Can Foster/Adoptive Parents Ever be Fully Prepared?

In response to Guilty for not Loving a Troubled Child, see wrote:

I think the main problem is that you did not know what you were getting into when you adopted a child who went through all kinds of Trauma and abuse. The second problem is that you had no proper counselling [sic] by your side to help you bond with a traumatised child. And so the bonding did not happen.

I think the truth is, no foster or adoptive parent will know what he or she is getting into until they have already signed their name on the dotted line.  While I think that our county did an okay, but not stellar, job in offering training classes and teaching us what to expect, there's a big difference between knowing about something academically, and actually living it.

When I got my first parrot, I spent a lot of time reading about avian care.  I studied behavior, diet, and basic first aid.  I learned about blood feathers, the signs of illness, and how to properly keep a cage clean.  When I finally brought my bird home, I knew everything I could know from a book about the fundamentals of caring for my new friend.  However, there was nothing on paper that could describe what it was like to cuddle with a creature that looked like an alien life form, or the absolute fear one experiences when rushing a feathered companion to the vet.  You have to live it to understand it.

I think the same was true for our experience as foster and adoptive parents.  While they can teach you all sorts of things in training classes, they can't fully explain the emotional impact of what it is like to be investigated by Child Welfare Services because your kid levied false allegations against you.  They can't convey how hard it is to be up half the night (and then have to go to work the next morning) because your child was raging.  They can't describe what it is like to live with a child whose behavior makes you feel like you are being eaten alive by minnows.  While no one bite hurts all that much, it's the accumulation of them that wears you out, drags you down, and makes you despair.

Our one mistake, I think, was in not recognizing that the foster care system really is as bad as many people describe.  When FosterEema and I started our foster parenting journey, we read many blogs that had a lot of really negative and scary things to say.  FosterEema chalked it up to something she called "Internet Amplification Syndrome," or the fact that unhappy people tend to blog like crazy, while happy folks just shut up and live their lives.

We didn't fully understand that yes, the foster care system really is as bad as people say, and yes, some of the behaviors that foster and adoptive kids exhibit really are as crazy, dangerous, and maddening as people describe.  We couldn't believe that the system was so profoundly broken, but it turned out to be true.

See is correct in saying that we didn't receive the appropriate counseling along the way.  That is absolutely true.  We recognized, based on the reasons Danielle had been taken into foster care, that she needed counseling.  She did not receive qualified and experienced help.  Worse, we found out much later (from an inside source who later separated from the county) that the counseling Danielle did receive was more of a fishing expedition to find out whether we, the detestable queers, were doing anything inappropriate.

We later came to find out our friends Jack and Jill had their adoptions delayed because of their relationship with us.  Apparently, some sick people in the county assumed there must be something wrong with our friends because they were willing to build a friendship with people like us.

While I don't want to blame discriminatory practices for everything, I certainly think that played a role in our family not receiving the services we needed.

After the whole thing was said and done, we ran our story by a civil rights attorney.  She told us that we definitely had a case, and if we'd sued for discrimination, we'd likely win.  However, she warned, we'd probably spend the next ten years in court, and it would cost a lot of money.  We opted not to sue, because we couldn't imagine spending more time in another lengthy legal battle.  The year we spent fighting for Danielle was enough.

Still, I have to ask the question if better counseling services would have made much of a difference.  Danielle would still be Danielle.  I don't think a better professional in our lives would have stopped her from hitting us, from raging, or from making false allegations.  While it might have done more to help us feel better about the situation, I am sure it still would have sucked.

Would it have changed my feelings toward Danielle?  Probably not.  I can't imagine, under any circumstances having a warm and squishy heart for someone who calls me names, breaks my things, and punches me.  In any other world, those behaviors are unquestionably abusive; I am not the type of person to feel good about someone who mistreats me.

Does that mean I never cared about Danielle?  No.  I cared plenty.  I still care.  I also realize that she is over the age of 18 now, and she's going to do whatever it is she's going to do.  Am I happy that she quit school, hasn't finished, and doesn't have a job?  No.  Can I do anything about it?  Nope.

I rarely hear from Danielle, except for an occasional one-liner through social media.  FosterEema hears from her from time to time, but usually it comes in the form of requests for money or favors.  The latest is that one of her biological relatives has demanded FosterEema take off a whole day from work to get some paperwork from the juvenile court.  FosterEema has already completed this errand once before and provided said documenation, so this time she's leaving it up to Danielle to figure it out.

I frequently have to remind myself of the following phrase: not my circus, not my monkeys.

The question is, can foster/adoptive parents ever be fully prepared for the life that lies ahead?  I'm not sure that it is possible.  While you can attend trainings, read blogs, and hear stories directly from friends or family who are already in the trenches, it's not possible to know what it's like until you have been there.

Guilty for not Loving a Troubled Child

The meaning of the word "love," when applied to a troubled child, has been a subject of some debate on this and other foster/adoptive blogs over the years.  The blog talkinrealhere has a really good post on the topic.

Realmom writes:

I hear so many parents of troubled kids say, I don't really love my child. They feel guilty, it's a hard thing to say, and they feel like the worst human being on the planet because they don't "love" their child. Well, I beg to differ, parents.

I do not love Danielle in the way most people think when they bring up the subject of their children.  Still, I don't carry the guilt about it that some parents do.  It was and still is hard to hold warm fuzzy feelings in my heart for a child who was so insulting, so manipulative, so uncooperative, and so violent.

Realmom went on to say:

...Do you do the best that you can in any given moment? That, my friends, is love. That is action.

There's more.  It's worth reading, and it echoed what I was trying to articulate all those years ago.

When I think of Danielle now, I just feel sad.  She was terribly damaged before she ever came to us, and I'm not sure that her troubles are the type that can ever be fixed.  Now that she is a young adult, I rarely hear from her.  She's more likely to contact FosterEema, but when she does, it's generally because she wants something, like a bus ticket or some cash.

Was Your Heart in it?

In response to The Prodigal Daughter Didn't Return, Ina wrote:

"...it was almost as if FosterEema and I had never been a couple, and Danielle was never our child."

This is really striking. Is it because your heart was never in it, the adoption I mean?

Was my heart in the adoption?  The answer to the question isn't so simple.

