talk to a potential birth mother so that the option of termination is not easily available.

2. Discuss parenting versus adoption with an emphasis on the benefits to the child of a stable home, two parents, financial resources, etc.

3. Empower the woman with the knowledge that she can choose from a large number of prescreened and deserving potential adoptive parents whose profiles, books or letters describe their idyllic lives and their gratitude to the birth mother who selects them.

4. After selecting adoptive parents, the pregnant woman often meets and begins the process of becoming emotionally attached to these wonderful people and their genuine appreciation for her sacrifice.

5. Often, a counselor is assigned to follow the potential birth mother (or birth parents) and her selected adoptive parents through the pre-birth contact, birth, and placement of the child. She may help them write an open adoption agreement defining post-placement contact.

6. The prospective adoptive parents are often at the hospital for the birth of the baby and spend time “bonding” with him or her. Hospital personnel may be prepared in advance to treat the adoptive parents as the “real parents.”

7. At the appropriate time, an adoption agency professional or attorney who has previously advised the biological parents about the legal documents, meets the birth parents in the hospital or another location for the signing.

8. Birth parents and adoptive parents go their separate ways. If all goes well, the adults perform according to their open adoption agreement. Their counselor follows the progress for a few days, weeks, or months. Ultimately, the counselor becomes available on an “as needed” basis.

Sounds straightforward enough, doesn’t it? But I ask you to consider this question: Where’s the money? Follow the money.

All of this process is funded by the potential adoptive parents: the marketing, the intake counselors, the match counselors, the lawyers, the living and medical expenses (in certain cases). Everyone involved in the adoption process is being paid by the people who want the adoption to succeed: the adoptive parents. One would hope that these professionals would have the integrity to halt the process if they sensed a problem. But is “hope” the best we can do? Where is the independent advocate for each birth parent? Where is the person who will safeguard her (or his) rights and interests regardless of the effect on the adoption?

Though any woman who is considering adoption is in crisis, is it possible that the crisis can be managed in some other way than by placing the child for adoption? This is where I get on my soapbox… Potential birth parents need to be advised about all their options, from the moment they discover there is a pregnancy, in a knowledgeable, clear, and unbiased fashion. Example: “For you, [name of pregnant woman or father of the pregnancy], in your particular circumstances, does it make sense to terminate the pregnancy, to parent the child, or to place the child with someone else to parent? What would each of these options look like? How would each of these options feel? What are the resources available to make each of these options a reality? What would be the immediate consequences? What might the long-term consequences look and feel like?” Practical steps also need to be taken, such as creating budgets and identifying family members, friends, and professionals who might help.

As an adoptive parent who cherishes the time pre-birth (after our children’s birth parents had chosen us) as an opportunity for both families to get to know one another, as a time to anticipate potential medical issues, talents, strengths and weaknesses, etc. of the unborn child, and as a time to evaluate what our lifelong commitment to each other might look like, I find it difficult to admit that I have come to wonder whether or not this pre-birth relationship puts too much pressure on the birth parents to place. Arguments can be made on either side. But, if one is serious about creating an environment in which adoption is truly a “voluntary” act by the birth parents, the nature and extent of pre-birth contact needs to be re-considered.

One other thing occurs to me as I consider the issue of birth parent rights and successful adoptions – when adoption is the right choice for the birth parents. Most of the time we think about the advantages of open adoption in relationship to the child. The child will know that he/she has two sets of parents that love him/her. The child will know who he/she looks like and why the adoption plan was made. The child will have access to medical history and be able to communicate and form relationships with birth family members. The parenting skills of the adoptive parents will be enhanced and the child will benefit because adoptive parents will have insight into their child that only the birth family can provide.

But in my experience, the third side of triangle – the side that links birth and adoptive parents – may be just as important in creating successful adoptions. A good relationship between the adoptive mother and birth mother, for example, helps them deal with their losses related to infertility or to placement. If I can share my sadness about not being the biological parent to the child I love and if my child’s birth mother can share her sadness about not being able to do the day-to-day parenting of the child she loves, we can come to appreciate our respective losses and roles in a way that benefits both of us. And in so doing, I believe, we also give our child permission to grieve his/her losses and to live a healthier life.

AAC Conference Part 2: Dominique and Jennifer

You may remember Dominique Moceanu – the youngest Olympic gold medalist (at age 14) and a member of the 1996 Olympic gold medal winning U.S. Women’s Gymnastics team in Atlanta.

Dominique and her sister were keynote speakers at the AAC conference. If you don’t know this story, you simply must hear it.

Dominique’s parents were both gymnasts from Romania. Her father was very strict and expected perfection from her. Dominique admitted that she was afraid of her father who often screamed at her not to embarrass the Moceanu name by making mistakes. He also hit her or pulled her ears. None of this was public knowledge when Dominique won gold for the United States in 1996. But, at the age of 17, Dominique filed legal documents for emancipation from her parents and the story came out. Dominique has since married and has two children. She says she is the first woman in her family line to marry a non-abusive husband.

A few years after Dominique was born, her mother gave birth to a second daughter. This daughter was born with no legs, and her father decided to leave the baby at the hospital. The Moceanu’s second daughter, who would be named Jennifer Bricker, was adopted by parents who believed in her abilities and taught her not to put limitations on herself. As a result, Jennifer was a competitive softball player, roller skater, and basketball player at a mere three feet tall! Jennifer loved watching competitive gymnastics on television, and her hero was Dominique Moceanu. She told her parents she wanted to be a gymnast too. Jennifer started tumbling at age seven and eventually became the Illinois state tumbling champion – and not in the disabled category! Jennifer now makes her living as an aerial acrobat.

