Speechless in a Blog

"What makes you think you can raise a black child?" "You ain't good enough to be their momma!" "Are you going to let them watch BET?"

Those are a few statements I heard once it was made public that I was adopting not one, but two black children. I started out attempting to become a parent by natural means, but that was not what was planned out for me. I became a mother for the first time after I welcomed my almost 4-year-old twins into my life by way of adoption. I have also been blessed with two children I have given life to myself. All four of them are mine. Equally.

I didn't care how I became a mother, I just wanted to be a mom. I didn't care what my children looked like, where they came from, how old they were...you name it, it didn't really matter to me. What mattered was that they were mine and I would take that responsibility seriously.

I can almost remember the exact second I was told I was going to be a mother. At that exact moment, I wanted to throw up. I could not believe it was finally my turn to raise children! No, I did not think I could do it perfectly. No mother does! Of course I was not good enough to be their mother, they deserved so much better that anyone could ever give them. Why? Because they were my kids and I would never be happy settling for second best! No, my kids have never watched BET, they were only 4-years old back then and they don't watch much television as it is.

I was woken up to a world I never realized existed when the kids came home. I thought I was raising two small human beings. Small human beings that would some day be big human beings that needed to contribute to the world. My sisters also had small human beings that they were raising from birth, biological children, that only knew of life with them. My task was a bit harder, my small humans had another life before me. One of those sisters also has two humans she adopted from other countries and took on the responsibility of raising them.

Now let's break this down into political statistics for you. My sisters and I are white. One sister is married to a Mexican-American, one is married to a Filipino-American. To describe our children is something that I am extremely proud of. Our family covers a lot of the continents. It is literally a rainbow of skin colors when they are all together. And the truly amazing thing, it doesn't matter to a single one of them.

My 9-year old had given me a confirmation on how I was trying to raise my kids. I was sitting in my kitchen one day and my daughter had been out playing with the neighbor kids. Now, sidebar to this, this particular neighbor has one adopted child and two biological children. Anyway, in runs my daughter questioning me "Mom, Tyrece told me you stolded him!" Instantly, I wanted to laugh, but I needed her to explain her outburst a little better. "Tyrece told me he didn't grow in your belly, you stolded him from someone else. Didn't he grow in your belly?"

Wow! It never dawned on me that I never told her their adoption story. But, why would I have told her? She came after them! AND, she didn't see a difference between her and them, or them and me, or anyone for that matter! In her world, anyone could come from anywhere! I was so proud of her at that moment. My youngest was 4-years old at the time, the same age as the twins when they came home. She didn't notice a difference either!

I truly believe with all my heart that racial division is taught in the home. I have never looked at any of my kids and thought of them as anything but that. They are not "my black children" and "my white children". They fight with each other, they laugh with each other, they love each other just like my sisters and I did growing up. My youngest two have never had a problem with making friends, and they blend in wherever we go. They make friends with any nationality, religion, or gender of children all the time. The only requirement I have for them to make friends is that they introduce them to me and remember their names.

Does this mean I have failed at raising black children? Does this mean I have failed at raising ANY of my children?

I would like to share with you a few more inspiring quips I have heard through the years. "What if your son dates/marries a white girl?" (Oh lord, I don't want any of those in the family!) "What if your (biological) daughter marries a black man?" (Again...I don't want any of those in the family!!!) "You are definitely going to Heaven for adopting those kids!" (Hey everyone!!! Free ticket to Heaven, just adopt some black kids!! Quick, tell everyone!!!) "You don't know how to do their hair!" (Heck, I can hardly do my own hair most days!!) "You can't teach them about their history!" (Well, I don't believe in living in the past. Let's make our own history!"

My kids currently attend a local school that has a majority enrollment of white students. The twins attended a school from preschool through 8th grade that had a large black enrollment. I would love to let my two youngest go there, and they might after the twins graduate. I love the diversity of the classrooms. Today I read an article about some kids at a local private school that had sent some "racial" pictures through Snap Chat. That school's enrollment is a majority of white students. I literally wanted to cry when I saw the pictures that were sent between these "friends". I pray my kids are not subjected to this kind of treatment while at school, and I have been reassured by them that they are not treated this way at school. I am also praying my two youngest NEVER fall into a trap of following other students in this kind of behavior.

I do not know what kind of discipline the school handed down to these students. I hope it is not just a slap on the wrist. I pray the home these kids are raised in are given a once over to see if the problem stems from inequality taught there. This kind of behavior should not be tolerated. I am difficult to offend, and I am at a loss of words about this. I cried for the student it was aimed at. I cried for their parents. I cried for the other students that may now feel pinpointed or targeted because of these actions.

