Sometimes

Sometimes, Princess, I wonder what it's like to be you.

One year, three months, and six days ago, you and I had the most difficult conversation either of us have probably had in our entire lives.  A conversation I'd feared would eventually happen for over seven years.  A conversation that confirmed my worst fears.

I will never forget a single detail about that day, or that conversation.  Months later, I was asked how I remembered all the details of that conversation, and I responded, unequivocally, "I will never forget a single word.  I can't."

A sick feeling settled in my stomach that day that didn't go away.  It got better with time - and distraction - but it never completely went away.  Once I knew the truth, I couldn't pretend otherwise.

To this day, things randomly remind me of the immense feelings of that day.  Fear.  Anger.  Disgust.  Heartbreak.  To this day, sometimes, it feels as though I'm living the whole ordeal over again.

Then I remember.  I am the lucky one.  For me, it was just a conversation - albeit the most troubling one I have ever had.  For me, it was only your words that will stick permanently in my mind.

For you, it is your life.  

As much as I'll never forget that day, that conversation, neither will you... and nor will you forget the events that brought it about.  You don't simply have to live with the memory of the words, how they made you feel, but with the horrible memories.

So when something brings me back to that day, makes me feel like I'm living the horror all over again, I wonder... do you experience the same thing?  Do things remind you, sometimes, of what you've been through?  Do you lie awake at night like I do, unable to get the horror out of your head?

My heart breaks when I realize I know the answer.

I remember, a couple years ago, when we all still shared a room, hearing you cry in your sleep.  Rousing you from your nightmares and finding you confused to realize you were in a safe place with someone who loved you, and that this time, the terror was only in your dreams.

Yes, you remember.

And then I think how sorry I am.  Sorry for what you went through.  Sorry that even when you entrusted me with your secret, I couldn't help you.  Sorry that while I live with the memory of that conversation in my head every day, popping back up at opportune moments, you live with the real memory.  The memory of what happened... sneaking up on you all the same.  Sorry that I couldn't put a stop to the chance that something like this might happen to you again.

But then I realize - you're strong.  You're one of the strongest people I've ever known, little as you were.  Stronger than I am, for sure.  When I fell apart... you held it together.  What other choice did you have?  When I cried and asked God "Why?", you just kept going on... no need to dwell on the "why" of a situation you couldn't change.  When I felt as though my joy had been stolen, you went on to find it again wherever you were.

You'll be okay - because you're a survivor.

I just wish you didn't have to survive so much.

I wish you never had those moments that I have, where something hits a little too close to home and brings it all crashing down around you again.

I wish I could shoulder the whole burden for you.

I wish you'd had a chance to just be a kid... none of this weighing on your mind.

But I can't change those things.

So I'll just wait.  Wait here for you, the same place you left me.

Until you come home.

And then we'll make all new memories... and fight the monsters in our nightmares together.

I love you, princess.  Keep your head up, like you always do.  Even when it gets hard.

And I'll keep trying... to be as strong as you.

The Last Day

I think about it all the time.

The last day.

The last hug.

The last words.

The first tears.

I woke up before the sun and put on my brave face before I woke you.

I practiced holding back the fear, dread, sorrow, and disgust that had been festering in me all the day before.

I shook you awake and readied you to leave the place that had been our haven for almost a week.

We said goodbye to the ocean.

I drove us to the shuttle bus.  We climbed in and I buckled you safe in your booster seat.

Every mile we drove closer to the airport, my shoulders felt a little heavier.

We got donuts for breakfast.  The anxiety in my stomach kept me from eating much of mine.

I like to think you had no idea.

I tried not to let on.

We boarded the first plane.  I let you pick, aisle or window.  You picked window.  We watched Florida out of sight.  We played with play-doh.  We watched the sun coming up over the ocean.  We looked through an I-Spy book.  We got drinks from the beverage cart.  You wore your Minnie Mouse ears the whole time.

In a plane, the miles go by faster.

By the time we landed in Washington DC, my stomach had sunk impossibly low.

We got lunch at Wendy's between flights.  You got barbecue sauce with your nuggets.  I couldn't eat, again.

I didn't want to get on the plane.

I kept hoping that somehow it would be delayed, cancelled, diverted.  I didn't care how or why.

It wasn't.

We boarded.  I took a few last pictures.

I hope I'm imagining an edge of nervousness behind your smile.

I know I'm not imagining it in mine.

As I watched the ground grow closer, I drew you near me.

It was time to tell you.

All the feelings I'd been trying to hide all day... you were about to feel them too.

I had tried to keep that from you as long as I could.

I told you that I was going to take you to meet some people.  People that we'd never met before, but I knew they were nice people because I'd talked to them the previous day.

I told you I needed your help.  I told you they could help us, but only if you told them the truth.

You didn't want to.

Maybe I shouldn't have pushed you.

But I did.  I asked you if you wanted them to help us.  You said yes.  I asked you if you would tell them the truth so they could do that.  You said yes.

I wonder if you knew then, or if you didn't know until later, that I was asking too much of you?

I wonder if you knew you wouldn't be able to do what I'd asked?

Wheels touched down.

You told me you just wanted to go 'home'.  "To the cats".  To OUR house.

I told you I did too... but we had to tell the people the truth first.

This time I wasn't the only one carrying a weight of stress on my shoulders as we walked through the airport.