Jennifer knew she was adopted, and she had even commented to her parents that Dominique looked like her. But she was never very interested in her origins until, at the age of 16, a friend told her that she had found her birth parents. Jennifer came home and asked her adoptive mother what she knew about Jennifer’s biological parents. Her mother brought out the envelope of adoption papers she had been saving. Miraculously and accidentally, the signatures of the biological parents had not been blacked out as was the usual procedure.

At the conference, Jennifer went into detail about her search and discovery that her HERO was also her SISTER. She contacted her biological parents who were less than enthusiastic about being found. Jennifer waited. But in early December 2007, she said that her dreams were consumed with making contact with Dominique. She summoned up the courage, copied all the legal documents and pictures of herself growing up, and wrote a letter to her hero. Meanwhile, Dominique was 9 months pregnant with her first child and studying for five final exams to complete her undergraduate degree when the letter arrived. Dominique knew the information was true as soon as she saw Jennifer’s pictures. She waited until after her baby girl was born in late December to call Jennifer. Both sisters said they connected instantly like “best friends.” Dominique reflected, “Life will forever be divided now. Life before knowing Jen, and life after.”

Jennifer commented, “I had the best childhood. Dominique didn’t. She was blessed in a different way.” She said their circumstances have taught her never to have harsh feelings about birth family: “Things don’t happen TO us. They happen FOR us.” She also said, “A different set of parents would have made a different Jennifer Bricker. The biggest blessing in my life was adoption.”

When asked about her mother (-her father is deceased-), Dominique responded that it is important to forgive those who hurt you so you can live a healthy life. She said she has compassion and understanding, now, for the kind of upbringing that created her father’s behavior. She said that keeping a secret, the way her mother did, for 20 years “affects her.” The memories of pain and hurt make it hard for her to have a relationship with Jennifer. She carries guilt. She worries about judgment. But, Dominique said, the relationship will come in time.

I’m tempted to draw conclusions based on this story – but I know to be cautious. Adoption and adoption reunions don’t always work out this well. There are not always identifiable “good guys” and “bad guys.” Loss is felt more deeply by different members of the adoption triad depending on the circumstances and the personalities of the people involved. Nonetheless, it was good to hear such an uplifting story. It was also good to hear that no one is being left behind. The sisters are willing to be patient and hopeful that their mother will one day be able to experience the joy as well as the pain of adoption.

AAC Conference Part 1: Open and Closed

I first became aware of the American Adoption Congress through the Adoption Triad support group that I attend.  Here is the AAC’s mission statement:

“The American Adoption Congress is comprised of individuals, families and organizations committed to adoption reform. We represent those whose lives are touched by adoption or other loss of family continuity.

“We promote honesty, openness and respect for family connections in adoption, foster care and assisted reproduction. We provide education for our members and professional communities about the lifelong process of adoption. We advocate legislation that will grant every individual access to information about his or her family and heritage.”

At the conference I attended last week, the participants were mostly adult adoptees and birth parents, though some adoptive parents and professionals were also in attendance.  A big focus of the AAC is helping to make access to original birth certificates (OBCs) for all people a reality.  I am not an expert on this subject as this has not been my personal battle to fight.  My children, by virtue of open adoption, have their original birth certificates.  But, as I have learned, the inability to know where one comes from can leave a large, gaping hole.

There were more workshops than any one person could possibly attend.  There were workshops on openness in public and private adoptions, caring for special needs children, ethics, LGBT adoptees, male adoptees, search and reunion, transracial adoption, writing about adoption, OBC access legislation, and so much more.  There were also keynote speakers, support groups, movies, art, performances and books.

Many of the conference speakers and workshops were focused, in one way or another, on the losses associated with adoption.  This is particularly true in the closed adoption context, but it is not limited to closed adoption.

Let me start with a few statistics to set the stage.  These statistics were given by Adam Pertman, the Executive Director of the Donaldson Adoption Institute.  (www.adoptioninstitute.org is a great source for adoption research, policy, and practice.)  There are 1.5 million adopted children in the US – over 2% of all children.  At the present time, it is estimated that there are approximately 135,000 adoptions completed each year in the US.  40% of these adoptions are stepparent adoptions.  Of the non-stepparent adoptions, 68% are from the child welfare system — children who have been abused, neglected, and/or institutionalized.  40% of adoptions are transracial.  15% of adoptions are from other countries.  Only 15,000 adoptions are domestic infant adoptions… I mention these statistics in part because my focus is usually on this latter, relatively small category.  It’s helpful to know your place in the grand scheme when it comes to making policy or addressing issues that affect adoption practices more generally.

And this was news to me: There are more children born each year through assisted reproductive technologies that include third party donors (sperm, egg, or embryo) than the number children adopted.  These children also suffer the loss of a connection to one or more of their genetic parents.

Pertman talked about the disappearance of closed adoption due to the Internet.  Anybody and everybody can be found.  In adoption, the special people who help birth families and adoptees connect are called Search Angels.  There were several present at the conference helping others make connections even as the conference proceeded.  I went to an Internet searching workshop and received a “Beginner’s Search Checklist” and a 5-page list of websites to find all kinds of information about relatives even if you have very little to begin with.  The presenter also included tips for getting around various roadblocks at different sites.