By the time we were ready to sign adoption papers, our family had been put through the wringer.  We had spent a year fighting with the Department of Social Services both in and out of court.  We'd spent huge amounts of my father's money fighting a protracted legal battle, and endless hours of our time taking parenting classes to prove that we were fit.

At the end of that year, it was pretty obvious to us, our attorney, and the judge that the county's reasoning for objecting to the adoption was based on purely on discrimination.  Our county has a reputation for treating same-sex couples poorly, and we were not the first to have been put through the wringer in this way.

By the time we were asked to sign adoption papers, I was physically and mentally exhausted.  By the time we sat down with our eighth social worker in two years, Danielle's behavior was starting to become violent.  She'd slapped and hit me.  I was having second thoughts.

It wasn't that I wanted to pitch Danielle out of the house.  I didn't want her removed.  I didn't want her to be placed somewhere else.  Still, I wasn't sure I wanted to adopt a child who was physically abusing me.  I worried her behavior was going to become substantially worse, and I wanted to make sure the proper resources were in place for her.  I thought it would be better if she remained in foster care, permanently placed with us.

Unfortunately, that wasn't an option.  The county had issued an ultimatum: adopt the kid or we'll move her elsewhere.  When we agreed, our social worker Nasty Number Seven was completely against it.  We weren't your average, run-of-the-mill, heterosexual couple.  When Danielle started to act out and we asked for help, Number Seven used it as an excuse to issue a removal order, which created the year-long fight.

I didn't want to fight the removal.  I figured it was a custody battle that we didn't have much chance of winning.  However, the decision wasn't mine alone to make.  FosterEema wanted to fight, and my parents wanted to fight.  Even my sister, who was historically very unsupportive of my relationship, agreed.  So, fight we did.  It was pure luck that we were able to find an experienced and skilled attorney at the right time, and that my father had the cash to pay for his services.

In the end, I fought for Danielle, not because I wanted to fight.  I fought for Danielle because I genuinely believed that she would be better off with us than the alternative.  She was a difficult kid with many issues.  When we were in court, one of the concerns raised wasn't about our fitness as parents -- there was question as to whether Danielle was adoptable.  The judge not only had to rule in our favor, but he also had to rule in hers as well.  The question was, if we weren't willing or able to adopt Danielle, would there be other families waiting to take her?

Our attorney told us that the question of her adoptability wasn't a slam-dunk, considering her myriad challenges.

The night before we were to sign our adoption papers, I expressed my misgivings to FosterEema.  She told me that if I failed to sign, our relationship was going to change.  I took that to mean that she would leave me, which I didn't want.  She desperately wanted to be a mother.  Honestly, I didn't want to be anyone's biological or adoptive parent, but I also wanted to keep my relationship with my partner.

I felt backed into a corner.  The next morning, when Number Eight came with her pile of papers, my hand hesitated.  Despite my profound misgivings and the knowledge I was making the wrong decision for me, I signed.  Why?  Because I knew it was the right decision for Danielle.  Also, my relationship with my partner was more important to me than arguing over the adoption of a child that I knew wouldn't stay past her 18th birthday.

Why did I know Danielle would leave?  She'd told us so, many times.  Both directly and indirectly, she let us know that while she did care about us on some level, her heart and her soul were always with her biological family.  She had a longing for them that transcended everything else.  I knew that whatever happened, she would be with us temporarily.

I made a decision that was the best I could make, given a list of less-than-optimal choices.  Danielle, I think, would have been happier if she had been allowed to remain in our home as a permanent foster child.  She wouldn't have had to struggle with divided loyalties.  We could have parented her, to the best of our abilities, knowing that she was always going to be someone else's child.

Older child adoptions don't magically erase years of abuse or bad parenting.  Kids grow up in crazy environments, loving their biological parents, because it is what children do.  They mature with a very warped sense of normal, because the feelings a child has for her mother are incredibly strong.  With rare exceptions, no matter how dreadful the home environment, children want to return to it.  While I think that everyone in our case cared about each other, it wasn't and could never be the same as Danielle's feelings for her biological family.  Would it have been different if she were our biological child?  Probably.  Would it have been different if she had been adopted at a much younger age?  Possibly.  It's hard to know.

It wasn't her fault.  It wasn't our fault.  It wasn't anyone's fault.  Danielle's heart was with her biological family.  As for me, while I absolutely wanted the best for her, it was hard to feel "in love" with her.  It was difficult because I knew she would never feel that way about me.  It was difficult because she was often physically and emotionally abusive.

Love is a complicated thing.  It is both feeling and action.  While I think I demonstrated my love for Danielle on a daily basis by fighting for her, by advocating for her, and by trying to teach and guide her, I don't think that I felt "the joy of being a parent" that many people describe.  Parenting Danielle was difficult and challenging far more often than it was easy or fun.  While I think she benefitted from the adoption, I know did not.  I suffered for it.  FosterEema suffered for it.  In the end, our marriage suffered for it.

I signed Danielle's adoption papers because I thought that it would be measurably better for her.  Bouncing around from foster home to foster home doesn't do any child good.  Her half-sister lived through that experience, and she was incredibly angry and unhappy because of it.  She was often furious at Danielle because she wanted to be adopted but never found a family.  "I would have killed for the opportunity Danielle is throwing away," she would say.

In many areas of life, there aren't clear-cut answers.  While there are some decisions that are easy to make, like taking job x over job y, there are other choices that aren't so painless.  Danielle's case wasn't black and white.

Would Danielle's adoption have been more successful if she'd been placed with a different family?  Perhaps.  The truth was, there wasn't a "perfect" family waiting in the wings for her.  The only options available to her, and to us, were imperfect.  We did the best we could.

During her last visit, Danielle said that she was grateful we had adopted her and that we had fought for her.  She said no one in her biological family had ever done that.  What we did meant something.

Did we make the right decision?  I think so, even though it cost us so much.  In the end, I think FosterEema and I paid a very heavy price for that choice.  While I think Danielle was better off for us fostering and adopting her, I think it was a very bad choice for us adults.

This morning, I went in to the clinic for my annual physical exam.  All of the staff that knows me commented on how much happier and healthier I seem.  I explained that it had been nearly 2 1/2 years since FosterEema asked me for a divorce, and almost 18 months since she and Danielle had moved out.  While I didn't ask for the divorce and I didn't want it, I am much happier for it.