It was palpable how there was no longer any distance between us and that which we feared.

I was afraid to let you out of my sight even to use the restroom (but I did).

As we sat in the baggage claim waiting for my mom, the stress mounted.

I tried to lighten the mood, playing games with you, chatting about things of little consequence.

Minutes lasted for days.  I wished them away.  I wanted to get the hard part over with.

Now I wish I had those minutes back.

When my mom finally came, we both hugged her.  You told her, too, that you wanted to go home to the cats.

She, too, reassured you that we would... we just had one stop to make.

I wonder if your palms sweated like mine did on that car ride.

We walked into the building together.  I asked for someone to help us.  They tried to send us away.  I begged.  I insisted.

Things didn't go as planned.

I had wanted you to feel safe.  Safe enough to share the burdens of your heart.

You knew you weren't.

I tried to hide the phone calls from you.  The angry voices.

It was because of that that I almost missed the last hug I gave you.

A woman came out to take you to a room to talk.  Her name was Katie too.  I remember telling you that if her name was Katie she MUST be our friend.

I gave you a hug.

I told you I loved you.

I watched you out of sight.

You didn't want to go without me.

You were scared.

I pushed you too much.

No matter how much you might have wanted to do what I'd asked, your secrets stayed locked away.

The woman came back without you.

She told me you hadn't told her anything.

She told me we would have to leave.

Without you.

I asked her if I could say goodbye to you.

"I don't think that's a good idea," was her response.

She told me you were already crying for me.

I broke.

Panic struck me.  Terror.

I begged her to protect you.  To tell you I loved you.

She said she would.

I clung to my mom and cried.

She, too, demanded your safety.

We were given a chance to gather a few of your belongings to give to you.

I was shaking.  I wasn't thinking clearly.

I don't even remember what was in the bag.

I gave it to the woman named Katie.  I asked her again to make sure you knew we loved you.

Then I did the hardest thing I have ever done in my entire life.

The hardest thing I will ever do.

I walked out of that building without you.

As we walked down the sidewalk, my mom and I, a thought crossed my mind.

Another time.  A time when I had been on the inside of a window similar to the ones we were walking by.  A mimed reassurance.

I turned to look in the windows just in time.

There you were.

Behind two inches of glass.

Sitting stiffly in a chair, alone.

Looking right back at me.

When you saw me you stood, and came to the window.

I immediately stopped the flow of my tears and forced a smile.

I pointed to my eye.

Then I crossed my arms.

Then I pointed at you.

You pointed to your eye.

You crossed your arms.

You pointed at me.

Then you held up two fingers.

I touched my fingers to the glass.

You touched your fingers to the glass.

I tore my body from where it was cemented to the ground.

I waved.  I mouthed "bye-bye".

I forced another smile.

Then I turned away.

I walked to the car.

I cried all the way home.

I failed you.

I'm sorry.



A hug of reassurance.

A signed 'I love you' through two inches of glass.

A flood of salty tears.

And that was the last day I spent with you.

Anniversaries

This summer has been full of anniversaries for me.  Not so much joyous ones as painful ones, unfortunately.  I'm doing pretty well staying in the present despite these strong memories, but I also think it's healthy to respect the past and the feelings these anniversaries bring out in me.  For that reason, I'd like to take a moment to reflect on them tonight.

The first anniversary I faced this summer was an old one, a wound that has healed over and instead become a scar - one that has changed me and that I will have with me always, but no longer so fresh.  June 13, 2001, was the day my parents split up.  It always falls within a week or two of another day in June that causes me distress over the things my family has been through in the past 12 years as well.  But in the past few years I've been okay.  This year, that just so happened to also be the anniversary of the day A and I left for the best vacation of our lives.  So yes, I looked back on and felt the depth of how my life changed on that day 12 years ago, but I no longer thought only of how it changed for the worse - I looked at how it shaped me as a person and even changed for the better.  Would I have ever become the person I did and left for that vacation a year ago if it weren't for the events of my adolescence?  Would I have the empathy I do for teens who are going through similar things to what I did?  Probably not... and for that I wouldn't change a thing.

The next set of anniversaries was harder.  June 20 was the day our lives changed forever... the day my sweet A told me the one secret I couldn't keep... the day I set out trying to make things right for her... and ultimately failed.  The following day, the 21st, was the day we flew home and disaster struck.  They didn't believe us.  I couldn't keep my promise... the one I made to A that I would help her.  I couldn't keep it because the system wouldn't let me.  We parted ways in the most painful way possible... we said our goodbyes in sign language through a plate glass window... I... love... you...

June 20, 2012... the day the storm brewed up.

June 21, 2012... the last happy picture before everything changed.

