Mess

I prayed all morning over a letter I had written to Sweet Boy and Little Miss' birth mother, trying to figure out whether or not my intentions were genuine. Would my letter offer her peace...or was it, merely, a way to soothe my conscious? I wrestled with the question and did  my best to stuff my nerves.

I am ready for this part of our journey to be behind us. The other day Ben took the boys out for lunch and as Sweet Boy came back into the house he knelt down beside his sister and said, "Sissy. It's always so good to come home." He went on with his day, but his words stopped my heart. Sweet Boy knows he's home. Adoption will be the final key to opening a future of security.

I walked into the courtroom and listened to the attorneys lay out the morning. 1, 2, 3 to termination. Barring any further courthouse fires it seemed straight forward.

It wasn't.

My compassion tank emptied the minute birth mom and dad were escorted in. Matching jumpsuits. Shackled.

I was angry. So angry. Angry that in the past month she was willing to jeopardize her future.

It all unraveled from there.

She voluntarily signed over her rights in hopes to keep the baby boy she is pregnant with, now, but dropped a bomb on the way to her seat. Sweet Boy's "father" was in the room to petition the court for custody. Even though a different father had been removed from the record for abandonment, a month earlier. The young kid stepped forward and was as Caucasian as Caucasian comes. The judge drilled him on his story, timing, and intent.

He let the kid know that he was too late...but given his "recent discovery" of his alleged son, he was willing to give him a chance. The judge pushed our next court hearing out two months and ordered a DNA test for a kid who could never be Sweet Boy's father based on race alone.

No one fought for us.

When it was all said and done, one of the attorneys sneered and asked me if I happened to have a picture of Sweet Boy on me. I had several sitting inside the letter I never delivered to birth mom. I pulled one out and they all laughed at the ridiculousness of the claim. The boy's appointed attorney said, "Well that makes my job easier!"

I wanted to vomit. It's just a game. Time doesn't matter. Little hearts don't matter. It's all about winning. And they know they'll win....eventually.

There were several moments that I wanted to jump up and shout, but was forced to take it all in as a "nobody" in the crowd. No one asked my thoughts or cared enough to hear about how a goodbye visit would affect my Sweet Boy.

I let myself be angry all afternoon, but then nearly sobbed when I picked Sweet Boy up from school. We packed in the car and as he belted, he said, "Hey, mom, what are you thinking for dinner?" For him, today was just like any other day.

How on earth am I going to prepare him for a goodbye with a mother he is not attached to that is distraught from grief, followed up by a DNA test with a "father" he has never met, that looks nothing like him?

I am so burdened by the thought of putting him through any further confusion. I know that God will protect his heart...as he already has, this far. I'm just trying to sort it all out in my heart.

This mess isn't just a problem for my kids. It's a problem for all kids.