It is a relief to live in a home where there aren't daily arguments and insults being hurled in my direction.  I feel like a huge burden has been lifted, knowing that I'm not at risk of being beaten, or having my property destroyed, by a child who lives with me.

So was my heart in it?  I don't think that the question can be answered with a simple yes or no.  In the end, I tried to do what I thought was the right thing.  It turned out not to be, in many ways.

When I was speaking to my nurse practitioner today, she commented that my ex and I had really been put through the wringer.  "This is a case of no good deed going unpunished, isn't it?" she asked.

In many ways, I think she was right, though I didn't adopt Danielle as my good deed for the day.  I adopted her because I thought it was the right thing.  It just turned out not to be.

The Prodigal Daughter Didn't Return

Danielle's visit turned out to be substantially different than what I expected.  She came to town a week early, interfering with plans for me and my sweetheart to leave town to visit his mother.  We had to change plans at the last minute so we'd be in town and available to attend Danielle's birthday party.

Despite all her talk about moving back, by the time her birthday rolled around, her plans had changed.  She planned to go back across the border after her visit, but promised to sign up for Job Corps on her way home.  She'd stay with her biological family until she could enroll, and then she'd get on with her life.

The plan sounded really great.  It's a shame she didn't follow through.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised.  Danielle has always talked a great talk, but rarely followed through on achieving goals or doing things that required much in the way of dedication or effort on her part.  As far as I know, she's still living with her biological aunt where she's not going to school and doesn't have a job.

For the most part, her visit was pleasant.  I guess I got something of a quasi-apology for her past behavior.  She admitted she had been a "difficult child" and had regrets.  I can only guess what she meant by that, because she didn't elaborate.

It sounds like her life with her biological family has been less than wonderful.  Danielle reported that a family member had been stealing her clothing and selling it for drug money.  Another family member is seriously ill, leaving Danielle in charge of childcare.  While I guess she is being useful, I worry that she's not developing the skills that will lead her to success later in life.  That disappoints me.

Still, I am relieved that she decided not to move back to town.

While Danielle stayed with FosterEema for about two weeks, I saw her only a handful of times.  Since we had to change our plans to pay my sweetie's mother a visit, we were out of town the second weekend she was here.  We didn't see her when we returned, because we came home with a very bad cold and didn't want to share the germs.

We invited Danielle and FosterEema over to have waffles as a celebratory birthday breakfast.  It was odd having the two of them in the house.  Even though this is the home we had shared for years, they both felt like strangers.  In a way, it was almost as if FosterEema and I had never been a couple, and Danielle  was never our child.

Odd feeling, that.  I give lots of credit to my sweetheart who was kind and polite to both of them, even though he has no reason to be.  He is a good man, and I'm grateful to have him in my life.

The Prodigal Daughter Returns?

While the title of this post might seem a little odd because I am Jewish, I still thought it somewhat apt, given the circumstances.

I've heard secondhand that Danielle plans to return for a visit.  At last word, she'll stay with FosterEema for a few days.  After that, my understanding is that she plans to move back to my fair city.

No, she will not live with me.

At last word, Danielle was hoping to move in with a male friend she knows from her time at the charter school.  I don't know who he is, or anything about his living situation, but I fear this could be a recipe for disaster.

Just the idea of Danielle moving coming back to town has stirred up a lot of big feelings for me.  The truth is, I'm not entirely sure I want to see her.  While it's been nearly a year since we've had any face-to-face time, I feel reluctant to bring her back into my life.

While I've done my best to forgive Danielle for her final explosion in 2013, I haven't been able to forget what she did.  She caused hundreds of dollars of damage to the house and hit me hard enough the police arrested her and sent her to juvenile hall.  It was the sixth time we had to call 911.

I'm not without sympathy or empathy for her and her problems.  I also see that a year hasn't been enough time for her to change in any meaningful way.  Danielle hasn't completed high school or gotten her GED.  She's not working.  She's spent the last 11 months bouncing from one birth family member to another.

My stepmother often repeats the phrase, "Wherever you go, that's where you are."  I think Danielle has moved about thinking that all her problems are caused by the people around her.  Before FosterEema and I split, she blamed me for her difficulties.  Once she and FosterEema had their own place, suddenly everything was FosterEema's fault.  As she travels from home to home, the same problems reoccur, but Danielle doesn't understand her role in them.  People are, it seems, grossly unreasonable for expecting her to contribute in a meaningful way to the household.

I fear that Danielle will move in with her male friend, only to discover that all the problems she had living with me, FosterEema, and her birth family are still there.  Sure, there will be different people, but the difficulties always seem to be the same.  She hasn't learned the world doesn't owe her a living.

It's sad.

My biggest worry is that she'll end up blowing out of her living situation and end up on my doorstep, homeless.  My sweetheart and I have discussed this possibility, and we both agree that we cannot allow Danielle to live with us.  While my man is a very sweet and generous soul, he isn't ready to take on the role of stepfather to an extremely troubled, and sometimes violent, young adult.  I do not wish to again live with a young woman who verbally and physically abused me.

If she ends up homeless, the most I can do is be a sympathetic ear and to offer the best advice I can in the moment.

I hope it doesn't come to that.

Even my father and stepmother, who have long been Danielle's most ardent supporters, feel the same way.  While they are okay with her visiting for a few days, they've made it clear they aren't willing to live with her.  My stepmother remarked that Danielle clearly needs help, but she won't take even the smallest steps to help herself.  We've suggested she enroll in programs like Teen Challenge, Job Corps, or return to high school, but so far she hasn't shown any interest.

Without a diploma, GED, job skills she has guaranteed herself the hardest life possible.

Who Got the Goldmine and Who Got the Shaft?

In response to An Overdue Update, r. asked:

So on to the important stuff-- Who got the birds and the show car?

The short answer to this question: I did.

Our African Grey, Sir Spudly, died in February of 2012.  Moonie, our blind macaw, has had several massive seizures over the past two years.  Her balance is affected, so she tends to be pretty inactive.  Cognitively, she's just not the same bird, though in some respects, she's more easygoing now. Chicken, our small cockatoo, is Chicken.  She's fine.

Since there was no talk of splitting up after Sir Spudly died, we ended up getting a new baby African Grey.  Almost immediately after he arrived, my mother needed surgery and I had to stay with her to help out.  While I was gone, the bird bonded with FosterEema.  When I returned, I was given the position of least favored person, and he'd try to pinch me every chance he got,

A few months later, while I was out of town attending a parrot training seminar, FosterEema asked me for the divorce.  The plan was that she would take some (or even perhaps all) of the birds.  In the end, she wasn't able to find an apartment that allowed pets, so they stayed with me.