June 27 was the hardest anniversary of all.  That was the day it had been one year since I saw my princess A.  That was the last time I laid eyes on her, our final goodbye.  I remember it like it was yesterday.  She was in the back of her grandpa's truck, no booster seat.  Somehow I bought myself time.  I spoke as quickly as I could.  I told her I loved her, that I had tried to help her, and that I was sorry for the things that were happening to us.  I told her I would miss her and that I would always be here for her.  I asked her if she remembered my phone number.  She said she did.  I told her to remember to tell the truth all the time, and to try not to get in trouble, to make good choices at school and to take care of her little brother.  Then I told her I loved her again.  When they drove away with her, we both waved until we were out of sight.  That was the last time I ever saw the little girl I raised for seven years... the little girl I love like she were my own flesh and blood... who I would give my life for.  Now it's been a year.  The longest I have ever been away from her by far.  Not a day, or even a moment goes by that I don't miss her... that I don't regret what happened a year ago... but I do believe she's coming home, one way or another, and that God will protect her until then.
This year the pain of that anniversary was eased by the joy of a coming birth.  I spent the night at my best friend's house helping her prepare to be induced the following day with her 4th little girl.  After a couple of crazy days with hospital policy, Rylee was born on Sunday, June 30.

Congrats, Shannon & Mike, and thanks for the new memories of snuggling your little ones!

Those days last year set in motion a battle we fought for the better part of a year... one that didn't end the way we hoped it would.  It makes the anniversaries sting all the more that we tried so hard to make things okay, and we just couldn't.  Those painful anniversaries shouldn't exist.  They just shouldn't.  We should be enjoying another summer together... but instead, we're both going it more or less alone.  I live for the day we have a happy anniversary to celebrate... a homecoming.

July holds a different set of anniversaries.  Tomorrow, July 15, will mark two years since my best friend Angie went to Heaven after a five and a half year battle with cancer.  She was only 20 years old.  It was a year ago, almost to the minute, that I last saw her... that we said, not "Goodbye", but "See you later".  We never said goodbye... we even talked about how we never would... because we knew it wouldn't be goodbye, not really.  We knew we'd see each other again in another life.  Instead, the last words I said to her were "I love you."

This may be the only two days of the year that I spend much time thinking about those particular hours two years ago that came at the end of Angie's life.  That's not the person she was and that's not how I like to remember her.  That's not how she would want to be remembered.  I spend most of my time focusing on who she was before that - the funny, silly, compassionate, beautiful, strong and amazing person who was my best friend for so long.  I remember how scared she was of 'losing herself'.  She didn't want a time to come when she didn't feel like herself, because she was so sick.  I thank God that she was able to maintain her sense of self right up until the very last week.  I thank God that when that time came, He brought her home quickly.  I thank God that He gave us time to say that one last "I love you".  And even in those last difficult days... I know she could hear us.  I know she knew we were there.  She became agitated when someone started to cry.  She calmed when we reassured her that we would be okay.  She heard us when we told her it was okay to let go.  Her pain ended two years ago.  In that way, it's a happy anniversary.  But it's a terrible one for the rest of the world, for we lost a beautiful, amazing person... one who I was privileged to call one of my best friends.

Angie and I, goofing off a little over two years ago.

At the end of the month, a day will come that marks one year since the passing of my precious one-year-old kitten, Boo.  A couple weeks later will come the happier anniversary that marks the homecoming of his younger brother, Marbles.  My kitty-babies.  This August will mark one year since a very dark time in my life.  But I'm better already and I'm going nowhere but up.

My Boo, when he was a tiny kitten.

My Marbles... this is about as tiny as he ever was!

As painfully full of anniversaries as this summer has been, I am proud of the way I have handled them.  I am glad for the happy new memories I've made, and for all the ones I'll make in the future.  And I know one day, just like the anniversary of the day my parents split up, the wound that those days have given me will be nothing but a scar - one that has changed me, and one that has made me who I am.

I don't even know what to write.

I miss my little yellow flower.

But mostly I miss the little girl who cared and understood enough to give me the best gift I have ever received.

Love you, baby.

Happy Birthday, Princess

Happy birthday, little girl.  Or should I say, big girl?  Ten, really!  Next year you'll have to start using your toes to count!

I miss you and love you more than you will ever know, but don't worry.  I'll be okay.  I know God is watching over you, and I know He will bring you back to me sooner or later.

I hope you had some cake and ice cream today.  I hope somebody sang to you and gave you a present.  It didn't rain like I was afraid it would, so hopefully you got to have outdoor recess.

We had cake and ice cream for you.  Princess and Ellfant celebrated with us.  It was oreo cake and birthday blast ice cream.  It was really good, but it would've been better if you were here.

Remember... I love you like the moon at night - big, and round, and warm, and bright.  I love you... goodnight.

Empty

That's how this week feels.  Empty.  And it's the most horrible feeling.

Once upon a time, I used a camera with film.  Once upon a time waaaay back in 2007 ;)  So one year is missing.  Three.  Although, actually, I do have this random picture from a little later that year...

Three

But since then...

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight isn't here... a miracle was busy unfolding... but here's a little girl who dressed herself a few weeks later...

Pardon my messy apartment.

Nine

...



This is ten.

Ten

We're having cake... but there won't be anybody to blow out the candles.  (But you better bet I'm going to make a wish!)

Nobody to open every present, even the ones that are clothes, and exclaim, "OH, THANK YOU!  I JUST DID WANT THIS!"

Nobody to model all those new outfits like she's destined for the catwalk.

There's a hole.

An hole that was left in my heart the last time I saw her... that will never be filled without her.  Not just some kid.  Her.  One of a kind.  My A.  The little girl who could light up any room, and yet still manage to throw the most royal temper tantrums.

That's what I feel this year.  A hole.  An empty hole.  An empty chair.  An empty bed.  My empty arms.

In everything I do, in every moment... empty.