I thought about Internet searching in relationship to my own family.  We are lucky to have contact with four of our five children’s birthmothers – as well as other relatives.  But with these kinds of tools, I could stalk – excuse me: “find” – other relatives as well as Becton’s “missing” birthmother.  I went away from the workshop wondering where we are headed with all this information at our fingertips.  I also went away thinking: Once I get an address, I’m sending a handwritten, personal and old-fashioned, snail mail certified letter to Becton’s first mother. I’m not sure I want to know too much too soon.  There is something so intimate about these relationships that slowing down and taking one step at a time seems like the most responsible and ethical response to me…. As one of the presenter’s said in a workshop: “The decision to place a child for adoption is THE BIGGEST decision a person will make in her (or his) lifetime.”  Don’t I owe my child’s first mother the opportunity to control, at her own pace, the information she wants to share when she finds the courage to reach across the divide?

It’s tricky being the adoptive mother of a non-adult adoptee.  Do I have the right to substitute my judgment about what is in his/Becton’s best interest in relationship to opening his adoption?  How far do I push?

As I’ve shared before, I wrestled with these questions for a number of years in relationship to Journey’s adoption.  Her adoption began as an open one.  Then her birth mother “disappeared.”  Journey wanted to find her.  I hired private investigators and several times came very close to either contacting her or one of her relatives.  I backed off when the cost of the last step was high or I had second thoughts about revealing the adoption to a relative who might not know it had taken place.  The original arrangement and exchange of information had been made between adults: birth mother and adoptive parents.  But that was when the child was an infant.  When did the decision-making power and the information transfer to the child?

We were lucky to make contact with a relative – the only relative – who, in addition to Journey’s birth mother, knows that Journey exists.  From there, we were able to reconnect with Journey’s birth mother directly.  It has made a huge difference in Journey’s life, I think.  In the past few months, Journey has become more responsible and compassionate toward others.  I believe those qualities are a direct result of her feeling more whole, more complete.  Personally, as Journey’s day-to-day mother, I have benefitted.  She loves being with me now.  My sense is that she needed to know and experience her birth mother to give herself permission to let go and fully love me too.

If I’m right about Journey, then I have to wonder what benefits would come from Becton knowing and experiencing his birth mother.  I will send a letter to her.  Then I’ll hope and pray her life circumstances permit her to respond.  If not, I will be patient, but I suspect I will try again.

55 and Downhill

It all began to go downhill when… Well, I don’t really know why so many problems occurred in rapid succession. But they did.

At the end of 2012, I decided I needed a new hairstyle after decades of long – sometimes wavy, sometimes curly, sometimes frizzy – hair that I often put in a ponytail. The first cut was such a radical change that everyone who knows me well must have felt compelled to say something positive. The second cut, on the weekend of my 55th birthday, included a change of hair color as well. The hairstylist was very impressed with his work and joked that I ought to wear a signboard with his name and contact information so that everyone who saw me would know where to go if they wanted to look as good as I did. I went home. Journey looked at me and burst into tears. No one commented this time on how fabulous I looked.

I’d been having trouble seeing clearly – particularly when driving at night. I knew I was developing cataracts. That bomb had been dropped a few years ago. My ophthalmologist had told me it might be awhile before I needed surgery, so I carried on and tolerated the family’s laughter as my ability to distinguish colors diminished. Nevertheless, at 55, I thought it was about time to get my eyes checked again. After examining my eyes, my doctor said, “Why haven’t you come in before now? If you wait much longer, the surgery will be much harder.”

I also went to the OBGYN office for my annual exam. But for some reason, this time, the nurse practitioner noticed in my file that I had a blood clot in my 20s. She was troubled because one is not supposed to be on hormone replacement therapy when one has a history of blood clots. (It’s been 5 or more years now that I’ve been on HRT, and this is the first time my blood clot has been mentioned. And, by the way, what were the medical professionals thinking during those years when I was pumped full of hormones to try to combat infertility?) The nurse tells me that low doses of a particular anti-depressant can be used to counteract hot flashes. An anti-depressant for a person who is not experiencing depression, really? But I decided to give it a try. The first day I was so nauseous and dizzy, I had to lie down for a couple of hours. I was sleepy, hungry and gaining weight, constipated, dizzy, and slightly nauseous for a week before I finally said “enough,” and stopped taking the pills. Since then, I’ve been in a perpetual state of hot-flashing every one to three hours. Given the alternative – I can live with a little extra sweat.

At 55, I can’t seem to go to the grocery store anymore without being asked if I need help getting my purchases out to the car. No, I don’t. Can’t you tell that I lifted that 35 lb. bag of dog food into the cart all by myself? John says this is standard operating procedure for the employees, but I keep remembering all the years I was accompanied by three or four unruly children to the grocery store, filled two grocery carts I couldn’t push alone, and no one offered to help me. How much have I aged? Was my body holding back the wrinkles all these years until it suddenly exploded?

I decided to go to American Adoption Congress national conference in Cleveland, Ohio a few weeks ago. It was going to be an expense we didn’t need to incur and extra work for John with the kids. But John is always so supportive of my need to participate in professional activities that stimulate my brain because he understands how mind-numbing most of my time is spent. Unfortunately, the conference coincided with spring break for two of my kids. I had already scheduled K.J. to attend four days of driving school and to complete the lifeguard-training course that would allow him to get a job this summer. The issue was: What will Becton be doing while K.J. is occupied, Journey is in school and John is working? Resolved: Becton will fly with Rebecca to Cleveland. Airplane flights and staying in a hotel room were enough incentive to bring Becton on board with the plan.

We had moved and I needed a new driver’s license with my correct address. In the process of trying to change the address online, I became unlicensed! (I won’t bother reciting the ridiculous details of how this happened.) But I needed a valid license before I could do anything else – like perform my daily chauffeuring routine or fly to Cleveland. I could not find my birth certificate. It was supposed to be with all the other family members’ birth certificates – but it wasn’t. I did find my passport. Turns out – it had expired three months before and I couldn’t get a new passport without a birth certificate either. But off I trouped to the DMV with the documents I did have, to stand in line for five hours, and to receive my temporary paper license with the mug shot of some scary lady on it. (Becton said, “Don’t show that to anybody, Mom.”)

