A Grandmother’s Journey Through Adoption (Guest Post)
The first time I set eyes on my future grandson, my heart went out to him.
The photograph showed a little boy with downcast eyes. Was he camera shy? Was he sad? Both? He seemed shrouded in loneliness.
Then the first time I met him, he walked in the door and said, “Hi Grandma,” in a monotone voice. Here arrived a bouncing baby…7-year-old. Now what? Instant Grandma… just add water?
I grew up with an adopted brother, so adoption was never a foreign concept to me. I also volunteered in the foster care system, both mentoring a foster child, and serving on a foster care review board. I’m well aware that “broken” kids come from a broken system. Even so, I only had a conceptual idea of the neglect and abandonment, to severe abuse and trauma these kids faced.
Having said that, there was a steep learning curve with my new grandson. My daughter filled me in with the backstory. To a point. Some details were kept private, some were fuzzy, and some were like shifting sand.
It was like peeling back the layers of an onion, and suddenly I was immersed in the acronyms and jargon of this new country called special needs adoption. ADHD. ODD. ASD. PTSD. RAD. SPD. IEP.
No sooner had I learned and understood about one, then I’d find out another was added. Or subtracted. Or subsequently ruled out. Can’t these medical professionals get their acts together?
Of course, we all know a child is much more beyond a label.
Testing and medications and therapies can address some or all of these, perhaps. As can a stable and loving home life. However, three years later, I still have difficulty sorting out (on a good day, mind you), what’s a quirky personality, what are symptomatic behavioral issues, what are simply
Certainly all is not dismal, though.
He’s taught me a new way of looking at the world.
He asks questions or makes comments that make me think, or laugh. I try to see the world through his eyes. He challenges my boundaries and tests my patience. But, you know what? Many grandchildren do that.
Childproofing has taken on a high priority…matches, sticks, tools, even crayons, can become weapons of mass destruction if he’s left unsupervised with them. (Yes, I know not to leave matches laying around…but like a bloodhound, if something’s dangerous or inappropriate, this kid sniffs it out.)
We are making progress, though. Perhaps I’ve overdone it, but the other day, when temporarily left to his own devices, he cried out plaintively, “Hey! Isn’t Grandpa supposed to be supervising me?”
Smart kid. Don’t make a rule if you’re not going to enforce it.
We are still working on not touching things that don’t belong to him and asking before taking anything. Sometimes he still sneaks things that he could easily ask for and aren’t substantially problematic (gum, snacks, spare change). That gets a lecture and a forced apology.
Sharing has been a work in progress. He’s only ever known severe deprivation, anxiety, insecurity and having to fend for himself. But sometimes cheapo Grandma only wants to buy one frozen yogurt and have a few bites. This is a trigger. He still manages to get the last bite, but now he’ll take turns without complaining.
He likes to hit.
…And stab and throw sticks around the yard. He flails at the trees with flyswatters. I try not to overanalyze, but I see this behavior repeated over and over again. Is it boredom? A need for stimulation? Aggression? Or simply a little boy playing DonQuixote? I only wish it was the latter. He’s always a whirling dervish. And his morning wake up call on sleepovers is usually 5:30 a.m., to boot.
I worry about the meltdowns he has with my daughter. He screams and cries, bites and hits, and pulls hair. I worry for her safety. I wonder if he’ll end up on the 5 o’clock news one day… And then I banish that thought.
Won’t love conquer all?
Won’t it? And therapy. Lots of therapy. And behavioral coaches and a crisis team on call. And meds. Lots of meds.
Initially, I was much more team therapy and
Honestly, one of the most difficult aspects of my special needs grandchild is the lack of physical affection on his part. I can initiate a hug, a kiss, and I usually ask first, but it’s mostly received with tepid compliance. Or begrudgingly.
It’s rarely reciprocated.
When it is, it’s like the sun rises in the sky. I feel a sense of loss over this, but it’s not the end of the story, yet.
I pray that, eventually, we reach a comfort level, or trust, where physical affection can be given and received, even if it’s a simple gesture.
I think about those children with that rare skin disease, where the merest pressure of clothing or friction, or human touch renders them with bruises or peeling skin. Or those who are confined to bubble suits for rare autoimmune conditions.
Even their parents must find little ways to give and receive affection in the most infinitesimal ways.
Inspite of the challenging moments, there are so many moments of grace.
I love his laugh.
While his face at times seems immobile and expressionless, like some ancient stone mask, sometimes he laughs and giggles and it’s music to my ears.
For that moment, I forget he’s not a typical kid (to use the vernacular of the special needs world). He adores his Grandpa and prefers him over me. I get envious. And then I become grateful. I’ll take a backseat on this one. This isn’t about favorites. We will hit our own stride in time.
After all, this is a journey, not a race.
Guest post
written by a homeschooling grandma, wife, mother of 3, college teacher, and church blogger.
She’s also an amazing cancer survivor! Thank you for sharing! -Janelle Molony @AdoptionToLife
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