Chicken and Moonie, while they missed FosterEema at first, seemed okay with the changes.  The baby grey, however, continued to be nasty to me for a very long time.  His attitude improved when I took him on a road trip.  He decided, once we were in unfamiliar surroundings, that I wasn't as bad as he'd made me out to be.  We still aren't really buddies, but at least we have something of a truce. The truth is, I need to spend more time working with him.

As for the car, it's no longer worth showing.  While it was shiny and new when we bought it back in 2006, now it's just an eight-year-old import showing your typical wear and tear.  FosterEema and I dropped out of the car club years ago. Our weekly nit-picky wash, wax and detail sessions have long since become a thing of the past.

While it might sound like I got the goldmine and FosterEema got the shaft, I think our settlement was fair. We hammered it out on our own, and came to an amicable agreement.  While it is true I received a larger share of the material goods we acquired during our relationship, I  also took on all of the debt that went with it.  The house was, and still is, underwater.

FosterEema left with her personal possessions, an equal share of our joint bank accounts, and one car. She lived in the house for a year, rent-free, after asking me for the divorce.

While I suppose it's tempting to sing Jerry Reed's She Got the Goldmine after most divorces, I don't think it needs to be sung for our divorce.  We divided things up as fairly as we could, given the circumstances.  While it might have been easier to sell everything and split the cash, it's not possible to do when you have assets that are indebted to a level that's higher than they are worth.

If there is such a thing, I think FosterEema and I have managed to have a good divorce.

An Overdue Update

A couple of days ago, Decemberbaby left a comment on my post Family Relations.  I just got around to approving it, and realized that it has been a very long time since my last post.

You know the old saying, "the more things change, the more they stay the same?"  I would say it's pretty applicable to what's going on.

FosterEema and Danielle moved out well over a year ago now.  When they left, Danielle was confident that her life was going to be perfect once mean ol' FosterAbba was out of her life.  Danielle started having problems with FosterEema immediately.  There was no honeymoon at all.

The day Danielle turned 18, she withdrew herself from high school.  The next day, she boarded a train and then a bus to travel out of state so she could reunite with her biological half-sibling.  Less than a week later, she was on the phone to FosterEema asking to come home.  FosterEema said no.

Other than a couple of messages on social media, I have spoken to Danielle only once since she turned 18.  We only chatted on the phone for a few minutes, and it seemed like neither of us were happy about being pushed together.  My father, who was trying to be helpful, tried to "surprise" the two of us when I called his house and Danielle happened to be visiting.

These days, all of the news I receive about Danielle comes secondhand.  From what I've been able to piece together, things didn't work out with her first half-sibling, so she moved in with another.  That didn't work out either.  Now she's living with her biological mother and aunt in another country.  From what I've heard, she's not entirely happy with the living arrangement, but she has few options.  She never finished high school nor is she working.  I have also heard that she is "desperate" to have her birth control implant removed, and that she would very much like to get pregnant.

FosterEema is living in a city about an hour away, working at the same job she found after she asked me for a divorce.  While I rarely speak to her directly anymore, we stay connected on a social media site.  Her posts there seem to indicate she's happy.  I'm genuinely glad for that.

While I never would have asked for the divorce, and it was certainly unwelcome at the time, I am much happier for it.  My life has a lot more joy and substantially less turmoil than it ever did in "the before."

I am still working the same job, and living in the same house.  With the exception of my mortgage, I am debt-free.  My house, though in need of some significant repairs, is clean and tidy.  I have written, and published, a couple of novels.  I am still with the gentleman I mentioned earlier.  We have become quite serious, and he recently moved from his hometown to come live with me.

It has been:

• 8 years since Danielle came to live with us
• 2 years and 2 months since FosterEema asked for a divorce
• 1 year and 5 months since we signed our get (Jewish religious divorce)
• 1 year and 2 months since FosterEema and Danielle moved out
• 11 months since Danielle turned 18

I am still in contact with a handful of people from my active blogging days.  Some of those folks are still parenting very difficult children.  When I speak to them, I hear and empathize with their stories.  I remember what it was like to feel so trapped in a situation where there was no real help, no respite, and no relief.

I can clearly remember the absolute irony of spending Valentine's Day 2012 with my soon-to-be-ex.  On a day when I desperately wished I was exchanging love notes and chocolates, we were sitting in juvenile court dealing with Danielle's most recent violent outburst.  Days later, we were again under investigation and had a pair of social workers interviewing us and inspecting our home.  Just like the previous five times we were investigated, we were cleared of any wrongdoing.

All I can say is that it does get better.  While it might not seem like it while one is living it, these kids turn 18.  They grow up.  Many want to return to their birth families and they do.

Despite what social workers will say, adoption isn't necessarily forever.  While it seems like the destruction, turmoil and emotional impact of traumatized kids will continue indefinitely, it eventually stops.  They move on.  They take their turmoil elsewhere.

Now I can sleep with my bedroom door unlocked.  I no longer have to count knives and scissors.

I'll close this post with a musical quote that comes to mind whenever I reflect on the past eight years:

Lately it occurs to me: What a long, strange trip it's been.

~ The Grateful Dead

Family Relations

In response to Moving On, Ina asked:

How are you getting along with your sister now?

Very little has changed.  Shortly after FosterEema and Danielle moved out, I wrote her a letter to share the news.  About two months later, she wrote back, sharing some basic news about her kids.  I answered that letter but haven't heard back.

Earlier this month I called my sister and left a message asking for her to contact me.  Our father was in the middle of a health scare, and I wanted her to know what was going on.  She never returned my call.

I am grateful that father turned out to be okay.

Our relationship is pretty much as it always has been.  Friendly, cordial, but not as close as I would like.

My stepmother is nicer to me now that FosterEema is out of my life.  Suddenly, it seems like she wants to be friends again, after years of estrangement.  While I am happy to see more of my father as a result, and I'm happy that relations have thawed between me and my stepmother, I can't simply forget.  Her conduct has left a mark. I can't pretend the past 15 years haven't happened.