The pace of catastrophe picked up.* The night before our scheduled trip to Cleveland, John discovered that he had booked our flights FROM Cleveland to Atlanta and back to Cleveland. For a mere $900 we could fix the problem! Instead, we compromised on flights to Columbus, a rented car, and a two+ hour drive to Cleveland. When Becton and I arrived at the airport, we discovered that ALL the people who had come to Atlanta for the Final Four championship games were returning to their places of origin precisely when Becton and I needed to take our flight. The security line was 100s of people long. We made it through security and to our designated gate only to discover that the gate been changed. We arrived at the new gate just in the nick of time to board. It was a bumpy flight and Becton’s ears hurt despite the dose of decongestant. At the rental car desk, the agent took one look at my paper license and announced, “We can’t rent a car to you. It’s a liability thing.” A call to John and an hour later, we found a car rental company that would work with us.

We made it to Cleveland and checked into our hotel. Weather conditions were rain and temperatures in the 30s and 40s for the week. Becton’s ear problem developed into a full-blown cold that kept him room bound. There would be no Cleveland Zoo or Cleveland Indians games in the rain. There would be no museum visiting when museums closed at 5 p.m., long before the conference events ended. But, in the end, it worked out fine. Becton decided to spend most of his time with two new computer games – multitasking between the iPad, computer, and TV, while I attended workshops. Becton got over his cold before the plane ride home. I managed to find dry times between rainfalls to run. John found my birth certificate at home in a different safe. (No idea how it got there.) Cataract surgery is scheduled. My hair is growing. I’m getting used to managing the hot flashes. And I’m trying to make peace with the offers to help from grocery store employees.

In the next several blog entries, I will share some of what I learned at the conference. It was worth all the trouble. Stay tuned.

*I hesitated to post this humorous entry today.  I am acutely aware that my “catastrophes” do not compare with the horror of the attack on innocents in Boston yesterday.  I have a particular passion for running, so I feel the violation in a personal way as well.  Life is full of this confusing mix of trivial and profound, yet it keeps moving on.  This day, my life circumstances seem markedly trivial — and for that I am grateful.  But my deeper thoughts and prayers are with the victims, survivors, and families affected by the bombings — as I know yours are too.

Coach K

We have moved again.  In the process of moving and purging, I found a copy of a letter I wrote to the men’s basketball coach of Duke University, Mike Krzyzewski, in 1992, during one of Duke’s National Championship years.  I lived near Durham, NC, at the time and had been a student at Duke.  I was young, recently married, not yet a parent, and full of dreams.  On the afternoon before this evening’s Final Four National Championship game in Atlanta, I thought I’d share this historic letter…

April 8, 1992

Dear Coach,

I guess I’m feeling sentimental about all that has happened for you, your team, and the Duke fans over the last year and, particularly, the last few weeks.  I have thought about writing to you before to say “thank you” for being the kind of coach and man you appear to be and for representing our school and college basketball with such class.  “Class” is a word my dad has always used sparingly over the years to recognize a special and admirable way certain persons at particular times conduct themselves.  (Lucky for me, he often uses it in reference to my mother.)  It is the word that comes to mind for me on a regular basis when thinking or talking about you.

I grew up in Atlanta, went to college and my first graduate school in Atlanta at Emory University, long before that school had an intercollegiate basketball team.  But I played on the winningest intramural women’s team there, and played before in high school and later in recreational leagues.  Throughout those years, as I recall, playing basketball was the most rewarding and frustrating and exhilarating and emotional thing I did.  It framed my existence.  I can’t imagine growing up without thinking of my coaches and teammates and many of the speeches and words of both praise and criticism given during those years.  Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like to play intercollegiate ball and wonder what I missed.  But I know that even in my low profile games I learned a lot about teamwork, compassion, leadership, hard work and overcoming negative feelings that interfered with success, and even about love – brotherly (yeah, I played on a men’s team too) and sisterly love.  Those are some of the more important lessons I’ve learned in my life.  I’m not saying anything new, or anything you haven’t heard dozens of times before, I’m sure.  But when I think about Duke’s team, I’m grateful that those young men have a coach like you at this time in their lives.

I came to Duke four years ago to go to law school and graduate school here and, partly, to be in a place where I’d heard they played good ball.  At least with respect to the last reason, I made the right choice.  I stayed at Duke this year after graduation last spring to be the interim Coordinator of Sexual Assault Support Services while my husband finishes his M.B.A. before we head off to Palo Alto, CA next fall to a law firm job that will hopefully help me pay off my loans to Duke.  I am going to miss Duke basketball a lot; but I’ll watch the games we get out there; and I’ll keep playing one way or another.  And someday when I have paid off those loans and started my own practice doing some kind of legal work related to violence against women and children, I’ll fulfill that dream of mine to start a camp for sexually abused kids.  And I know I’ll coach basketball with those kids.  When I do, I’ll remember you.  I’ll remember your class and many of the things you’ve said publicly with dignity and emotion and honesty.

Thank you for giving me memories and contributing to my dream.  You probably reach many more people than you’ll ever know.

Sincerely,

Rebecca P. Falco

 

My claim to fame is that “Coach K” actually called me after receiving my letter to tell me how much he appreciated it.  I’m still in shock about that.

I haven’t fulfilled the dreams I mentioned in my letter over 20 years ago.  Time and circumstances changed my dreams.  But I would like to think that I’ve used – and will use – what I learned from Coach K in how I conduct my life.

