We've Come A Long Way

As I sit here and click through all the RAD blogs I can get my hands on, each time I read something I can so relate to it's like that feeling you get when you find $20 you didn't know you had on the bottom of your purse or in your pants pocket.

For two years, I've felt hopeless and like a monster at times because I regretted my own family basically. I thought the kids were doing this to me because we were related and I'm a person their mother clearly hated. Then I thought I was just paying for her sins because it's her role that I am filling.

I questioned God big time because didn't he just throw me for a huge loop with Hubs situations and didn't I pay enough for other people's sins? I mean what the hell did I do exactly? That type of thing, but I don't even do that anymore. It's pointless.

Every morning like clockwork in a singsong voice as my husband goes by their rooms "Good Morning Daddy, I loooove you!" from multiple kids.

I'm walking behind Hubs usually or maybe 10 paces or so behind. Nothin'. Like I don't exist. It's been like that from day 1. Unless you count the chimes of "Did you wash clothes last night?", "What's for breakfast?", "Did you remember to buy me __________?", or "I need ____ ASAP".

I don't know why, but I don't take it personal anymore and I'm not even trying to figure out why.

But yesterday as we were crouched around on the floor working on a puzzle, they started talking to me about their baby sister. How they had hopes to play with her and how they had to wait for her to grow up some more and how she never will. They asked me about her footprints and hair and other little memories the hospital nurses had put together for them before they took Bela off the respirator.

I told them their mother had all of that and they told me they wanted to have it. I told them that the oldest had already asked me to ask because she wants to keep them all together and that I had but they won't give it to me.

There was anger and I realized they aren't calling their biological mother "Mom" any more, but they are calling her Jo.

When they first came, I had no idea how extensive the abuse and trauma was. I didn't agree with the foster parents telling the children to call them Mom and Dad and to call my sister Mama Jo. I thought it was wrong.

Of course, my background is that my grandparents raised me for a chunk of my life when I was their age and they had me call them Mom and Dad and I could see how it hurt my mom and I would call her Mommy. But even as simple as it might seem. It was very confusing for me.

This time I didn't correct them. They said they hated her and I said nothing. I sat there and at first I wondered if by not saying anything this would backfire in the long run. Jo is bent on telling the kids if she ever sees them again that I took them away and that I turned them against her.

I've never told them anything to make them dislike her. I've only spoken the truth with no ulterior motives. I know what it's like to be told my mom is evil and a snake and that she doesn't love me. Almost 15 years later, I don't speak to my grandparents to this day. It never ends well.

But I don't want to tell them how to feel and I don't want to stop them from getting their feelings out. Right now, I hate my own mother and if someone were to tell me I shouldn't I don't think I'd like them either because what do they know about my relationship with my mother, you know?

I don't know if silence was the best thing or what but *sigh* I don't know what would've been best. I'm trying to tell myself not to worry about it, but there are 5 of them and it will come up again.