it just does not get any easier

Today was family therapy. Ya-hay. In the days before youngest came home to us I could probably count on my fingers the number of real honest to goodness fights my husband and I engaged in. Now we fight every single family therapy day-over stupid stuff. The emotions,the sense of futility,the brief glimpse of hope followed by reality are almost overwhelming. Youngest has the uncanny ability to trigger every member of our family. His dad and I are no exception. At least we like this therapist. I heard my own words and my husbands words come out of his mouth today. This is the very first time we feel that youngest is not sustaining more damage. He might even be getting therapeutic intervention. What my son does with it is up to him. I was talking to our worker for Post-Adopt (finally,we have a worker!) and I realized that our son has only spent nine months of the past two years in our home. Nine months out of twenty-four. It is hard to parent a child that doesn’t live with you,has no desire to live with you,and tries to hurt you when he is at home. We have spent the past twenty-four months (not counting the eight months prior to his arrival) turning cartwheels trying to help him. Twenty four months of everyone -but this son- turning themselves inside out,making appointments,arguing for treatment,fighting for funding,being threatened by,ignored or blamed by authorities. We cannot even make good plans for the future because he hangs over our heads like an ax blade. I don’t see how we can downsize and maintain an empty room,locks on doors (never his),keep police response time within five minutes and find something that we can easily afford. Because one of us must always be home if he is home. This son dominates every thing in our life. We begin to feel functional and it is time for family therapy. We think we can have a day out and we have to fill out twenty pages of confusing questions and try and coordinate others to find all the information we needed yesterday. (but were told about it at four-thirty this afternoon) I think I am feeling pretty relaxed and the dietitian calls to tell me my son has lipids through he roof and by the way he is such a sweet boy. There goes my balance.
I resent he is so sweet to others and wants to kill me. I resent the hugs he gives me for the therapist. I resent he could care less if we live or die (well, he would prefer death).I resent that I am afraid of a child. I resent the guilt I feel for feeling resentful because he is a child.
Love is commitment. Love is a choice. Love is unconditional. Love is not always reciprocated. Love is God, and because He first loved me I can love my son.
I do love my son.
And that my friends is what makes all of this so much harder.

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About lenell

Wife to a very patient man and mom to 8 interesting kids via birth,marriage and adoption. Grandma to nearly 5,nearly perfect grandchildren.
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One Response to it just does not get any easier

  1. Jeanne Holt says:

    No words. Just prayers.

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