She came to me a broken little 20 month old. After over two years of healing and hoping and helping. She’s still broken. She still cries out from the pain of her seizures. She still chokes on her own puke that she brings up without knowing she can stop it. She has a hole in her stomach to receive food. Her ears don’t hear correctly. She deals with a disease that’s meant to be given to adults who have unprotected sex. Not to an innocent child. She still doesn’t speak. She still falls and stumbles and bruises her head. She still can’t play without mouthing the toy. She has zero self care goals met.
Most days, I can deal with this. Most days I see all progress she’s made and I know she’s a miracle. Most days, I focus on the good. Today is not that day. Today is the day I cry and I rage. I rage at the fact that NONE of this had to happen. She could have been a completely normal child. Today is the day I rage. She’s aging out of nursery, but we surely can’t put her in children’s church. We keep her home. Or only keep her in Sunday School. People offer to keep her for me and it’s wonderful. But she’s my daughter and I understand what caring for her entails. She’s too much when there’s a class full of kids. She needs one on one attention. And I don’t want to hear murmuring about the “four year old still in the nursery”.
Today I rage. She has a cousin just four months older than her and they can’t play together. I get so insanely jealous seeing pictures of my niece playing dolls and tea party. Will Carlee ever do that? I flipped through a catalog of American Dolls and I would give anything to take to get one. For her to understand what they are. For her to wait impatiently to get her first one. Hell, I’d buy her every damn doll in that place if she knew. Forget Dave Ramsey, I’d bust out a credit card and get her whatever she wanted. If she knew.
Today, I rage. I get online and all my sad feelings spew. All my anger. Later today, I’ll feel guilty for posting this, for feeling this way. Right now, I’m too pissed to feel guilty. Today, I watched her have seizure after seizure. See her cry. See her suck her fingers until they bleed, because that’s all the can comfort her. I watch her on her tip toes because her ankle muscles have tighten to much for her to walk flat. Can we get into a doctor? Nope. They won’t let me have the casting that was recommended by her therapist who knows her. No, they want to do braces, as if she could understand that. “Maybe surgery when she’s eight” because why make her life any easier than it needs to be. We’ll just let her lose all range so you can cut later. What’s the big deal with another surgery?
Today, I rage. I rage at her birth mother. The child who did this to her. I could forgive, I could, she was young, much too young. But she’s gone on to have FOUR more children since Carlee’s birth. And she’s pregnant with two more. They all suffer, they all have issues. Some more than others. Thankfully, they are being cared for and loved on and healed in their new homes. She just keeps doing this. She just keeps stealing childhoods from her own children. I can pray and hope for a normal life for Carlee. For dolls and and dress up and prom and graduation and a wedding. If I listen to the doctors. She’ll have none of that stuff. Of course, I believe in a God much wiser than those doctors. But, today, I’m drowning in their diagnoses. And it’s all her fault. The pain she’s caused the child she gave birth too. It’s her fault. She packed her bags at eighteen and LEFT. She abandoned her child. She didn’t want to deal with the medical mess she made. So she just went on to have two more. And then two more. And now two more. 7 kids in 4 years. My beautiful friend can’t get pregnant. She gets to have seven kids. At least she doesn’t get to raise any of them.
Did you miss the part where SHE WALKED OUT. In all the time that I’ve had Carlee, since April of 2012, she’s never seen her. Never even tried. She messaged me last Christmas “Will I ever be able to see her again? I love seeing the pictures” I had mercy for her. I set up a visit at her family’s home. So she could see the daughter she walked out on. She said she was coming. She didn’t. No call, no text, just never showed up. That was the last time I heard from her.
Do I feel badly blasting her? No, not right now. I pray the day will come when Carlee will understand what a treasure she is, that she was adopted in love, that she will ask me about her. I’ll be kinder then. I wouldn’t want to hurt her with the harsh truth. I already have to deal with that one day with Matthew. But today, I vent. I want her to feel what Carlee has to live with. I want her understand what she’s doing to these babies. But, she won’t. And I can’t make her. So I write here. I scream here. I cry here. I rage here.
Then I wipe off my face and go back into my world with a smile. I’d give anything to make her whole. Even if that meant I’d never met her. I’d do it. But she isn’t whole and we were given the responsibility and the joy of raising her. That makes me heart smile.