Every parent has something they would fight for when it comes to their children. I have met mother's that fight for better options for fatal diseases, mother's that have fought for equal opportunities for their disabled children and mother's that have fought for their kids to be able to afford an extra-curricular activities. The words in the pictures could be viewed as hatred towards a particular race. Wouldn't this be considered a hate crime? If they were part of the LGBT community there would be no question they were targeted. Why would this be any different?

I beg of the administrators, put your kids as the target of those pictures. Would you tolerate this? Make the punishment be heard throughout the county. This should not be tolerated here or anywhere. Don't be the judge that slaps the kids on the wrist and sends them home to learn their lesson. The real world will never be that nice once they graduate. Make them prepared for the future, isn't that what school is for anyway?

Grieve, Just Grieve

How long do you have to know someone before it becomes acceptable to grieve them when they die? What is the appropriate amount of sadness you are allowed to feel? Who decides this crap anyway???

I have known people my entire life and when they pass, I have felt no strong emotion for them. Then there are a few who were in my life for less than an decade and I'm still not "over" the grieving process.

I have a family I have become friends with over the last three years. I met them when I moved to a new neighborhood. Actually, I met their son when I moved. Austin Barnett was the first neighbor I became acquainted with. He became a regular fixture around my house. It took me a few days to figure out where he lived though. He just seemed to appear now and then when I was unpacking, making dinner, getting home from work...whatever.

It never failed, I pulled into the driveway, there was Austin. Usually asking where my older two children were. I didn't know much about him at first, other than he was a very polite child that didn't appear to be much older than my younger two children. I was finally able to talk to Austin for a bit, my kids must have been busy at that moment. It was then I learned about his brain tumor he had. At that point it was past tense.

Now, one thing you must know about my house is that I love to be the house all the kids gather at. It is not a new occurrence to have more than my own children at any meal or in the van on the way to the store. I love that kids always felt familiar with me enough to just be kids and have fun in, on or around my house.

During the two years we lived across the street from Austin, I got to know his parents and sister. This family, they are a rare kind. The kindness that comes from each one, the laughs they like to share, the way they just welcome you into their lives...I am blessed to know each and every one of them. I have felt at home with them from the start.

Not too long after we moved in, Austin's brain tumor returned. I have known kids with cancer before, but none on such a level as this. They were stories in a paper I had read, donation bins at the local gas station with pictures of the kids smiling, or advertisements for charities asking for donations. 

This kid was in my living room, my backyard, my driveway. I now hated cancer more than I ever had in my entire life. This kid walked into my life and made sure that he left prints on my heart. This kid shares a birthday with my youngest child. I will always remember him.

Does the fact that I only knew him three plus years of his life lessen the amount of pain I have for this family? Does it mean I am only allowed to cry once and move on? Does it mean I cannot share his story because I wasn't there for the entire time?

I think if you would have asked him, he would tell you with a loud "FUCK NO!"

You see, Austin wanted his story told as many times as he could have it. He wanted to become a doctor to help other kids with cancer. He could blurt out his diagnosis just as fluently as any educated doctor could and he didn't mind telling you they don't have a cure yet either.

I grieve for this kid and his family.

How about a woman that has a miscarriage days after finding out she was pregnant? Does she only have a short time to grieve since she wasn't pregnant for very long? What about a student that loses a teacher? Are you allowed to grieve a coworker? There are a million different scenarios.

I recently read an article that talked about how Western Civilization has the grieving process all wrong. I fully agree.

Do not gauge how long you should grieve, IF you should grieve, or where you should grieve by watching the person next to you. Every one of us is different. I grieve by crying and then thinking of the most hilarious memory I have of the person I am grieving. Depending on how/why the person died, I can sometimes get mad. Sometimes all three at the same time.

If we stop putting timelines on grief we may find people that still need us. Just because it has been a year doesn't mean it is getting easier. My grandmother died in 2003. I miss her more today and catch myself crying when I think of all the things I wanted to talk to her about. I know it would be near impossible for her to still be here, she was born in 1912, I still long for her presence.

I am going to say that I believe the amount of grief a person has for another is in direct correlation to the impact they had on your life. I do not have a college degree, data to analyze on this point, or any other way to prove this, but it just makes sense. The type of grief you have is another story. Some of us cry, some act out, and some just remain quiet.

The point in all of this is simple, grieve...just grieve. Quit judging those who are grieving, just listen to them for a minute and you may help them through a tough point in their grieving process.

I am the Caregiver

There was a time when we were younger. Of course we all were. But I see so much more often now exactly how much time has passed.

Once we used to go out to dinner and have conversations that lasted hours. You were able to order your own food, read the menu with no difficulties, even walk in the front door without assistance. Now, with your vision failing, your muscles weak, your legs unable to carry your weight with ease, I help you with all of that.