The letter reminded me that particular dreams don’t always come true.  But we never lose the opportunity to appreciate the people around us who make a difference in our lives.  All it takes is the willingness to stop and say “thank you.”

Living in the Truth

I used to think that values were like a package you delivered to your kids that they would receive in the same way. Boy, was I wrong! I’ve come to believe, instead, that each individual is a complicated mix of genetic and environmental factors that receives that same information in very different ways.

Why is it, seemingly, so easy for Emily and Journey to tell the truth, but not so easy for K.J. and Skye? I can’t explain it. What I do know is that the same parents delivered the same lessons in morality to all four kids.

I used to spend a lot of time thinking: What am I doing wrong? Then I would read columns or books or hear talk show hosts promoting a method of dispensing moral virtues to children that was foolproof, and I’d try that method or feel like a failure for having gone about teaching values some other way.

I used to get very angry with the child who lied to me. Then, when she or he lied again and again, I became overwhelmingly sad. But, recently, I’ve moved on to acceptance. Don’t misunderstand. I haven’t accepted the lying. I’ve accepted that telling the truth is harder for them. And I am resigned to be patient and to continue to teach the value of telling the truth because I believe it is of utmost importance.

On Friday, as I was packing boxes for our impending move to another house, I came upon K.J.’s retainer. It was not in the bathroom or by his bed, as I would suspect a retainer to be that was being used. It was buried under a bunch of papers in his desk drawer. So, I texted him:

“K.J., honestly, when is the last time you wore your retainer? I just found it under a bunch of papers in your desk drawer.”

An hour and a half later, K.J. texted back: “A couple nights ago.”

I didn’t believe him. With some other kid, I might have concluded: Question asked and answered. But K.J. has a history of telling his father and me what he thinks we want to hear regardless of the truth.

I responded: “Then explain how it got buried in your desk instead of being in the bathroom where you’d take it out and clean it. I’m asking you to be honest.”

I’ve learned that this process of uncovering the truth will proceed more quickly if I go ahead and present him with the inconsistencies in his story and remind him that I expect a truthful answer.

No response from K.J.

Half an hour later, I texted: “If its been months, you got to tell me months, understand? We’ve got to have trust between us.”

No response for another hour. Then he texted: “I took it out and put it there.”

By then, I was on the way to pick K.J. up from school. I was also on the phone with John to strategize how to respond if K.J. continued to lie. And, there it was – another lie texted from K.J.

I might trick him or trap him. We’ve done that before to get the truth. I might threaten the loss of privileges. We’ve done that too. John suggested I tell him we’ve been thinking he might need to go to Texas, where Skye is, for treatment. I know that sounds pretty harsh. But, you need to understand that we’ve been here many a time before and it can take hours to get K.J. to fess up. He has heard all the reasons for telling the truth. He “knows” better. He will be relieved when he finally lets go of the lies. He always is. But the lesson doesn’t stick…

When K.J. got in the car, I told him I knew he was lying. I also told him that his dad and I had been thinking about sending him to Texas. He said, “I don’t want to go there.” I said, “Then you have to start telling the truth.”

K.J. next told me it was about two weeks since he wore the retainer. I reiterated that I didn’t believe him. I won’t bore you with all the back and forth before K.J., eventually, came clean. It had been months since he wore the retainer.

Then came the inevitable question from me: “Why did you lie?” and K.J’s inevitable answer: “I don’t know.” I told him we were going to sit in the car until he did, that I was done providing him multiple choices answers from which he could pick – and always did. He was too old for that. He knew the answer and he would have to figure it out before we went home. Until he understood why he did what he did, he could not change his behavior.

It took another few minutes before K.J. said, “I don’t like wearing it.”

I asked, “But how does that explain the lying? Why not just say, ‘I don’t like wearing it.’?”

Again came the “I don’t know” and more car sitting.

I explained to K.J. that if he “didn’t know” why he lied, then it could happen any time. His dad and I would have to keep close tabs on him to make sure he stayed on the right path: open doors, supervised computer and Skyping time, etc. He would need to ride with me to pick-up Journey from school because I couldn’t trust him at home alone. I could see from his expression that he didn’t like what I was saying.

A few minutes later, K.J. said, “I knew that you’d be mad that I wasn’t wearing it, and I don’t see the point.”

“So, in other words,” I responded, “you are saying that you lied to keep us from knowing that you were not wearing the retainer because you expected we would then make sure you did the thing you don’t want to do.” I continued, “This wouldn’t be the first time we made you do something you didn’t want to do, would it?”

“No.”

“Do you understand why we want you to wear your retainer?”

“Yes. So my teeth will stay straight.”

“But you are not convinced, right? You don’t have enough information to see the value in the retainer. Should we call the orthodontist and get more information? Do you see how, if you’d told me that you don’t believe wearing the retainer is important, we could have asked your doctor? With enough information, you might make the decision to wear the retainer. But if you were still not convinced, you could make the case to us that wearing the retainer was not important. In either case, you would not have felt you had to lie.”

From there, we launched into a discussion about the consequences of lying. Okay. Admittedly, I did the vast majority of the talking… I reminded K.J. of others we know who have lied, been caught, and suffered for it. But the main thing I wanted him to hear is what lying does to him INSIDE.

I’ve been made acutely aware of this recently with Skye. Once you lie, you have to remember that lie and to whom it was told the next time you interact with the person. And if you tell different lies to different people, you have more to remember. It’s a lot of work. Then there is the fear of getting caught. Your brain gets full of stories that you have to keep straight. But, worst of all, you begin not to know what the truth is – YOUR truth.

