I've always been the kind of person who appreciated knowing exactly where I stood. I never liked guessing about the level of my friendships or how I was viewed by others. The gray area always made me uncomfortable.
Did you like me or not? Are we acquaintances? Casual friends? Good friends? Besties? Boyfriend-girlfriend? Partners?
Being a foster parent was easy for the first 6 months. Not because it was easy, but because I knew my place. I was the foster mom. The stand-in until the boys could go home. I would love them, and comfort them, and pray with them and tell them how very special they were while I advocated for reunification. I prayed for their parents' healing. I wished, and hoped, and crossed my fingers that the boys could one day go home.
But then in April 2013, that dream was dashed. The goal changed from reunification to termination of parental rights, and I was thrust into a world where I no longer knew my place.
I was still a foster mom.
I was still a stand-in.
But I was also now a pre-adoptive mom.
A future permanent mom.
Only, their mom didn't go away.
She was still around.
We shared this title: Mom.
And it became painful, and hard, and awkward, and sad, and hurtful, and confusing.
This past week we sat down with the boys and their therapist to tell them that their parents' rights had been terminated, their appeals lost, and that we would be adopting them. They would be ours forever. They would be Stones.
And emotional chaos ensued.
Anger. Sadness. Denial. A host of "it's not fair"s.
Rejection.
Defeat.
Disbelief.
Our kids were crushed. Not because they don't love us, but because forever and never are big words. Final words.
They would never live with their mom.
They would forever live with us.
Imagine being 6 and 8 (and emotionally, quite a bit younger than that) and being told that you will never again share a home with your mother and siblings. The realization was made harder by the fact that there is still a real possibility that 4 of their siblings may return home at some point if mom continues to make good progress. She may in fact get half of her children back. But the other half? My boys and their little sisters up the street? Never. She will never get them back. She will never be their only mom.
And my heart breaks for her, too. Yes, my children are complete victims and have done nothing to deserve this lot in life, but I'm confident in saying that their mom didn't have much of a chance herself. I don't know that this would have played out differently even if we weren't in the picture. And this is the best case scenario for the boys.
But best never equaled easy.
This week has been filled with poor behavior and hurtful words as the kids have struggled to carry the impossible burden of never. I have been tested, boundaries have been pushed, I have failed to show grace and compassion. I have yelled and disciplined. I have fallen short, and I have crawled back and asked forgiveness from my kids. I have held them as they cried, rocked them as they just couldn't find the words to say, held their hands as they struggled to comprehend the never.
And thus it will always be so.
I will always exist in the gray area with them.
I will never just be their mom.
I will hold a number of other titles and roles in their lives.
Adoptive mom.
Other mom.
Mom who made it impossible for their mom to "win."
Mom who took them away from their family.
It will never be easy again.
And I will have to live with my own never.
I will never be their only mom.
We will never be a family, just us.
I will never be able to take away their pain and make them complete.
Only Jesus.
Only Jesus.