I do not hold a medical degree in any field of study, but I know your medical conditions better than most. They give a diagnosis, I study. They have theories, I study. They do tests, I study. I told them of illnesses that you had before they came with a final answer.

I read every article, listen to every story, watch as many shows that talk about the illness as I can. You experience everything I read. You have no idea of some of the typical symptoms of the illness, nor do you realize you are following classic paths after a trauma.

I sit and watch you as you go day to day. Every task a struggle, every memory even more dear as you attempt to hold on to them. I remind you kindly of the ones you may have forgotten. Of course I do not let on that I have told you the same memory six times over the last month or so.

When you are not around, I set up certain things in their places so you do not get confused. I am relentlessly moving things off the floor and out of a direct path so you do not fall. I plan outings ahead of time, plotting in my head which ones you are the most familiar with as to not trigger any spells.

I go ahead of you sometimes or contact those we may encounter to let them know we are coming and what to expect. In public, you are the same person you always were. They do not see the struggles I do. To have any of those happen in public causes you embarrassment.

I kick myself sometimes when I get mad and yell at you. I tend to forget the person that was once viewed as a teammate has now taken the role of dependent. The conversations are much different now, more of short spurts of engagement in place of the hour long debates. I usually tend to agree or not differ too much from what you say in order to make things go smoother. 

Dreams I once had are viewed much different now. The diploma you earned would do me much more good now than it is for you. But, I cannot borrow that. Instead I get to be looked at as unfortunate that I did not go to college.

The knowledge I have in so many different things could have never been taught to me sitting in a classroom. They do not teach you how to look into a persons eyes and feel what it is they need most at that moment. They do not teach you how to read into body language with each new obstacle. They never could have taught me the strength I have that has gotten through each event, and in our own way overcome.

The person I have become while transforming into the Caregiver is so much braver, smarter and headstrong than I could have ever imagined. There doesn't seem to be too many problems that arise that I am not capable of tackling. The compassion I now feel for so many others has made my once jaded outlook on the future one that is full of opportunity to help and empower others.

Independent is one word that I never thought would come to mind when describing myself to others, but I know without a doubt I can do whatever crosses my path. There is no fear when going someplace for the first time, alone, with no idea what I may encounter.

Love has taken on a whole new meaning too. I know what it is to love someone. I know what it means to show someone you love them. The thing that I cannot remember is being in love. I know at some point in my life I was, or thought I was. But responsibilities and life have taken that away from me for now. There may be a time when that part of me comes back, but for now, I have duties to attend to. Lives depend on me. 

The luxury of being carefree is no longer in my repertoire. The story line is serious, the supporting cast is dwindling, only a few faithful followers left. I do appreciate the faithful, the patient, the like minded souls that are traveling the same journey. I have lost a few of those close to me that held my hand along the way. I feel them everyday, encouraging me. I reach for my phone to call and remember that there are no phones where they are. But I know what each would say if I could update them.

The one thing I have severely neglected is my vision. I received some great inspiration today as to how to get that vision back. My vision is very cloudy, blurry and obstructed. The interruptions on the goal have somehow taken over. But I will continue to press on.

Your Title Please

Have you ever thought of the title you carry with yourself? What titles have you been given and what ones have you chosen? Mother, sister, father, brother, Christian, atheist, straight, gay...the list goes on and on.

My father recently passed away. I didn't really know a lot about him, besides the stories my mother told me and the few times I had him in my life when I was older. His title most of my life was "my biological father". Mainly because I was so young when my parents divorced that I had always referred to my step-father as my "Dad".

I have learned so much about him since his passing that I would have loved to have been able to talk to him more and learn a bit more. But it has mainly been on the paperwork I have gone through that has brought me the most insight as to the titles he took through his life. Some he chose, some given.

For most of my life I always just felt "different". That was my title. I wasn't the blood offspring of my "dad" that I grew up with. I didn't look like his family. I honestly didn't even look like my maternal grandparents or their family either. Figuring out how I fit in was just always a normal reaction to just about any situation. I have family I call family that is no longer "legally" my family. Once my mom and step-dad divorced, it legally severed that tie. But many of those family members still call me family.

Some of my family that belongs to my biological side, don't know me or don't call me family. I don't put any ill feelings toward that, I wasn't around for most of their lives. I am very fond of the idea that I still have grandparents around though. Both of my fathers parent's are still here...91 and 87...and boy am I having fun getting to know them and spending time with them.

My life took on new titles when this happened. I have people that call me "granddaughter", "niece" and "cousin"...and I fit in. I look like them. I don't have to figure any part of that out. Those are all titles I have gladly taken on.