What we have seen with Skye – what Skye is facing now – is the reality that she told different “stories” to different people, each of whom accepted her based on that fiction. She wanted to be accepted and she believes that her lies enabled that acceptance. What has happened recently, is that Skye has been caught telling one of the lies about her past by her peer group and counselors in Texas. She is panicked and fearful to tell the truth. She thinks that telling the FACTS or truth of what happened will bring about dire consequences. John and I have tried to make her understand that we don’t care what the FACTS reveal. What is holding her back is not the FACTS themselves. It’s the fear she has of not being accepted for who she really is.

I wish I could make Skye understand that holding onto the lies is like holding herself in prison. I wish I could make her believe that there is freedom “on the other side,” and it is worth the pain of telling the truth. When you know you are living in your truth – whatever it may be – you can go on. There will always be those who dislike you or disagree with you. But when you live with integrity, doing the best that you can, you can make better decisions. You can see more clearly when to make compromises and when to stand firm. Sure, you can and should continue to learn from other’s perspectives and viewpoints, and they may change your own. But the experience of living your truth, in the present, makes all things possible.

I think it is only fair to confess that I, too, have struggled with being a prisoner of my lies. For a period of time in my twenties, I was under the influence of a man who did not have my best interests at heart – though he convinced me that he did. To protect him and to protect our relationship, I lied to others. This is a much longer story. But, the point is, I hurt myself and I hurt the people who loved me because I was afraid I would lose the man if I told the truth. Eventually, I changed my surroundings and got therapy. I remember how very, very hard it was to let go of the web of deception I had created. Indeed, it was hard even to remember some of the “truth” because it was so painful. But I did. And I will never, ever return to that way of living.

When I say that I want Skye and K.J. to experience the freedom that goes with living in the truth, I know what that feels like. They are young. If they can learn this lesson now, their lives and relationships will be easier, happier, and more satisfying, I suspect. I want that for them. I want that for all of us.

Basketball, Reproductive Policy, Adoption, and Shame

Basketball. I came to the sport of basketball in the early 1970s when the rules of play were “in between.” That is, a team consisted of two stationary guards on one side of the court who could not cross the centerline, two stationary forwards on the other side of the court who could not cross the centerline, and two “rovers” who could travel the length of the court. In other words, the game was played four-on-four on either end of the court. By the time I advanced to the varsity level, girls’ rules had become boys’ rules, and we all had to learn to run the length of the court to play the game five-on-five.

I mention this because I was at a conference at Emory Law School last weekend where the keynote speaker was Sarah Weddington, the attorney who represented “Jane Roe” to the U.S. Supreme Court in the case of Roe v. Wade. Weddington was only 26 years old at the time, the youngest person to ever argue a case in front of the Supreme Court. Her speech to us included examples of discrimination against women during her early years. One example she gave was the rules of basketball. During the 1960s, women played with three stationary guards on one side of the court and three stationary forwards on the other side of the court. A player was only allowed to dribble twice before she was required to shoot or pass; and a player never crossed the mid-court line. Weddington says she once asked her coach: “Why can’t we keep running?” The coach’s response was: “All that running and jumping could hurt your innards. And that’s your meal ticket.”

Thanks to Weddington and others who saw gender discrimination and inequality, and chose to challenge it, there have been many changes in the laws pertaining to sports, employment, health care, and the like.

Reproductive Policy. The case of Roe v. Wade, decided in 1973, is now 40 years old. The decision legalized abortion (within certain parameters). Prior to Roe, women who needed to terminate a pregnancy suffered infections, loss of reproductive capability, and even death through illegal, backroom procedures by unlicensed practitioners. Today, many of us take for granted that abortions are delivered by medical professionals with the safety and well being of women in mind.

I was a teenager when Roe v. Wade was decided, and I remember some of the controversy and slogans. Sarah Weddington told a story about being on an airplane recently while wearing one of the buttons from that time. The button is a coat hanger with a slash through it. The flight attendant walked past Weddington a number of times, staring at the button, until she finally stopped and said, “I just have to ask. What do you have against coat hangers?”

Younger generations do not remember the time before Roe. Many do not understand its significance in protecting the lives and health of women. Weddington and others at the conference talked about the importance of safe-guarding those rights and of moving forward to make access to reproductive services available to all regardless of race, ethnicity, or socio-economic status.

Adoption. As I was listening to the panelists at the conference, I was acutely aware that the sides of the debate were staked out as parenting versus terminating a pregnancy. Where was adoption?

The reality, I believe, is that adoption has been collapsed or submerged into the anti-choice camp and is associated, primarily, with religious groups that decry abortion. Adoption is the shameful alternative to parenting children that one gives birth to.

Shame. There should be no shame associated with infertility – but there is. There should be no shame associated with any disability (like ADHD), illness (like cancer), or difference (like sexual orientation) that is not self-created. There should be no shame associated with loving and raising children one did not give birth to. Shame is the root of the bizarre practice of naming the adoptive parents on the child’s birth certificate once the adoption is finalized. Shame is the root of sealed records that bar the child from knowing about his/her original parents and that creates the illusion of fertility for the parents who raise the child.

There should be no shame associated with the courageous decision to forego day-to-day parenting in the best interests of one’s child – but there is. Shame is the root of agency or attorney control over adoption and closed records that prevent birth parents from knowing what happens to their children. Shame is the root of the historic U.S. practice of tricking women into relinquishing their children because they did not fit the profile of a married, financially-stable mother – a practice continued in other countries today by stealing or buying babies from poor women or families. Shame is the root of the unwillingness of some adoptive parents (supported by a cultural milieu) to maintain contact with original parents deemed unworthy and suspect. Shame is the root of our failure as a society to provide birth parents with counseling and their own independent legal representative, not paid for by adoptive parents.