I would give anything to make it different.

Happy tenth birthday, princess.  We'll celebrate... someday.

The Naked Truth

Little Yellow Flower

It was a Friday in May when I picked a newly nine-year-old Alivia up from school, walking from my car into the lobby to get her because the sheer number of car seats in my car makes it difficult to go through the pick up line.  As every day, the chatter and laughter of children bubbled around me.  I waited while the children were called to busses, then the rest of the children released.  Liv was usually one of the first ones down the hallway, but this day, the hallway emptied out almost completely before she appeared.  As I watched her emerge from her classroom, the reason for the delay became apparent.  She was struggling to work her backpack over one shoulder while balancing her jacket and lunch bag, as well as a piece of white paper folded in half and a little clear cup, no bigger than the kids' tumblers they often give you at restraurants, that was full of something dark brown.  From her homework recently, I guessed it was probably dirt - her second grade class had been studying seeds and plants.

When she reached me, I greeted her the same way I always did:  "Hi Princess, how was school?"  Then came the customary reply.

"Good," she said.

I reached to help her with her things and indicated the cup, which I could now see had a little green sprout less than an inch tall emerging from the dirt.  "What's this?"

"It's a plant," she replied.

I laughed.  "What kind of plant?"

"A flower," she elaborated, handing it to me along with the folded piece of paper.  "It's for you.  I maked this for you for mother's day.  I just do love you SO much Katie."

I almost started crying right there in the school parking lot, kids, teachers and parents still milling around.  You see, when I met this child eight years ago, she resisted all affection vehemently, and didn't speak one single word for two more years.  The first time she told me she loved me, I had been in her life for three years.  It came out slurred together in her immature speech:  "Ovvfoo!"  But I spoke her language and I heard her.  I still have a cell phone that had been on my lap that day, because the second time she said it I wanted to catch it on audio.  Sorry, electronics junkers, you're not getting that one.

Besides the obvious factor of how far she had come, you probably noticed that she called me by my first name.  This is because I am not her mother.  I have played an enormous part in raising her, there have been many times when her home has been with me, but I am not her mother and she had known this at least since she stopped calling me Mommy when she was four years old.  Don't ask me why she started - when she started to speak at three, that's just what she called me.  Then I was "Kai" for two or three years.  The first time she said my name correctly, I DID cry.

But I digress.  Here she was, handing me this flower that she "maked" for me, and a card covered in hearts that read "Happy Mother's Day!!!!!!!!!" on the front... knowing full well that I was not her mother... and the only conclusion I could draw was that this was her way of telling me that she loved me, and that she did notice that I cared for her as I would my own child, and appreciated it.

I bit back tears and told her "Thank you, sweetie, I love it!"  I buckled her into her booster seat and pulled out one of the cup holders, where she securely nestled the little cup holding my flower.  Then I got in the driver's seat and opened the card and read:

I have those words memorized now.  Right down to her sweet little mispellings.  The card itself is safely stored in a page protector in a book of Alivia's cards and drawings... along with these...

...among others, which won't upload properly.

We drove home, and I carefully placed the cup containing the little sprout on the windowsill in the kitchen where the sun would shine on it every morning.  We talked about remembering to give it water every day.

It grew to be a big sprout.  Honestly, at first, I didn't expect it to make it.  I brought home plenty of those little projects that fell victim to a 'brown thumb' that seems to run in our family.  Then it wasn't a sprout at all anymore - it was as big as the marigolds outside in our garden, but no blooms yet.  As we left for Florida in June, the roots were starting to press up against the sides of the translucent cup.  I told Alivia we'd move it to a bigger pot when we got home.

She never got to come home.

But I did move her flower to a bigger pot - one I painted myself when I was around her age.  She would have liked it.  I moved it as carefully as if I were performing brain surgery.  It wasn't just a plant, it would never be just a plant again... it was a symbol that my little girl loved me and I loved her.

And as we embarked on a road marred with legal and ethical obstacles, the flower continued to grow.  Everyone in our family made sure it had enough water every day.  That flower would bloom.  If, just maybe, she came home, we wanted her to see how much it had grown.

It bloomed as summer faded into fall... three beautiful, yellow blossoms.  I've never taken so many pictures of a single plant in my life.

When an early freeze came, we brought it inside at night and took it back out to get some sun every day.  I think it may have set the record for longest living marigold.  The day we went to court in November, it was still blooming.  It was the last thing I saw as I walked out the door.

My girl never got to come home.  Eventually the pretty yellow flower succumbed to the winter.  But we still have our memories.  Seven years of happy times with my princess.  More photos than I could fit in six scrapbooks.  The pictures and memories of the (not so little) yellow flower grown with a healthy dose of sunlight, soil, and water... but mostly love.  The card, the sweet words that told me that she knew, she saw, how much I loved her then and how much I will always love her.

My little yellow flower... was the best thing that ever happened to me.

I'll love you forever
I'll like you for always
As long as I'm living
My baby you'll be...

Looking Back on 2012

I did this last year, and this year has been another... eventful... life-changing... year... so I'm doing it again.  And praying that this time next year, when I look back on 2013, happy memories, not sad ones, are what come to mind first.