My relationship with my mother continues to be difficult.  It seems she is able to get along with only one of her children at a time, and she recently patched up her seven year estrangement from my sister. They'll be spending time together this Christmas, which I think is a good idea, even though it means I'll be on my mother's "no good" list for a while.

I'll admit it's something of a relief to be on the outs with my mother for a bit.  She wanted to take my divorce personally, and she always had a mean word whenever FosterEema came up in conversation.  While I didn't want the divorce, I'm not angry.  I don't spend my time wishing my ex ill, and it pisses me off when my mother is intent on bashing her.

It sure feels odd to defend my ex from my mother, that's for sure.

All in all, it feels like very little has changed with respect my family relations.  Though really, I'm not sure that I expected them to change.

Moving On

I've heard very little from Danielle since she left in early October.  I received two one-line messages on a social media site -- one in time for my birthday and another for Thanksgiving.  Other than that, I've heard nothing.

I've not heard much from FosterEema as well.  She mentioned that Danielle had contacted her asking for a certified copy of her adoption papers.  Other than that, there seems to be little news.

Other than a few random contacts through social media, I don't think anyone else has heard from Danielle, either.  She's moved on.

FosterEema has moved on.

I am moving on.

Life is substantially different now, not having the constant worry and conflict.  I no longer find myself fretting over what destructive thing Danielle might do next.  I wake up in the morning, and I don't have to steel myself for difficult behaviors.  I don't have to remember deescalation practices or proper parenting techniques.

I can just be.

Life is much easier.  The constant stress of arguments and potential violence is gone.  I sleep better at night.  I no longer have to lock the master bedroom door.  My life mostly revolves around taking care of my house, my birds and my job.

Time has gone by so fast.  It's hard to believe that:

• It has been almost a year and a half since FosterEema asked me for a divorce.
• It has been eight months since FosterEema and I signed our get.  (Jewish religious divorce papers)
• It has been almost five months since FosterEema and Danielle moved out.
• It has been two months since Danielle turned 18.

In some ways, my life is very much the same as it was in the "before."  I am still surrounded by many of the same possessions and I work the same job.  Still, much is different.  My living space is much cleaner, and I have a much stronger sense of peace.

I'm also dating someone new.  I met him online a year ago, though we didn't start seeing each other romantically until after FosterEema and I signed our get.

Yes, I'm seeing a gentleman.  I'm sure it's a surprise to some of you, especially after knowing that FosterEema and I were together for 14 years.  From my perspective, it isn't much of a surprise -- I dated men exclusively before meeting FosterEema.

After being with FosterEema for so long, I will admit to there being a bit of an adjustment.  When I am out in public, nobody gives me a second glance anymore.  When I hold hands with my sweetheart, people don't generally notice.  When they do, we receive approving smiles.  I imagine people thinking, "Isn't that cute, a 40-something-year-old couple still holding hands."  When people talk to me about him, they never refer to him as my "friend" in a vaguely disapproving tone.

It has been an odd adjustment after living in queer space for so long.  Now, I get to experience heterosexual privilege in a way that's much more real and personal.  Sure, I experienced it before, when I dated men in the past, but somehow I never really noticed just how much easier it is to be straight until I lived and loved in queer space for 14 years.

It's an adjustment, to be sure.

As near as I can tell, FosterEema is happy as well.  We don't communicate much anymore, other than exchanging a few basic texts that are all business-related.  Occasionally she'll send me a message that she's heard from Danielle, but pretty much our communications are confined to exchanging information about client projects or legal loose ends.  FosterEema has a new job, which she claims to love, and she's made plenty of new friends in her new city.

I'm glad for that.  While I do miss FosterEema's friendship, now that we've had some time and space apart, I don't miss the romantic part of our relationship.  I guess some partnerships aren't meant to last, and this one ran its course.  Although I never would have been the one to ask for a divorce, because I was fully committed to our marriage, I do not see the end as a disaster.  We've parted amicably, and though it wasn't a separation I wanted, it has been an opportunity for growth and new experiences.

Mostly, I'm left with the sense of knowing that it's time to move on to the next thing…whatever that might be.

Abandonment?

35 days have passed since Danielle's 18th birthday.  The last I heard from her was 34 days ago.

I am not surprised by the lack of communication.  In the end, it was pretty clear there wasn't much of a bond between us.  FosterEema has received some texts from Danielle, most of them focused on Danielle's desire to come home.

FosterEema, quite understandably, has been steadfast in her refusal to allow Danielle to live with her again.

Danielle accused FosterEema of abandonment.

I found myself shaking my head when FosterEema shared that round of communication with me.  Danielle was the one who, against all advice, withdrew from school, packed up all the stuff she could carry, and moved out of state.  It was she who made the decision to leave.

How is FosterEema abandoning her by refusing to rescue Danielle from an unwise adult decision?

For the record, Danielle is not at risk of becoming homeless or starving.  She's staying with members of her birth family.  As near as I can tell, she's simply suffering from a case of The Grass is Always Greener on the Other Side of the Fence.

Abandonment?  I don't think so.  FosterEema explained that Danielle had made decisions about how she treated people for the past seven years, and that she had also made the choice to move out.  Part of being an adult is to experience the consequences of one's decisions.

I agree.

I'm also sad.  I've been monitoring Danielle's social media accounts, and so far I haven't seen her post much that would indicate she is being productive.  She hasn't posted that she's enrolled in school or found a job.  She has written remarks that suggest she has been drinking.

Sigh.

It's incredibly sad.

Although my posts might imply otherwise, I don't spend a lot of time dwelling on Danielle.  FosterEema and I did the all we knew how to do.  Perhaps it wasn't enough, or the best.  However, we did fight for her.  We tried to do the right thing.

Was it the right thing?  It's hard to know.

These days, I spend most of my time working, repairing the house, and cultivating a new relationship.  My life is incredibly peaceful.  I no longer have to lock my bedroom door at night, worrying about what Danielle might do next.  I feel as if a huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

My finances are in order.  My house is clean.  While I still feel somewhat overwhelmed when I think about all that has transpired over the past seven years, I realize that it's over.  It's time for me to move on to the next thing, whatever that is.

The Cycle Won't Stop Here

Less than a week after Danielle left the state to go live with her biological family, she began texting FosterEema.

Danielle wanted to come home.  She claimed she had tried to make a go of it, but things just weren't working out.