Sarah Weddington’s ongoing commitment to seek justice and equality inspires me to want to do my part to change the way we view and handle adoption. Adoption needs to be brought into the spotlight when making decisions about reproduction as an equally valid and dignified alternative. Those of us who have lived in/with open adoptions know the courage and selflessness it takes from extraordinary women and men to place their children with others. We also know the courage and selflessness it takes to “share” our children with the people who gave them life. But, we do it, because we know it is so important to our children’s well being.

Every woman – whether she chooses to end a pregnancy, to parent the child she gives birth to, to place her child for adoption, to adopt the child of another, or to remain childless – deserves respect, dignity, legal protection, and safe and accessible health care in support of her choice.

Wiring

Skye is still in Texas. We thought she might be coming home for a furlough in March, but it doesn’t look that way anymore. She is stuck again. She is face-to-face with the really difficult stuff she needs to tackle, the stuff that concerns how she feels about herself. Instead of Skye coming here, John and I are planning another visit to her.

I recently wrote a letter to Skye, inspired by remembering an old friend of mine who struggled with similar issues. He drank to numb his pain. He ran away to another part of the country rather than stay and deal with the hurt inside. I keep hoping that by giving Skye concrete examples of people who struggle and make it – or examples of people who let fear keep them from leading happy lives – she will be inspired to work harder on herself. I think, worry about, and love Skye everyday.

Interestingly, I found this email (below) about Skye, written almost a decade ago, as I was puzzling over what else I might say or do: and it stopped me in my tracks…

August 20, 2003

The school year began with a bang around here. On the first day of school, the children got off the bus. Emily and K.J. reported that the first day was “great.” Skye did not respond. We had a snack; and then I asked everyone to get out his or her homework. Emily and K.J. quickly obliged. Skye refused. She did more than refuse. After I repeated myself numerous times, she took out the homework assignment page and tore it up! Then she yelled, “You are ruining my life!”

I tried for a couple of hours to coax, cajole, beg, and bribe her into doing the homework. I was unsuccessful. John arrived home. Somehow, before bedtime, he was able to get her to put pencil to paper. It was exhausting.

The next days were not any easier. She didn’t want to go to school. She wanted to stay home with her new parakeet, Buddy. (Speaking of the parakeet — She said, “I only love two things in the world: God and Buddy.”) She refused to study her spelling words. She made a Zero on the first test. However, the in-class schoolwork that came home was all “correct.” Was this yet another case of Skye exercising control over us?

Now, the other thing you should know about Skye is that she is resistant to change in her routine. I thought some of her behavior could simply be about making the transition from summer routine to school routine. But John had just announced that he would be traveling for business every week for the next two months; and I was not looking forward to taking on Skye’s defiance by myself.

Yesterday broke me. John was gone and I was getting everyone ready for school and the bus. Skye would not eat. She would not get dressed. She kept getting the bird out of his cage. The bus arrived and she was still inside the house without socks or shoes. I snatched her, the footwear, and the backpack and whisked them out the door while she was wailing. I shoved the socks and shoes in her hands as I dropped her on the bus steps. Skye was crying and stuck her tongue out at me as the bus roared away.

I felt horrible. I called John and we made a long-distance plan to try harder with her, but I really didn’t feel any better. I readied Journey and myself for a trip to YMCA, thinking exercise might make me feel better. When we got there, Journey refused to stay in the Play Center. When I got back to the van, I just fell apart and cried. I love Skye and I hated that our relationship had degenerated to this. If I’m “ruining” her life at six, what will I be doing to it at 16?

I decided I needed to talk to Skye right then. I drove to the school, got a Visitor’s Pass, and borrowed her from the classroom. She was engaged with her friends and wanted to know why I was taking her away. If I wasn’t going to take her home, she said she wanted to go back to class. As we sat in the cafeteria — well, actually, she rolled around on the floor — I tried to explain how I was feeling and that I wanted us to be able to get along. I wanted her cooperation in that. She looked this way and that. “Yeah, yeah. Can I go back to class now?” she said. I let her.

That afternoon, the kids came home and I worked with Skye to get her to focus on doing homework so that we could all go to the neighborhood pool. She wouldn’t finish it. She kept leaving me to play with Buddy. But, since everyone else was done, we loaded up the van and headed for the pool. Skye understood that she could not swim until the work was complete. Though she complained about it, she finished her work quickly so that she could swim too.

As we piled back into the van to go home for dinner, Skye handed me a scrap of cardboard. She said, “I did this at school.” The cardboard read, “I Luv Mom.” I thanked her, and she was gone back to her activities.

Now, to be honest, Skye was the youngest six-year-old in her first grade class, having just turned six two weeks before. She also had undiagnosed ADHD – which we didn’t have confirmation of for many years. Still, if you know Skye, I’m sure you are nodding: “Yep. Same defiant, explosively angry, do-it-her-own-way kid.”

Wiring. How much can we really change? Oh, sure, with age and maturity, we learn to control our tempers (maybe) and to choose which authorities to defy (sometimes). But, in some ways, Skye’s 6-year-old unfiltered “Id” [Sigmund Freud’s term for that part of us that wants what it wants when it wants it] is preferable to the more sophisticated facade Skye has developed now to control her world. She has learned to pretend that she is what she believes others – particularly her peers – want her to be. But pretending only hurts her. When she is accepted for behavior that does not reflect who she really is, it confirms that who she really is is not good enough.

I find hope in the cardboard “I Luv Mom.” It comes from a genuine, REAL place inside her that “knows” she is loving and lovable. She “knows” that, in spite of her resistance, I will keep reaching for her; and THAT is what matters. And she knows she has a part to play. She, too, must reach.

