It’s almost Christmas, each day I think of My Boy. Not a day goes by when I don’t wonder how he is and wish I could scoop him into my arms and run away with him. Run to somewhere safe, accepting and caring. Somewhere that would have helped me not lose him. Contrary to what I was promised when we relinquished care of him, we have not been permitted to see him. Constantly told that he needs to settle, needs to bond with his new carers. That we shouldn’t cause any kind of excuse for his placement to fail.
Oh sure we could have stomped, and ranted to see him. We could have threatened and demanded like the heart cried out to, but what then? What if that emotional disruption did cause his new carers to throw him out? We received little to no support, they receive ongoing respite, 24 hour support and enough funding for both not to work! I don’t hate them I hate the system. They are getting what we asked for, if we had received the support My Boy would never have to have been moved. An in-home 1:1 aide was all we needed. This rant could get worse but my blood pressure is probably already going through the roof.
My Boy must feel abandoned by us. I know the system! The last time I saw him he told me that they, DCP, had told him that we are not his Mummy and Daddy. Fair enough, we had always been honest to him about tummy mummy’s but we promised him our unconditional love even in a new home. He begged us not to leave him. The pain tore me far worse than imaginable, in being forced away, and a decision that was irreversible, after all he wasn’t legally ours.
He didn’t mean to hurt me, increasing meltdowns and no support led to that smash to the chest from his head while I was trying to protect his head going into a wall. The sheer force of the blow knocking me backwards and later ending me up in the E.R with all symptoms of a heart attack. One year later the damage unable to be repaired, no breaks but permanent damage to soft tissue around the sternum leaves me gripping my chest, when even a simple sneeze brings excruciating pain. Such is the risk of anyone living with or working with any child or adult with autism. I was told that for my safety I should have allowed him to smash his own head! I am me, and although I now suffer If I could turn back the clock I would do exactly the same for My Boy. The story is so much more as previous posts have shared and future posts will reveal. Another’s foster carer’s blog has inspired me to return to writing my journey with My Boy. Much will be revealed.
For now the clock ticks towards Christmas Day, the first Christmas without him. The first time in 7 years we’ve been able to set up delicate decorations or organise a social event at our home. The first time we’ve freely chosen gifts for our other eight kids without wondering if My Boy would destroy them. Yet the first time I will wake up early, the first awake and I will ponder the past 12 months and I will ponder life’s memories.
I will wonder does he know how much I love him, does he know how much I care. I will shed tears as I am now and I will hope one day I can heal his broken heart. I will place the small and meaningful gift for him in his locker that I promised him would always be there waiting for his return. Action Man will place his picture and letter to his brother in the locker he guards so well. The brother that he deeply misses but understands why.
Apart is but a season. For the day will come when no one will keep us apart. 11 years will pass fast and he will be 18 and I will hold him and I will say, “I am so sorry” and he will know that throughout the years he was loved. Action Man is his brother, I promised him I would protect Action Man, better than that we’ve adopted him so they can never truly split us from My Boy, we are linked now. We are family!
We’ve been told we can have our first visit, short and public in a busy setting. His new carers will be there so it will be tense, it won’t be suitable to hug him and hold him and I will feel the awkwardness and judgement that a biological parent must feel when their child has been taken into foster care. I know his new carers haven’t been told the truth. They must wonder how we could abandon a child after six years but only time will show them as it has so many others. Our only hope is to believe in ourselves and not the judgement in the eyes of those who look on from the edge.
My Boy will always be MY BOY, you can take the boy away from me but you can’t take him away from my heart.
On the positive side, my biggest dream will be that eventually we will bond with his new carers, they will see us as friend not enemy. They will see the truth and not judge. They will see us as support and they will share My Boy because in due time they will see that it will take a village to raise a child like My Boy. Am I dreaming too much?
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