January
2012 actually started on the best note possible.  I hadn't seen my two youngest DBKs, A and AJ, in over four months.  I missed them terribly and I hadn't been feeling in the holiday spirit at all.  On January 1, 2012, I saw them again.  Watched them open their Christmas presents.  Held them in my arms, hugged them tight, told them I loved them.  It was a perfect day.

AJ, 2 years old

A, 8.5 years old

After that we had to slowly get back to reality.  It was tough.  I had my heart broken for orphans around the world with special needs.  I wasn't sleeping well at night, staying up late to pray for children according to events in their time zones.  I was having no success finding a job to aid in paying the bills, and anxiously awaiting tax refunds.  Even though it started so perfectly, January was a rough month... a month of wait and see.

February
In February things got a little better.  Taxes came through to pay the bills.  I started working on getting licensed to do childcare for my friend's kids.  It seemed like there was a light at the end of the tunnel.  I was also gearing up for two exciting trips - a statewide conference on Child Passenger Safety which would be held in April, and a national conference in Orlando, Florida on national highway safety priorities which would be held in June.  I had been granted a scholarship to attend both by our local Safe Kids Coalition.  I felt like things were going to be looking up soon - and they did, for a while.  Good news started coming down about the orphans I was advocating for.  More were making their way home.  Changes were being made in their home countries.  Families were committing to children.  I found myself more engrossed in the Reece's Rainbow community by the minute.

March
In March, the first thing that jumps to mind is something that happened one day when I was literally as far as could be from expecting it.  There was snow and ice on the roads, a rare occurrence here last winter.  It was late - 11 pm or so.  I was in my warm bed, under my electric blanket, writing about orphans, when my phone started to buzz.  Bill collectors, I was sure, but when I looked at the caller ID... it was the mom of my DBKs, whom I hadn't heard from since January 1.  I answered to find her distraught and needing me to come take the kids.  All I can say is that it was a miracle I made it the short distance to where they were living without incident on the icy roads, because I wasn't exactly taking it slow.  I was going to see my babies.  I picked them up.  They were excited to see me.  My heart was full to finally bring them home again, put them to sleep in their cozy, warm beds where they knew they were safe.

I had them for two days that time, and I never knew exactly why, except that it's likely tied up in what turned into a very large amount of police reports.  In any case, I was thankful to have them in my arms once more, even if I didn't know when the next time I would see them would be.

In March, I also began to share with my oldest DBK, M, who is not related to the other two, about the orphan crisis.  Poor sweet soul, it broke her heart to see all those children in such terrible conditions.  I found that we both needed to *do* something, and we also needed a respite from the pain we were discovering.  While my mind worked on what M and I could do together to make a difference for these kids, I planned a girls' night for us - we painted our nails, played games, stayed up late, and then went to a late showing of The Hunger Games, which was amazing and really played right into my determination to do something to make a difference.  M loved it and we began reading the books together, a couple of chapters at a time aloud, every night.  I'd already read them all - in three days, no less, because I'm one of those people who has to read books before seeing movies, but M, not much of a reader, wanted to read them and I thought it would be a nice way for us to bond.  And she only laughed at me a little when I couldn't pronounce 'muttations' correctly throughout all three books.  How do you pronounce it anyways?

As the month ended, I was feeling more at peace than ever... even if the future was unknown.

April
April is my birth month, and M's, and my mom's, so it was a big month around our house.  My birthday is April 6.  It was a Friday, and two days before Easter.  I'd been home all day, cleaning up so my friend's kids could come over while she went to work later.  It was when I noticed my 17 year old brother cleaning that I knew something was up.  I didn't dare to guess what.  I went on with my day.  My friend brought her girls over.  We all took a nap.  When I woke up, I went upstairs, where my mom was just getting home from work..... and had my babies with her!  My birthday presents were two big hugs from A and AJ - the thing I'd wanted most but hadn't even dared to hope for.  And we had another perfect day.  We played together, we braided hair, we ate cake and ice cream, and I was happy.  At the end of the day though, it became apparent that crisis had struck in their lives once again.  They had nowhere to go and would be staying with us, at least overnight, we'd discuss it more the following day.  Little did I know that when my mom asked for a couple hours with the kids for my birthday - she'd ended up getting me a couple months with them!  April found the kids moving back in most of the time, and many more happy memories being made.

M had her birthday party at Skate America - her mom went all out to make sure it was perfect.  I attended with A while my mom watched AJ, and both my girls had a blast, and I had a blast watching them.

At the end of the month I went to my statewide child passenger safety conference, which was great, but I definitely missed those goofy kids even if I was only gone for two days!

May
May was, most importantly, A's birthday.  Nine years old this year!  She didn't have a party with us this year (I don't know that I'm up to anything like her 7th birthday party... ever again) because she was getting something WAY better.  I was going to Orlando the following month for my national highway safety conference, and with my costs paid for, it cost me only a little more to bring her with me - and how could I not, with Disney World right down the road?  Pretty much everyone I know brought their families.  But since A's birthday was in May, it was a surprise super awesome present.  I wrapped up this big box full of balloons, travel supplies, and this sign:

She went to gymnastics that night so excited to tell all her friends and teachers that she got to meet the princesses.

The other thing in May that stands out in my mind is Mother's Day.  I honestly don't even remember what I got my mom, but I will never forget my very first Mother's Day gift.