One of my favorite titles is "Mom". I have so much fun with this title. But with it came some others that I didn't choose; "fighter", "defender", "advocate", "victim". Other titles I have had or still have in my life are "sister", "aunt", "wife", "friend", "officer", "financial adviser", and a bunch of others that could fill a page. Now, some of those titles were chosen, some given without choice.

A title I have never had, "college graduate". Does that make any of my other titles less worthwhile? No, I have had a lot of life teaching to take up some of that slack. I learn so much better by experience than reading, but that doesn't mean I haven't wanted to take college courses. I have just never had the opportunity.

Now, back to my father's paperwork...I saw some papers he signed to take some titles. "Husband", "father", "ex-husband", "Marine", "tenant"...and then I saw a signature that brought me to instant tears. My father signed a paper to get help with his living situation and the line he signed gave him the title of "transient". Wow, with all of the other titles he had through life, to sign a line to claim that as his title, just knocked me down. Who starts off their life with the expectation to ever have to take that title? No one.

It has been a year since the first half of this was written. Boy how much you can learn in a year. I didn't post it, mainly because I wasn't done. I didn't know where to go with it. I wasn't sure what I was trying to get out of it. Well, I can tell you now.

Inspiration. That is a title I have now given my biological father. He has been an inspiration to me, and also to my sister. We were always different, not able to do the same as everyone else, somehow always expected to fail. We were never given the same support our other siblings did. We fought a lot for everything we have. But we were given inspiration from our father.

Inspiration for what? Well, my sister quit her job of 17ish years. I was talking to her on the phone one day and she said "I quit daycare." My reply was one of recognition of what she told me, but I didn't really grasp what she had told me. We hung up, and two hours later I called her back and said "You QUIT daycare???" What in the world was this woman going to do??? Well, she went to work for her best friend in the office and has since moved up to the back office and the central contact for most, if not all, of the traffic of business for them.

My sister had not worked for anyone, anywhere for almost 17 years. She could barely navigate her cellphone, let alone figure out all of the programs and apps that were out there to connect her phone to her computer. Now, it's like she has been doing it forever. What gave her that ability? It was the inspiration from our fathers death that gave her the little voice inside that said "Yes, you CAN do that!" And boy is she!!!

What inspiration has he given me? Well, who knew I could plan and arrange a funeral, for only $1000!! That is all it cost to give my father, the "transient", a proper funeral with military rites and all! He also gave me the inspiration to grow my business. I went from working 3-4 days a week, to now working almost 6 days and still having people wanting to use my services. I never thought in a million years that I could do that. 

Now, he didn't come to me in a dream and tell me this. I was getting little signs every day about how he thought of me daily and how he had always had faith in me to do something. The things I removed from his apartment slowly became things I would be in need of. A step stool for the girls and I to reach things, tools to complete jobs I had run across, a cart that came in INCREDIBLY handy when moving this past October.

In the year since his death, he has come to be a help to me in most every situation I have come across. And that is more than some of my family, who ARE still here, has done in the last four years!!

There is another title, family. What determines family? Blood, marriage, legal documentation? Family is a word that has little to no meaning to me in my life. I have a handful of best friends that mean more to me than some family do. Was that mean to say? Maybe a little. But it's during times of trials you find out who your true friends are. And apparently family too. Remember me saying I always felt "different"? Well, that still is the same, and I am still treated different. I do not know what it is to have a close relationship with my mother or father. And which father, well, either of them!

Who was there in times of trouble? Who shows up to lend a hand when I was too proud to ask for one? Who calls to wish me or my children Happy Birthday or a cheer of the current holiday? Who calls when there is no holiday or troubling event going on in my life? Two of my sisters have been there, but mostly it is my friends.

This title of "family" is taking on a new meaning in my house. My children are the first people I think of when I hear this word. My children will always have a relationship with their mother (and father, but again this is my blog) that comes first before anything. I will never leave my children to fight their battles alone. I will not be there to solve them, just support them in whatever way I can. I will also be their biggest fan. I will cheer the loudest (as I have been told I do already!), I will brag the hardest, I will smile the biggest, I will cry the hardest...whatever it takes to let them know what matters to them also matters to me!

I will never let my child go homeless or hungry. I will never let my child feel like they have no where to turn. They will always know that I will be there, no matter what! If I have to sleep on the floor, they will have a bed. If I have to give them my last $2 to buy them a meal, I will go broke. If they just need to scream and have someone listen, I will stay on the phone for hours until they feel better. It will be about them, not me.

Where did I get this idea of family? From my closest friends! Terry, Ginger, Holly, Jolane, Matt, Kathy, Christy, John, Dena, and Dave...those are the ones still here. I also learned it from some that have passed in just the last year or so...Russell, David and Vera.

My point in all of this, your titles are not permanent. They change sometimes daily. Embrace that change, look forward to your next title, but never let it determine your destiny.