Tired of Danielle's constant verbal abuse, threats, disrespect and disobedience, FosterEema politely replied that Danielle was free to do as she wished, but she would have to find somewhere else to live.  She also pointed out that a week was hardly enough time to really make a go of anything.

I won't go into all the details of the exchanged that followed.  As you can no doubt imagine, Danielle was pissed.

That very same day, Danielle posted a comment on a social media site complaining about what a terrible day it had been.  A few days later, she posted something that suggested she might be drinking.

Sigh.

Danielle has not contacted me.

More than anything, FosterEema and I wanted to stop the generational cycle of poverty, substance abuse and child neglect.  We wanted to make sure that Danielle was the last in her family to suffer.

I fear she has already started down the path so that the next generation will endure her fate as well.

Adoption professionals try to sell the idea of forever families and making a difference.  I'll say it's a compelling motivator.  Who doesn't want to make a positive difference in a child's life?  The idea becoming a happy forever family sounds really appealing. 

And, maybe it works out for some.

But there are some kids who are too broken, to damaged, for anyone to make a real difference in their lives.  

Did we make a difference?  Of course we did.  Still, in the larger scheme of things, I realize that we haven't broken the cycle.  

Failure or Success

I think most parents would be disappointed if their child withdrew from school on his or her 18th birthday.  Certainly that's not the future that we imagined, all those years ago, when we adopted Danielle.

Looking back, I can't remember what I had imagined for her.  Certainly when we started fostering and the extent of Danielle's problems weren't known, we had great hopes for her.  We figured she'd be able to catch up, graduate from high school, and eventually go on to college.

We hoped that we'd be able to break the generational cycle of abuse, neglect and unwanted children.

I fear we didn't make much of a difference, or at least not the difference we wanted to make.  We wanted to give her a successful life.  A high school diploma was just one step in that process.

Will she enroll in high school in her new city?  Unknown.  I don't know if I'll even hear from her.  When she arrived at her destination, we exchanged the following text messages:

Danielle: Made to XXXX
Me: Glad you are safe.  Good luck to you. :-)
Danielle: thank you

And that's the last I heard from her.

So in large measure, I feel as if we failed.  We wanted to "fix" Danielle.  We wanted to take her out of the impoverished and abusive life that she'd led for her first decade and give her something better.  We wanted to give her a leg up into the middle class.

We failed.

And yet, we did make a difference.  Granted, the difference we made was much smaller than we'd envisioned, but it was there just the same.

When Danielle came to live with us at almost 11 years old, she didn't know how to read.  She didn't know her alphabet.

I taught her to read.  I used a book called Teach Your Child to Read in 100 Easy Lessons.  It was a great help.  Night after night we sat together and went over the lessons.  It worked.  In just over three months, Danielle went from being completely illiterate to being able to read Dr. Seuss.

That made a difference.

Wherever she goes and whatever she does in life, she will carry my gift with her.

We also managed to help her reach the age of 18 without any pregnancies.  By keeping her away from boys and insisting she receive an implantable contraceptive, we made a difference in her life.  While she's still starting out at a huge disadvantage by not having a high school diploma, at least she's not starting off even further behind by too-early motherhood.

That's something, too.

Now that Danielle has moved back with her biological family, I feel a mixture of sadness and relief.  I'm sad because we wanted so much more for Danielle.  We weren't the right family for her, and we never should have adopted her.  Given the choices available (adopt her or return her to foster care) we did what we thought was right.  We didn't get the help or resources we should have received.  We did our best, even though it wasn't good enough.

I'm sad too, because I don't believe that there was a mythical "perfect family" out there for her.  If we had given up, she would have gone back to foster care.  Just like her older biological half-sister, she would have bounced from home to home to home until she aged out.

I am also relieved.  Danielle will no longer be able to hit me or my former spouse.  She will no longer be able to damage my property or make violent threats without consequence.  I no longer have to live in fear of a child or sleep with my bedroom door locked.

Danielle's behavior didn't improve (as some suspected it would) after she and FosterEema moved out.  When I'd speak to FosterEema, she'd tell me, Danielle is Danielle.  Her pattern of disobedient, defiant, and disrespectful behavior continued.  She made threats of violence.  She began to ditch school. FosterEema (with her insurance from her new job) began seeing a counselor so she could better cope with the unbelievable stress.

In less than three months after they moved away, the situation became untenable.  Although Danielle completely believed that everything would be just perfect once I was out of the picture, she simply found a new person to combat.

I fear that it won't be long before she repeats that pattern with her birth family.

Even my extended family feels a huge sense of failure.  They all fought so very hard for Danielle.  My father paid many thousands of dollars in attorney's fees to help us fight to keep Danielle. My extended family invested their hearts and their time trying to help her, to bond with her, and to love her.

Danielle did the one thing that everyone wanted her to avoid.  She quit school.  She left without saying goodbye.

In the end, I think that Danielle was never our daughter.  Her heart, her mind and her soul always remained with her birth family.  We always knew that she would one day return to them.  We'd just hoped we'd be able to keep her long enough for her to finish high school.

While the so-called professionals love to sell the idea of a "forever family" to prospective foster and adoptive couples, I think the reality doesn't exist.  This is especially true with older child adoption where the kid knows, loves and misses his or her biological connections.

And perhaps, it is as it should be.

Danielle never should have been adopted.  We never should have been forced into the position of having to choose between adoption or sending her back to foster care.  Ideally, she should have remained in our care in a permanent fostering arrangement until her 18th birthday.  She should have received better mental health care and preparation for the day when she'd return to her family.

We did the best we could.  Danielle is out in the world and on her own.  Only time will tell whether her life will be a failure or a success.

18

It has been over a year since I posted here.

Today Danielle turned 18.

If there is anyone still hoping for updates on our story, here they are.

In July 2012, FosterEema asked for a divorce, though the reasons weren't what you would expect.  She decided that she would like to pursue relationships with men.  There was no infidelity, no affair, just a change in her orientation.

Last February, Danielle exploded.  She did considerable damage to the house and attacked us, injuring me.  She spent 21 days in juvenile detention, received some heavy duty counseling services (ones that we had requested and had been denied years before) and six months probation.

In April of this year, FosterEema and I signed a get, a document that grants a Jewish religious divorce.  We've delayed filing for civil divorce in order to to make the paperwork simpler and to maintain our health insurance.  Now that Danielle is an adult, I expect we will be filing soon.

