true life hot mess mom

These words are from my own personal account of the past 10 years. The other members of my family mentioned here have their own perspective, however, this is MY adoption story.

Continued…

So, the hunt began for a place for our son to go. I took two or three days off school, trying to find another residential home. I filled notebook page after notebook page with phone numbers. I talked to dozens and dozens of people and dozens of different organizations. Some very caring and understanding, and others, not so much. You can find my exhausted post about it here on this blog called: “Read this When the System Fails You”.

It was a full-time job, where I felt like a journalist. Only really, I was just a crazy hot mess mom trying to advocate for both children while remaining neutral. Then, a sweet police officer, (who happened to be very familiar with our son and our situation) spent an hour breaking it all down for me. Since, he was almost 17 and running away, there wasn’t much they could do.

So, there we were for three weeks. I stayed at home with our daughter and my husband stayed with our son at night at my brother-in-law’s house. It was no cake-walk and the behaviors continued. During this time, our son called his former high schools and reported us for “educational neglect”. Thankfully, when DFS called about the report he made, they sympathized with us and gave me more numbers to call for support.

He also called the police on my husband for taking his phone. At that time, he was wandering the streets at night to meet up with his “friends”. The police did come but it didn’t go in his favor. They, too sympathized with us and passed along advice to both us and our son. He was stuck on wanting to go back into the foster system to find a new family. This was shocking to the police and they always spoke wisdom to him about the loving family he did have and how he may not get that lucky if he goes back into the system. No matter what anyone said, he still wanted away from us.

Every dead end, gave us more numbers to call. I eventually went back to school and used para support to step in any time my phone rang. I had my phone and notebook ready. It seemed to never stop. I kept on calling until someone finally listened and offered up a solution: back to his first residential facility until a residential home had an open bed. He was not happy and ran away the moment he got there. But he didn’t get far. Eventually, he made it to a home for teens in the foster system, until he broke their rules and ran away again.

This time he managed to talk some adult into taking his money to buy him Delta-9 edibles from a gas station. He also managed to get that same person to take his money to buy him alcohol that he used to get one of the girls at the house dangerously drunk. That phone call was the scariest. Our son was also unconscious because he ate all the edibles, smoked all the flower, and inhaled all the oil from a battery operated device.

We met the ambulance downtown at the local children’s hospital and waited all night for him to fully wake up. He would wake up every once in awhile and talk to us but he never really registered who we were. I slept on the cold floor, even lost an earring, while we waited. He did finally wake up, right around sun rise, and had no idea we had been there the whole time.

Of course, because of his behavior, he was not allowed back at the residential house he was staying at. Thankfully, one of the places I spoke to back in May, had a bed open. This was the facility I really wanted for him. They were able to help him find a job and save money for an apartment. He just needed to work the program and stay out of trouble. They even provided the transportation to and from work. But sadly, he couldn’t do it. He was there a month and ran away the final time in November of 2022.

This time he tried living with biological family members. While this solved our immediate problem of making sure he had shelter until the age of 18 which was six months away at the time, it opened up another can of worms.

The Blame Game.

Someone had to be blamed for the chaotic life he had lived the past couple of years. That someone was, us. But I’m sure you already guessed that.

“We were the problem. We were never a family. He just needed love and a family.”

Hio bio family yelled in the background, encouraging his behavior. This went on until his 18th birthday. As soon as he was legally able to take care of himself, I pulled away. I had to. Most of the issues he had were because of me. The maternal figure in the home, the contact person for everyone on his care team, made me the easy one to blame.

Blindsided and hurt, I sought out therapy and close friends from church that had similar experiences. My pastor’s wife was a person of great comfort as she had very similar experiences and could empathize with my emotions.

I dreamed that our adoption experience would be challenging but also absolutely amazing. Except, ours has been mostly challenging. There have been break throughs and victories with our oldest of the sibling group of three. He’s so friendly and easy to talk to. I laugh when I tell others how he’s my favorite roommate. He contributes to the family, enjoys our company, and gets along with others. He’s an amazing human and friend. He still hasn’t called me “mom” or told me he “loves” me, but I know he does. I learned long ago that I needed to pull back the “motherly reins”, so to speak, and that made all the difference for our relationship. I trusted him and gave him the autonomy to make his own choices in life… and he is succeeding.

He’s our happy story, where compromise and forgiveness went along way in healing and growing our relationship.

Tucked away deep down in my good memories of raising our children are moments of honest fear, regret, and defeat. The youngest son I was talking about before, now couch surfs and has been for the past two years. He is currently homeless. This happens once he’s gotten kicked out or disagreed with the home owner over (insert drama here).

When he’s living on the streets, he gets out of control with his addictions. Thankfully, he knows the resources that are available to him, which are still some of the connections made from way back in May, 2022 (God-wink, right there), and uses them when he gets cold or hungry. When he’s in rehab and working the program, he usually calls or texts me from the 17th new number I have for him, to tell me his regrets and apologize for the past. Over the years, I’ve learned to take that in stride. I love hearing how he still remembers my chili and playing farm with him, but I also know that he is struggling and he, too is in a tough season and it’s a rough one.

I can always tell when he’s spiraling because he calls to cast blame and yell. If we don’t say what he wants to hear, he tells us all the ways we’ve ruined his life. He brings up all the residential homes, all the “lies” told by his sister and other anonymous girls, all the emotional neglect we gave him. A few days will go by with no contact until he reaches out again with a new number. He mostly calls my husband because I am working really hard on loving from a distance, at this point.

When my husband answers, he acts as if the last argument never happened. As if he never yelled at us. As if he was never upset with us. He starts right in the middle of a thought and tells us that he has found someone to live with. It’s usually his friend’s family member from another county or two over. He’ll say he’s found a job where they pay under the table because he lost his documents again. So. Many. Lost. Documents, by the way. Did you know you can only request your lost SS card a total of 10 times in your lifetime? I do now since I’ve had to help him do that TWICE already and so has a total stranger, and his biological family, and even local organizations. I’m sure he’s at his limit already. He’s only 21.

Then the cycle continues. He doesn’t like the rules, or gets in a fight with the homeowner. He doesn’t always share the reasons. But inevitably he ends up on the streets… again.

I answer when he calls. I encourage him when appropriate and tell him to get it together. I listen. But when he hasn’t called my husband in awhile, that’s when I get even more worried. I start looking him up on social media and case.net. It’s sad I know more about him from case.net than I do from his own mouth. He’s already got a record going in two different counties. I fear the streets will either kill him or he’ll end up in jail if he’s not careful. I think jail would be better, honestly.

It’s a heavy situation that no parent should have to be in. If you have experienced this, reach out. I would love to get in touch. You can share your story, and maybe, just maybe, you can help another foster/adopt/step/bio-parent out as well.

Stay tuned for part 4 of MY adoption story. (I will be posting my story in pieces. It’s heavy for me. But please, if you find encouragement from my story, reach out, and if you’re willing to, share your story to encourage another reader.)

Stay kind, love jes