Sweet A, when I picked her up from school that day, handed me this little sprout in a plastic dixie cup, and a carefully crafted card.  She handed them to me and said "Happy Mother's Day.  I just do love you SO MUCH, Katie!"

I nearly cried.  Later, after she was in bed, I did cry.  Because I'm not her mother, but I did a whole lot of raising her.  This was her way of telling me that she knew that, that she loved me like a mother just like I love her like a daughter.  The picture of the flower above was taken in the fall - it grew so far beyond that little dixie cup, we cared for it so well because that little flower meant so much to us.

June
Oh boy... talk about hot and cold.  June started out amazing.  Home with my babies.  Getting ready to go to Florida.  So much excitement.  On June 13 (a day which was formerly dark to me with history), I boarded the plane with my girl to go on our dream vacation.

We had a blast.  We met the princesses.  We played on the beach, swam in the ocean, saw family, went shopping, ate ice cream like there was no tomorrow, and took a million pictures.

Cinderella's Castle!

Beach for the first time!

Fort at St. Augustine

Then, on our last full day there, the world stopped spinning.  Crisis began.  As we were sitting there packing up our bags, A told me a secret... a deep, dark one that she probably never told anyone else.  I fully believe that it is only because of how far from home we were, how relaxed our days had been, that she felt comfortable sharing it with me.

It wasn't a secret I could keep.

I didn't want to make the call.  I didn't want to set the cascade of events I knew would follow into motion... but I thought I had to.  Honestly if I could go back in time, I would change that decision.

A tropical storm, hurricane, something, was brewing off the coast.  The sky had darkened significantly.  The waves were huge.  Red flags were raised on the beach.  The last time we played on the beach, it was almost deserted.

A storm was also brewing within me.  I fought to hold back the torrent of emotions I was dealing with that day and give my princess the final vacation day she deserved.  I tried to enjoy every single little moment, push the dark thoughts out of my mind and just enjoy her... but my stomach was in knots.

I will tell this story in greater detail later, although I won't share everything because it isn't all mine to share, but to make a long story short, we flew home the next day... I kept the smile on my face... it'll all be okay....

and then it wasn't.

That was the day I didn't even get to say goodbye to A before she was taken from me.  The day I didn't know I'd never see her baby brother AJ again.  I only saw A one time after that... and I hope she heard me when I told her I'd always love her.

After June 21, I spent the rest of the month in misery.  I felt sick all the time.  Nothing could make it better.  I can truly say the week that followed our return was the worst one in my entire life.  June ended darkly.

July
July was the month I tried to put myself back together... put one foot in front of the other... keep breathing... try just to survive each moment when each day was too much.  We hired an attorney to try to help A after social services let us down.  It was a road I never thought I'd be traveling.  The 4th of July came and went.  It's my favorite holiday.  I went to four fireworks shows, went swimming, spent time with my friends, family and M.  I enjoyed those things, I always do, but this year they felt empty.  Something was missing.  Something really important.  Where was A?  Did she get to see the fireworks?  Was she happy?  Was she even safe?

I was starting to mend.  Just a little bit.  There was still a big piece of my heart missing, but I was learning my new normal.  Then the week from hell struck.  It only started in July, but the worst of it fell there.  On Monday, July 30, I woke up to find my 17 month old kitten, Boo, dead on the floor of my apartment.  I almost didn't make it through the day.  I held him until we buried him.  I couldn't cry a single tear for a long time, and then one day they just all broke free.  I'm crying again writing this.  Another of the worst days of my life.  He was just a baby.  My baby.  I couldn't even sleep alone for days.  And July ended as darkly as June.

The day before he died

August
The week that ended July and began August was horrible.  It was supposed to be a good week.  Olympics, the State Fair, friends, but starting with the cloud of my pet's death hanging over us, it was just bad.  I can't recall the details, but I missed my best friend Angie (who had passed just over a year prior) dearly, something had gone amiss with A's case, I got into a fight with a friend, I was discharged from my doctor's office over a $20 bill, and probably some other stuff I don't even remember... I just remember that it was a very bad, bad week.  I buried myself in mindless television shows, sleep, and orphan blogs.

After some time had passed, I adopted another cat - mostly black, just a tiny bit of white on his chest.  I called him 'Soft Kitty' or 'S.K' for a week, until I named him Marbles because when he purrs (which he does almost constantly), it sounds like someone's shaking a bag of marbles.  I love him!  He's six months old now. I spent some time in the hospital with a kidney infection (two ER visits in one week is never any fun) and had a bad medication reaction, so I was feeling a little worse for the wear even by the end of August, not to mention having to find a new doctor because I have any number of medical needs that have to be attended to regularly.  All I could do was hope it would get better when the school year started and routine set in more firmly.

Marbles, AKA 'Soft Kitty'

September
Finally, a month that started out well.  At the very beginning of September, my friend Faith got home from Eastern Europe with her two newly adopted children, both of whom have down syndrome.  Another friend and I went to see them that weekend and bring some clothes for the baby (she was around 18 months when she came home, but the size of a 3-6 month old).  We talked a while, played with the kids, and I got to hold her sweet and precious baby girl, who thankfully will never remember having been an orphan.

I look dumb in this picture.  But she's cute enough for both of us

I don't remember much about the rest of the month.  It must've been relatively unremarkable.  I did go to the Buddy Walk with Shannon and Faith's family, which was a blast, it was my first year and it definitely won't be my last.