We remained together as family, with FosterEema and I functioning as platonic roommates, until July of this year.  The original plan was for us to remain together until Danielle's 18th birthday, but FosterEema found a job in a neighboring county that required her to relocate.  Danielle moved with her, as I was afraid to be left alone with her.

Her challenging behavior continued after the move.

Danielle was scheduled to graduate from high school this coming June, but she has decided to withdraw.  Her biological half-brother, who lives in another state, has sent her a bus ticket.

While I'm happy that Danielle will finally get what she wants -- to be reunited with her birth family -- I fear this decision is not in her best interests.  I fear this move will prevent her from getting her high school diploma.

But of course she is an adult now, and she can make her own choices.

The Day I Confronted My Troll

The following excerpts come from an article that appeared on the UK's The Guardian.  It is a story about someone who dropped off Twitter because he began to receive threatening messages online.

Eventually, it escalated to in-person harassment.

I received a parcel at my home address. Nothing unusual there – I get lots of post. I ripped it open and there was a Tupperware lunchbox inside full of ashes. There was a note included, saying, "Say hello to your relatives from Auschwitz". I was physically sick.

I was petrified. They had my address. I reported it to the authorities and hoped for the best.

Two days later I opened my front door and there was a bunch of dead flowers with my wife's old Twitter username on it. Then that night I received a DM. "You'll get home some day & ur bitches throat will be cut & ur son will be gone."

The author ultimately managed to track down his troll. He turned out to be his friend's 17-year old son.

I put my hand on his shoulder and asked him: "Why?"

The Troll sat there for a moment and said "I don't know. I don't know. I'm sorry. It was like a game thing."

A game thing.

So, that's what it was...

Read the article.  It's pretty disturbing.

Lunch Triangulation

Ah, the ongoing saga of school lunches.

Yesterday, Danielle's teacher e-mailed to tell me that Danielle had gone to school for the second day in a row with no lunch and no money to buy lunch.  Danielle had reported she was tired and dizzy.  The teacher sought my input.

I replied with the obvious: Please remind Danielle that it is her responsibility to pack a lunch.

This morning, the teacher e-mailed me to say that she had already done that, several times, and that Danielle had given her the same answers (she had a lunch or she wasn't hungry) that she'd given us.

And then?

The teacher admitted she had loaned Danielle the money to buy lunch, but that she couldn't make a practice of it.

I didn't say this, but I thought to myself, Honey, you have just been had!

I told the teacher that I thought Danielle was simply trying to manipulate everyone (teacher/us) into buying her lunch at the school cafeteria.  I explained that it's far less expensive for Danielle to make use of the food we have available here than to spend $5/day on school lunches.

There is no shortage of food here at the house.  At almost 17 years old, we can't force Danielle to make use of the food that's available.

Sex and Lunch

This past weekend Danielle was involved in more drama.

I had been gone, spending the day with an old friend.  When I returned home, she met me out on the driveway to tell me that she had been "triggered" by something that had happened.

Here's the story as Danielle told it.  I'm not entirely sure of the tale's veracity, but here it is...

Danielle was spending the night with her friend.  On Saturday afternoon, Danielle, her friend, and her friend's boyfriend gathered in her friend's room.  Danielle decided to take a nap.  When she awoke, she opened her eyes to find her friend having intercourse with her boyfriend.

Now, to add a bit of context to this, Danielle's friend is two years younger.  She is also developmentally delayed.  The boyfriend is also a special education student.  There is also some question as to whether or not the kids used a condom.

Danielle could have put a stop to what was going on.  She could have told the girl's mother, as she knew her friend wasn't supposed to be having sex, especially given her age and cognitive disabilities.  The parents were home, but they have several other young children.  The house is noisy and chaotic enough that they could easily have missed the goings-on in the bedroom.

And of course, Danielle was in the room with the other two kids, so everyone would assume nothing untoward would happen, right?

Danielle sat on the news for 24 hours before telling us.

And, because the girl in question is two years under the magic age of 17, she must go to her doctor for a prescription for the morning after pill.

Danielle knew that what her friend was doing was unquestionably wrong.  I told her that by sitting by and doing nothing, it was the same as condoning the behavior.  I told her that I was angry, disappointed, and embarrassed that she didn't stop her friend and tell her mother immediately.  The girl's mother was in the next room when all this was happening.  She is, quite understandably, pretty distraught.

I suppose I shouldn't expect Danielle to make good decisions, so perhaps I shouldn't really be disappointed.  I just keep hoping, beyond hope, that she'll eventually get it and start making better choices.

* * * 

Today there was a little bit of drama coming from the school.  I received an e-mail from Danielle's teacher saying that today was the second day in a row that Danielle didn't bring a lunch or lunch money to school.  She said that Danielle was complaining of being dizzy and tired.

The teacher asked for our input.

I politely e-mailed back, explaining that Danielle is responsible for packing her own lunch.  I also mentioned that her lunch is frequently a control battle.  When we ask her about it, she usually tells us that either a) she already packed it, or b) she's not hungry and won't eat anyway.

I suggested that the teacher might want to remind Danielle that packing a lunch is her responsibility.  Given that lunch is such a control battle, I figured the reminder coming from her might be better received than it would be coming from us.

So that's what I said.

Here's what I thought:

Danielle is almost 17 years old.  She is perfectly capable of putting together her own lunch and I am just not going to engage in a control battle over this issue.  I suspect that the real truth is Danielle is trying to manipulate us into giving her a lunch card, which she's asked for several times.

I don't know if this is the case for all schools, but at Danielle's school the lunch card is essentially a credit card.  There are no spending limits.  A child can purchase as much as she likes, and at the end of the month, the parents get the bill.

Given that we have a kid who doesn't comply with doing her chores, who displays a bad attitude whenever possible, and who we can't trust to obey rules, I have only one answer when asked about a lunch card:

No, no, and hell no.

Pack a lunch, kid.

A Tearful Apology

Yesterday afternoon, Danielle called my stepmother to apologize for her lie.  She sobbed out her tearful apology, saying that she had made a mistake and had "misunderstood" something that we said.

My stepmother seemed pretty gracious in accepting the apology, but she did ask Danielle if it was really a misunderstanding, or if it was just a lie.

What did we say that Danielle claimed to misunderstand?

