Kyle.

I’ve written on my blog about our house. It has the most amazing stories to tell. The house was once anointed and blessed as the “Isaiah 58” house by our now church home- that’s a good story, too.  It was used as a transitional house for the local homeless, long before we were part of its history.

Side note: Our home is nearly 100 years old. I often wonder how many families/individuals are a part of this house, in transition or not. Also, how many families did this house survive before the Wests arrived? I surely hope it survives us…

But I digress….

We realized quickly that it would become totally normal for people to stop on our doorstep asking for a place to stay, believing that it is still the Isaiah house (which it totally is, just in a spiritual way and not a literal way. Well, kind of a literal way, but that’s for later. Okay, back to the story…)

Anyway- there are potential “guests” regularly, any time of day or night. Most folks just knock politely and thank us when they realize their mistake. Occasionally someone argues. Or pleads. Because we are members of the church, we can connect them with the ministers in charge of housing and try to help.

The first time “Kyle” made his way to our yard was mid-afternoon. Nathan was actually outside mid-conversation with a plumbing company that was helping us out. Kyle was rather… aggressive. Verbally antagonizing Nathan (in front of our sons. And our plumbers.) trying to start a fight with no rhyme or reason. He was… not in his right mind, as they say. 

The second time, he had just come from the dumpster behind the grocery store, with arms full of stale bread, when I suppose he recognized Nathan, and decided to follow him all the way back to our house. (Nathan had walked). He wasn’t particularly friendly this time either and my husband was a little more stern about the inappropriateness of his behavior.  I guess Kyle agreed and maybe felt guilty, because he returned later that night with some of the thrown out Dunkin Donuts (also walking distance) and insisted we give them to the kids with his apologies. It was 10:00PM and our children were asleep, but he begged and begged for us to take the donuts. We did, told him we wished him well, and gave him a paper plate of leftovers from our dinner. He cried on our porch for several minutes before shuffling off and turning the corner.

Once of the scariest moments of my life happened a couple days later. 

Our dog, Walker, was on high alert in the boys’ room, staring out the window before beginning a low growl.   A second later, I thought I heard someone trying to open our back door, jiggling the door knob a little.  I was home alone with Anna Gray and Walker went nuts.  I tried to discreetly look out our bathroom window but didn’t see anything.  Then someone in a friggin’ clown costume came running up the porch and started banging on the front door! 

Through the front window, I saw him take off his mask, revealing himself as one of the garage guys across the street. They had helped us several times when Walker got out and I told them later that the absolute most terrifying part of this whole experience was a creepy clown banging on my door!! Scared the 80s baby right out of me!

When I opened the door, he asked me if I realized that a man was in our basement. Um…. Noooo?

He then asked if I wanted help getting him out. Um…. Yesssss?

Walker was still growling out the window- over the basement door- so I ran over to watch. I could hear through the glass. The two guys from across the street asked the man to come out. Then again. Then they told him to come out.  

He finally did and I stared at the back of his head while they told him to open his coat and drop everything he had taken. We don’t keep much down there, its storage really. Holiday décor, our bikes, bins full of whoknowswhat. He argued for a minute, but they pointed up to the window and let him know that I was watching and ready to call the police. He turned. Kyle. He faced them again and shook his coat open and the smallest things fell out.  He had found the bin full of Christmas gifts, unwrapped but still in their packages (we put them away to bring out a little at a time since the kids had plenty). Some unopened DVDs fell to the ground, Nintendo DS games… things he could sell, I’m guessing. Then some hats, several pair of gloves, and scarves. Sigh. Broke my heart. Of all the things he could steal from my house, he chose hats, gloves, and scarves.

He eventually walked away and the garage guys brought me everything that came out of his coat and strongly suggested I call the police.   After talking to Nathan – and tidying my house (My word, I couldn’t be interviewed by police in a messy house!), I called. I told them I didn’t want to press charges, just make a report to have on record.

While waiting for the officers to arrive (but after cleaning up), I watched to see where he went. 

Which is when I realized he was peeing on our fence.

Which is when he realized that I realized he was peeing on our fence and gave me an, ahem, extra special wave ‘hello from below’.

I was feeling a little less guilty about calling the cops at this point.

The officers that came out knew who I was talking about right away, but wouldn’t say until I picked him out of a line up- which I did.  The officer said if it had been “Big T” or “Slim”, it wouldn’t have been a big deal, but my children would be a lot safer if Kyle was off the streets. I believed him, considering we had witnessed his instability, and I agreed to testify in court (which I haven’t actually had to do yet). During our conversation, Kyle yelled a few obscenities at us from a street over and they were able to pick him up. I still felt bad.  He would have to stay in jail until our court date, but at least I knew he had a bed to sleep in and food to eat.