October
October was a month I didn't look forward to... at all.  Halloween, pumpkins, hay rides, costumes... did you know I took A trick or treating every year between 2-7?  It wasn't a holiday I was used to 'celebrating' without her.  I remember being rather depressed.  I also faced a good bit of financial difficulty that I was working to resolve, and we had finally been given a court date, which was looming frighteningly on the horizon.  It felt like limbo - there's not really any other way I can put it.  Like I was just waiting for the other shoe to drop.  I was probably irritable and short with people I know and love, and for that I'm sorry.  I was under a lot of stress and I apparently didn't cope well.  As the month ended, my mind was occupied by nothing but what November would bring.

November
Not long passed before the tone for the month of November was set.  Our court date was early in the month.  We were in court for over two hours - which was nearly if not completely unprecedented for a case like ours.  And it was a rough two hours.  I will admit that I cried on the stand - to the point where my 'smudge-proof' (apparently not waterproof) mascara was running down my face in a raccoon-like fashion.  It was rough, and the other team didn't play fair, but I regretted nothing.  After social services let us down, it was the only thing we could do, the thing we had to do.

After court that day, I slept for two hours, spent some time with some good friends, and then slept for sixteen hours, straight and solid.  I woke up at 7:00, and thought it was morning (it was not.  It was the following night.)  But then I felt a sense of relief.  Not complete relief - we were still waiting on a decision, which could have said anything - but court was over and that in itself was a relief.

The decision, which, from my perspective was not favorable (although I will admit there are unknowns involved that could change my opinion) came just before Thanksgiving.  So much for being thankful.  I had my wisdom teeth out the day before Thanksgiving (we had our turkey early) and after 7 abdominal surgeries I thought it would be a cinch - I didn't even have to be in a hospital - but I'm definitely counting that as one of my worst surgeries.  I have serious dental fear and I do NOT like anyone messing around with my mouth.  It's actually still healing.

At the end of the month I picked up some extra work with a friend (I had already worked for one friend for the better part of the year) and things seemed to be looking up, teeth (or lack thereof) aside.

December
Through December I continued to work for friends and fundraise heavily for Reece's Rainbow's Project Angel Tree.  It was a tough month, mostly because of financial difficulties, but we made it work.  At the end of the month, I came upon the opportunity to work for a friend who I met through Reece's Rainbow close to a year ago and has three adopted children with down syndrome.  Her family was in need of a home health aide, I was in need of a job, and a wonderful organization locally agreed to employ me to work for her.  I've been doing that job just about a week now (officially - this is one of the friends I was working for unofficially previously) and I just absolutely love it!

I missed A and AJ a lot this month.  It was truly my first Christmas without them since A came into my life all those years ago.  I walked through stores, by the sections of little girls' clothes, touched the ruffled skirts and commented to whomever I was with how I would most certainly be buying this if I still had A.  Girly girl if there ever was one.  But I appreciated the time I had with M, we celebrated Christmas in the usual manner, just unfortunately less two kids.

I look weird because of the lack of eyebrows.

On the very last day of December, the little boy whose Christmas Warrior I was through Reece's Rainbow met his goal - meaning I had to make good on a promise I made at the beginning of Angel Tree - that if both Brett #19 and Elden 14G met their goals, I would shave my head - and that is how I would start out 2013... and I smiled on the last day of 2012 - not only because I was glad to see it go, like last year (and I was, considering some of the year's happenings) but because I was thankful, too, to see another year and have hopes for more good and even better things.

Because that's the kind of perspective spending a year advocating with Reece's Rainbow gives you.

I miss you.

I just do.  And I needed to say it even if you won't hear it.  I love you, princess, always and forever.  I'll never stop waiting to see your beautiful face again.

I'm writing you a letter tonight.  You'll read it someday.

<3 - Your "Kai"

Color Changing Nail Polish

Just barely over five months ago, I was carefully applying a salmon colored nail polish to twenty individual toenails and ten miniature finger nails.  Not my own finger nails - I hate to have polish on my fingers.

I bought it in St. Augustine, Florida on Father's Day.  I specifically chose Sunday for that excursion to stem the flow of any unhappy thoughts that could spoil our vacation.  We would be too busy to be unhappy for even a moment.

I spoiled us.  I bought us ice cream, candy and souvenirs, including the nail polish I later applied so carefully. It was only a salmon color indoors - outdoors it turned a bright shade of fuchsia.  We got it at a store called 'Del Sol' (of the sun, in case you didn't get that).  Everything in the store lit up or changed color in sunlight.  They had UV lights in the store that you could hold things under to see what they'd look like outside.  Sure enough, as soon as we set foot outside the little shop, the polish turned fuchsia.  We couldn't wait to paint our nails with it, then set foot on the sandy beach and watch our toes change color.  We painted them that night.

I think a couple days on the beach overdosed my polish - although Alivia's was still turning purple, perhaps because her feet were pretty much constantly in the water - but my toes had gone back to staying pinkish even outside.  I took this picture one day, bored as I lounged by the pool, my little fish splashing around with boundless energy.