During our family therapy appointment, when it came out that Danielle was off her meds, we said we needed to make sure that my stepmother (or father) actually watched Danielle take her pill, so that we could be sure she wasn't skipping her dose.

How that managed to get twisted into it is my stepmother's fault Danielle wasn't taking her pills is beyond me.

Despite Danielle being back on her medications since Thursday evening, things still aren't back to normal here.  When I tried to talk to Danielle about her lie, she called me a bunch of names, and walked off, shouting some elementary school version of I'm a mirror and everything you stay goes back to you!

Real mature.  This coming from an almost-17-year-old.

An hour later, Danielle came back and tearfully apologized to me as well.  I accepted her apology, but I also realize that her apologies are absolutely meaningless.

As I wrote about in my old blog, there are three components to an apology:

1. The apology itself.
2. Making amends for the wrongdoing.
3. Not repeating the act again.

Danielle's an absolute pro at the first item on the list, but I can't think of a time where she's managed to complete the other two.

Sure, she might be extremely sorry in the moment, but all of the regret in the world doesn't seem to be sufficient to motivate her to change her behavior.

Nothing changes her behavior.

Maybe she's just not capable.  Certainly her doctors, therapist and teachers think she should be able to do better.

Me?  I don't know.  I worry about her future.  In 13 months, she'll turn 18, and she'll be out on her own.  FosterEema and I have had some long, hard talks lately, and we both agree we are going to ask Danielle to leave (if she doesn't go on her own accord) when she becomes a legal adult.

It's not a decision we like.  Danielle will turn 18 long before she graduates high school.  Although we did discuss the possibility of her staying until she graduates, the latest explosion makes it clear it's not a workable option.

Danielle is currently a minor, so we have no choice but to put up with her fits of temper, defiance, name-calling and episodes of violence.  Once she is 18, we are no longer obligated to put up with this sort of behavior in our home.

We know Danielle won't be ready to launch.

We are tired of being verbally abused and traumatized by our child's rages.

It's not a pretty choice.

Child-Induced Family Drama

Danielle spent all of Saturday and part of Sunday over at my at my father and stepmother's house.  When my stepmother dropped Danielle off, she immediately drove away, instead of coming in to say hello.

We thought it odd.  We especially thought it strange when Danielle said, "Grandma needed to go to the bathroom, so she was in a hurry to get home."

Grandma lives 30 minutes away.  Why wouldn't she just come in and use our bathroom?  I suppose we should have investigated further, but we just shrugged it off.

Later that evening, Grandma's speedy disappearance suddenly made sense.  My father called, asking to speak to FosterEema.  He said that my stepmother was extremely upset over something Danielle had said earlier in the day.

Apparently, Danielle had reported that we blamed my stepmother for Danielle's recent decision to stop taking her medication.

Not true.  FosterEema explained that she had never said that.  I got on the phone and said the same thing.  I asked to speak to my stepmother, but she was still feeling too raw to come to the phone.

Now we have some family drama.

And this morning?  Without prompting, Danielle admitted to having lied to Grandma.

Her justification?

She said she thought that it would be better for Grandma to hear the fictitious news from her, rather than having it come from us.

WTF?

A Sober Realization

Yesterday evening, we made our regularly-scheduled trip to the family therapist.  One of the things we discussed at that meeting was Danielle's recent explosion.

Danielle admitted to the therapist that she had stopped taking her medication.

Why?

She doesn't like taking it, and wanted to see if she could get by without it.

I realize that medical non-compliance is very common among the mentally ill.  I also recognize that Danielle is not safe living in our home without it.

She is almost 17 years old.  We cannot make her take her pills.

At the last appointment, Danielle's psychiatrist instructed us to stop supervising her medication.  She told us that Danielle needs to learn how to manage her medications on her own.

It didn't work out so well.

We are just over a year away from her 18th birthday.  Now that we've witnessed how quickly she decompensates without medication, it is even more abundantly clear that she cannot continue to live here after she becomes an adult.

I hope that we can find some sort of alternative for her that doesn't involve driving her down to the homeless shelter on her 18th birthday.

I am not sure that we can.

Of Meltdowns, School Testing, and Cavities

In the past, the longest we've been able to go without some sort of violent outburst has been about six months.  This time around, we've made it about eight, but it looks like that streak of calm is coming to an end.

Yesterday, Danielle lost it in a big way.  She had a meltdown, complete with crying, screaming, ranting, raving, calling names, and throwing things around in her room.  Although she didn't get violent against people, it's behavior like this that usually indicates that a violent explosion is just around the corner.

The day before, she had started with some pretty amped-up, out-of-control rudeness, defiance, and disrespect.  This is also a harbinger of an impending explosion.

The triggers to both of these episodes?  It was the same old thing: we asked Danielle to help out around the house.  The first episode happened when we asked her to help out with some household chores.  The second episode started when we asked her to clean her room because something in there was starting to stink.

After crying, screaming, and carrying on to the nth degree, she finally discovered the source of the smell -- she had some wet, soggy papers stashed somewhere, and they were starting to mold.

In another recent development, we got Danielle's state mandated testing results back.  Not surprisingly, she still has not achieved proficiency in English/Language Arts or Math.  It's discouraging, because her failing scores on the state mandated tests mean she will likely not pass our state's high school exit examination.

And then, just to add more unfortunate news to the pile, Danielle had another four cavities when she went for her six-month dental checkup.  The dentist said she's not doing an adequate job of brushing and flossing.

She'll turn 18 in just a bit over a year.  When that birthday arrives, she'll most likely lose her state-sponsored health insurance.  Even if the current political climate changes that, she will definitely lose her dental coverage.  Our state system does not offer any dental coverage for those over 18, no matter how serious their problem.

I explained to Danielle that if she doesn't learn to brush soon, she's potentially facing a very painful toothache and a lot of costly dental bills.  With as many cavities as she's had, I'm worried she might not have any teeth left by the time she turns 35.

It's just a sad, sad situation.

As for my dearth of blogging lately, I've been gone for a number of reasons.  First off, there hasn't been much to write about on the Danielle front (positive or negative) so there hasn't been much to say.  I've been working on a number of other writing projects, which have somewhat diluted my enthusiasm for blogging.  Also, work's been crazy busy of late, so what little time I do have available, it's not really being spent here.

Still, I figured an update was warranted, especially because it sure looks like an explosion is nigh.