Monday, December 21, 2009

Isaiah's Million Dollar Smile Soothes His Abuelita's Ragged Soul

The Adoption Counselor again captured my own stressed-out feelings in her post about the ones we lose. I've lost several.

I have been fuming for many days over an incident. Outside of Yolie and Sarah, Grandma and Pa, I'd only told one other person (who'd prefer not to be called out) on the phone, it had involved the police.

I was very busy tending to a billion other things, but I'd been so angered on one particular night that I'd awoken the next day with bruises on my palm and wrist from me banging on stuff outside in abject fury, disgust and near hatred.

Hatred is a terribly destructive emotion, better for me to totally not give a spit. I've had nothing but cuss words coming to my mind, thus proving my inner rage which does not benefit me in any way. I've spilled this out to Paloma's excellant IFI therapist, she'd also validated me expressing anger without hurting anyone. Heck, Yolie's an LMSW...she's my usual confidant, as is Emily who outranks everyone.

Grandpa also was bumfuzzled over all this. Tired, as a parent, of seeing his only surviving daughter constantly wounded, emotionally and sometimes physically. It's been a Hellish nine years for elderly parents to witness firsthand. Anyone remember last year's Christmas Eve when I'd had my lip busted open by a rager? I thought Grandpa was gonna lose his religion that afternoon.

My dad wrote a very long letter to the one who'd been disrespectful, hateful and passive-aggressive for several years, asking me to read it and see if I thought it'd do any good.

It did do good. It did me good, in that Grandpa clearly expressed how I felt, he totally understood, incredible empathy versus the professionals that all of us sometimes deal with, who "side" with the troubled one, as if we were the problem. Just the other day, in Atlanta, I was questioned, while the troubled one remained mute. Look y'all, I wasn't the kid who smeared human feces everywhere as a parting shot.

"Do you think it'll help them understand?" Grandpa'd asked me in frustration.

"Nope," I responded, from experience.

"Dad, it just doesn't matter to me anymore. I'm simply glad that you understand, that's what matters to me. I think it really boils down to IQ," which makes me sound like Hitler, but intelligence is a common denominator in those that excel.

A Bodie trait involves our need to vent, we don't hold it in, we don't invite ulcers, we let it out safely, and move on. Grandpa vented, he feels better, and I do too, time to move on unhindered emotionally.

I think I'll publish his letter here after removing the identifying names, I think it'll speak to you all, and address the Hell you, other adoptive parents, also endure as targets of mis-directed anger. Grandpa wrote four pages, I'll condense it. I have his permission to do so. He reads my blog everyday, he reads all y'all's comments, every single one, he understands. Heck, he lives here...duh.

I deeply appreciate his educated validation of pure and simple logic.

I'm including a picture of Isaiah, my grandbaby y'all had prayed for when he was having seizures. Thank God it wasn't a tumor or a life-threatening problem, but rather was diagnosed as epilepsy. Jesse and Lena were given a great deal of comfort and peace, both by your prayers and by their pediatrician's calm encouragement. Isaiah will be fine and, Lord knows, he's about as cute as is possible. It looks like I'll get them all here on a visit by mid-January.

Grandpa, son of a career Navy man, has been particularly impressed by my military sons, Daniel, Jesse and Sergi. Especially with me as their mom, I'm from the Vietnam Era when everything was questioned, particularly the legality of a war that had not actually been declared.