My youngest son has been a true challenge for my family since he came into our house in 1995. I had accepted that my family would consist of two children and had seen the doctor to make sure it didn’t accidentally grow larger. My wife had decided that it was time to add-on. She handed me a section of the Sunday paper (one of the parts that I never read) and tapped it while stating to me that “This little boy belongs in our home!” I looked closer and saw that she had folded it to present the Sunday’s Child section. It was a little boy who was in the foster care system and was available for adoption.
Now I had heard all of the conversations about the fabulous success of these campaigns. In fact, one of the people at the Children’s Bureau had told me that they get nearly 200 families who want to adopt these kids, and the process takes an average of two years. I figured this would keep her busy for a while before she gave up on the bureaucracy and we moved on to other things. Little did I know this would become her mission. Instead of two years, she tackled the process in only three months and this little boy was living in our house.
Since then we’ve had years of trauma, including thousands of hours of counseling, therapy, screaming, and things that shouldn’t be mentioned online. We became familiar with the juvenile justice system, Child Protective Services, Individualized Education Plans, drugs with names I can’t recall, and all manner of locks. I finally accepted that this was my time in purgatory and I just had to wait it out.
This evening, my child sat in the room with my wife and me and talked to us about how we met. He shared his thoughts on life and was extremely pleasant company. These are the moments that make life seem worthwhile, regardless of what tomorrow brings.