Pretending to be beautiful with clothes, make-up, and the “right” culturally prescribed body when you don’t feel beautiful, or pretending to love with manufactured words or physical overtures when you don’t feel lovable and are afraid to be vulnerable, gets immediate gratification. But it never lasts and often sends us into deeper despair. Yet, pretending is hard to give up when you can’t quite believe you’ll ever get through “the valley of the shadow of death,” as it says in the 23rd Psalm – our doubts, our imperfections, our vulnerability that may lead to loss and hurt. The fear is overwhelming. The Psalmist speaks of the Lord’s presence. But I would like to think that we embody this “presence” for the people we love. The Psalm goes on to say, “I will fear no evil: For thou art with me; Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.” Being a loving presence with discipline (rod) and staff (support) is our job as parents, isn’t it?

I remember the cardboard “I Luv Mom,” and I know that Skye’s gift was given freely and from a deep place, and I have hope – regardless of the wiring.

Wife of House

I’ve been thinking about a conversation I had with Emily on Sunday. She was home for the weekend to attend a wedding with a friend. As she prepared to drive back to college, she said, “I really don’t want to go.” It’s not that she dislikes her courses or her teachers. And she has lots of new friends. It’s that the school is very small, in a very small town, and there is “nothing to do.”

We looked at a college in north Georgia over the winter holidays – a school Emily would like to transfer to. The problem is that her ACT/SAT scores are below the minimum cut-off. If she applies now, the college will evaluate her high school transcript and these scores. She needs 30 college hours before the school will ignore her high school record and accept her based on college performance.

Emily is stuck. She understands that she needs to stick it out where she is, complete the remedial classes, take advantage of the special services, and continue to succeed academically. But it’s hard to be someplace you don’t want to be even if you know it’s where you need to be and what you need to be doing. I bet Skye can relate…

So can I, unfortunately. Our house has been on the market for over three months.

Half our belongings are in storage. (Being without this extra stuff isn’t really so bad. We’ve managed fine without it. It was the days of getting everything boxed and ready to move that hurt.) Then there was the “staging” – buying decorative pillows, throws, plants, and other items to be placed just so.

But it’s the constant cleaning that is killing me psychologically. Every Saturday is family cleaning day and each member has their assignments: clutter removal, trash collection, bedrooms, bathrooms, vacuuming, dusting… I dread the approach of Saturdays. Does the house STAY clean and ready to show? You’ve got to be kidding.

When I get the call/text a few hours or the day before a prospective buyer wants to see the house, this is what happens. If children are home, they are informed to pick up their rooms (so I can go behind them later and do a better job ☺) Floors are reviewed for obvious dirt. If we have too much accumulated dirty laundry (giving the bedrooms an odor), I call for hampers at the laundry area and begin the washing. John, if he is home, checks for burned-out light bulbs and surveys the outside areas for needed repairs, trimming, or other issues…

As the time for the showing nears, I go room-by-room, picking up and putting away what is left out, making beds, cleaning bathroom sinks (and toilets or tubs, if necessary)…

…washing dishes, hiding kitchen appliances to create clear surfaces, cleaning counters and appliances and windows of gunk or smears…

…turning on every light in the house, and gathering trash from every trashcan in the house for removal. Then it is time to leash the dogs and move them to the van. Once that is done, I can remove the sheets from the sofas and set up the pillows and throws.

I can go back around the three floors of the house and open the doors to rooms where the dogs are not allowed to go. In the basement, I remove the dog barrier (which protects Joe from comingling with Xavior) and stow it and Joe’s dog bed in John’s work area. I hide dog bowls. I move outside to remove the various ties and latches we’ve installed to divide the yard and keep the male dogs apart and/or from escaping to the street, and hide these items. Finally, I pick up all the piles of dog poop that may be stepped in. I get in the van with my three companions: Joe, Xavior, and Katie, and drive away… Once I came home an hour after the scheduled “showing” and undid all the preparations to allow the dogs back in only to hear the doorbell ring. It was the agent and buyer who were “running behind schedule.” Ugh!

I’m stuck. I don’t want to be a cleaning lady! God did not create me for this. I am sure of it. I’m not even very good at cleaning. Just ask my husband how many times he has said, “Don’t you SEE that dirt?” And to add to the misery, I can’t really afford to start any “projects” or even cook fancy meals because I am so aware that those efforts only create more stuff to clean.

Friends, family members, and readers who are suffering in much harsher ways with no end in sight will shake their heads at the triviality of my complaints. The Falcos are lucky to have this house to sell. We are fortunate people in general.

My point is: All of us ought to take a look at what’s eating us and try to put it in perspective. Is this a short-term thing? Difficult as the present may be, is it leading us to something potentially better? Is there anything we can do to change what is making us uncomfortable/unhappy now? Is there a way to use our experiences and insights, happy or not, to help others?

If Emily can hang in there and do her best at Andrew College, she is creating a launch pad for other and different experiences she may enjoy more at another college. If K.J. can finally give up lying about what he hasn’t done, but says he has, and put the effort he is capable of into his school work, his grades will improve and allow him a greater range of choices for college. If Skye will dig deeper in her treatment now, painful as it is, she will have a happier and more productive life when she leaves west Texas. If I can see this cleaning drudgery as a temporary phase leading to a better housing situation for our family, I can get through this with greater calm and decrease the family stress.

Your issues – unemployment or unhappy employment, illness or family strife – may be bigger than the issues we currently face. Is there a way out or a way through? Are there others you can call on for help? Have you learned anything about yourself that will help you navigate better what comes next?

I’m no expert. What I do know is that being stuck in miserable is not the way I want to live my life.