Pink toes

  

Little fish

By then she had chewed the polish off her fingernails.  She always did, because she couldn't help biting her nails, especially when she was nervous, and this almost always ended in her scraping off any polish present with her teeth.  Actually, the nail biting itself was a habit we shared, and part of the reason I didn't paint my own nails.  We used to remind each other when we saw each other biting - don't bite your nails!  But I didn't say anything when I noticed the missing polish... we were on vacation, it wasn't the time to worry about such inconsequential things, we were having the time of our lives.




Every day for the past five months, when I've looked down at my toes, I've seen those flecks of pink paint, gradually becoming less and less.  When I've trimmed my nails, some of it has come off.  Once or twice, as the nails grew out, I thought about taking it off and repainting them... and then thought twice.  I wasn't taking it off, because it reminded me of the happy memory of sitting there with my princess, painting our nails.  I put it on when we were together.  I didn't want to take it off while we were apart.

Now, only the tiniest traces of paint remain on my big toes.  If I cut my nails again every trace of it will probably vanish.

It makes me sad.  I know, silly, right?  Silly that I even got sentimental about not wanting to take it off, and walked around with half-painted toes all summer.  Even sillier that now that it's almost gone, and knowing I won't soon be together with the princess whose toes I painted with mine, I still can't take it off.  Sillier that I'll probably cry when I'm forced to clip my nails again and the last little bit is gone.

But I can't, and I will.

What I wouldn't give to go back to the day I put it on, when everything was happy and carefree, before crisis, before things got so ugly and complicated.  What I wouldn't give to go back and do it all again, knowing what I know now.  But we don't get to go back, do we?  We only get one shot.  We do the best we can with it.  We try, as I tried, to do what we think is right.  Sometimes we fail.  Sometimes we fall short. Sometimes we get our hearts broken.

And when that happens... maybe it isn't so silly to hold onto the happy memories brought on by something as small and seemingly insignificant as a couple flecks of no-longer color changing nail polish.

Continuing While I Can... Florida Day 7!

I have big plans for this blog in the coming days and/or weeks, and maybe even the creation of another blog, but before I can get to that, I need to finish a story that I started a long time ago... one that hasn't quite ended yet, but is nevertheless full of beautiful memories of *my* little patchwork family.  Besides, I just love sharing pictures of certain precious little girls... even if I miss them a ton... and we really did have a blast in Florida and I want her to have this to read someday - if not sooner, then later... so here it goes... Tuesday!

I enjoyed sleeping in on Tuesday since we'd gotten up early on Monday to watch the sunrise.  A even slept in, we woke up around 11 am!  We then slathered up with sunscreen (my WHOLE back this time) and headed out to the beach again.  We had determined to bury ourselves in the sand and go boogie boarding.  There was still a red flag warning for rip currents, but A and I never went out deep and we stayed right in front of a lifeguard tower, so I felt okay about it.  Better than the time we swam in Portuguese Men-O-War at St. Augustine when I was 13 and then found out a week later that they were poisonous and could be deadly within hours... heh.

We had to dig a giant hole to bury me in the sand.  I wasn't going vertical, and I think 5 feet is short, but I guess not when you're digging a hole.  A had probably TOO much fun burying me... gotta watch myself around that child... I think she had a little too much fun taking the pictures too...

By the way, sand is HEAVY.

I put goggles on while she was burying.  She flings sand.

Busting out.  I was trying to be scary and make monster noises but I got stuck...

And well... unfortunately I also failed to remember that sand, especially Florida sand, is very... sticky.  On the plus side, I'm pretty sure I was nicely exfoliated...

A was highly amused, but decided she'd rather not be buried.  Ha.

Then, while A enjoyed the pool some more, I did this:

Did I mention "Best Vacation Ever"?

I took a super cute video of her in the pool, but I'm not done writing yet, and it's just the best, so I want to save it for last.  So on to our post-pool fun... we both desperately needed showers, especially me, as I discovered once inside that I had sand INSIDE my swimsuit... oh well, my burial amused A, which makes it worth it.  Then we headed back to the mainland to visit with my wonderful cousin and aunt.  On the way, we went over this bridge, which I took a picture of at a stoplight for my friend Ashley, who I know just loves long bridges, almost as much as she loves large birds...

I however FAILED to take any pictures with my aunt and cousin - we were too busy catching up and eating pizza!  My cousin Alex was so amazing with A, let her play with her American Girl dolls (which A loved... yeah, keep dreaming, A.  I love you, girl, but one fancy doll is all I'm buying, and you already have her.)  It was really nice to see my family - we always seem to miss each other when they come up to Ohio, and I hadn't been to Florida since I was 13!  Here's us when I was 11...

Me in the back of the car, Alex in front of me, and that's my Aunt Kaye in the black in the back

When we got back to the condo, A and I played a few card games before bed and read the fairy book that Angie left to A as well as A's children's Bible... and we both fell asleep happy.

Now, as promised, I'll leave you with the precious video from A in the pool that day.  I hate the sound of my own voice on here, I think I sound harsh... I was trying to remind her of some concepts she learned in gymnastics that I used to teach her how to flip in the water... but when I hear myself in the video I cringe, so pay attention to the cute little girl, not me.  (Side note... goodness, videos take forever to upload!  I meant to be asleep two hours ago!)

My favorite part is her little "I did it!!"  <3

Tuesday was good.  Wednesday, the crisis began, so I can't promise a cheerful post, but I do have some darling pictures of our last day on the beach, so up it will go!  Bless you all.