After the officers left, I went to put the stuff up that he had tried to take and saw the paper plate that we had given him our leftovers on a few nights before. Lots of conflicting thoughts considering that

1) A person… Kyle… had spent probably more than one night in our basement cold and hungry; and

2) A person… Kyle… had slept right underneath our children- after cursing them in our front yard- without us knowing it.

Praying for Kyle.

*All names changed to protect identities.

**Garage Guy was wearing a clown costume to drum up business. I don’t get it. It’s terrifying. Nice guy though.

*** I followed his case closely, advocated for rehabilitative support for him when I could, and he since been released. He thanked me (?) recently by showing up and dumping popcorn all over our front porch WHILE OUR SOCIAL WORKER WAS HERE.

**** I freaking love my life.

This was the best day I ever spent in a mental hospital.

{ARCHIVES: Originally written Feb 2018, originally shared Feb 2019} 

I wrote this one year ago today. It wasn't published anywhere (May go in the book later, not sure.) but I feel like I should share it now for some reason. It is VERY raw- emotions mixed together sloppily, thoughts clear as mud, and the grammar atrocious (kind of my signature at this point...). But that is EXACTLY where I was when I wrote it.

A year later-- Another "I love you SO much" and another happy birthday. I'm very clearly grateful.

Here we are again. Third time’s the charm? We hope. 

We have no expectations. 

Nothing is going to change dramatically in the next 7-10 days. We know now. 

We also know we need a plan and we can’t make a plan if we can’t turn our backs or look away. 

So he’s safe and we’re safe and we’re here again.

Trying things differently this time though. 

Our hearts hurt, but exhausting our bodies and draining our bank account won’t help. We know now.

So we go when we can. Some days are good. Like, really good. Different good? A genuine hug, an honest feeling, and an unprompted “I love you …so much.” My first! Ohhh, it was good. 

And some days are… just hard. On him, on us. Ugly words and pushed away and… same ole’, same ole’. But that’s okay. These days are reminders that 1) We are seeing progress on those good days; and 2) we should not just scoop him up and bring him home on those good days… because nothing is going to change dramatically in the next 7-10 days.

It’s a Monday and three of the children have appointments at Vanderbilt. The others were out of school and it’s my birthday. Nathan feels bad that my birthday will be spent with all of us at doctor appointments, but that’s grown up birthdays and I’m fine. Actually, we can drive together and he’ll take some kids and I’ll take some kids so it’s fine.

I’m fine. 

I’m fine. 

I’M FINE.

We realize that the first round of appointments finish around the same time and we’re able to all go eat lunch together. I feel terribly guilty that we just spent $50 on fancy grilled cheeses, but Nathan says it’s fine because it’s my birthday. After that, it’s visitation time and we are all at Vandy and can go together. 

This is a huge, albeit risky, bonus. We don’t know what kind of day it will be on his end, but we give it a whirl...

This is the first time we have all been together in weeks, after only a couple of weeks of all being together. 

They put us in a visiting room with nothing but six chairs and our deep breathing. We tip-toe for a few minutes, feeling out the mood. He seems fine. He doesn’t like questions and conversation is slow because it’s hard to catch up without questions. We’re caught up quickly and clumsily and someone starts singing softly, when Cale “steals” the song. In an instant, we have a riff-off. Riff-offs are kind of our thing (except no one gets “out”… Oh, God- can you imagine??) UNFAIR. And anyway, why would less singing be better? It wouldn’t. Everyone stays in. Our awkward beginning is suddenly and very unexpectedly interrupted by Cale jumping out of his chair and adding dance moves to his vocals, which are instantly stolen by his twin.  Now it’s game on.

Within twenty minutes, there are eight Wests in six chairs replacing deep breaths with Bohemian Rhapsody. We are not even stealing anymore, we are all in for every song. Every one knows every word- little high, little low- AS LOUD AS WE CAN. There are eight people screaming Bohemian Rhapsody at the top of our lungs in a mental hospital.

Two hours go by singingly smooth.  Waves of voices and laughter, boogies you’ve never seen. Dolly, Queen, Elvis, Bruno, Marky Mark all in attendance. It was loud, authentic, and us.

I was sure they’d either kick us out or invite us to stay forever, but I did not care one bit.

We were together and we were happy.

We aren’t like other families sometimes, in lots of ways. Living this life has given us one hella dose of perspective.  Medical needs, broken hearts, constant school meetings and appointments, a mental health battle that’s forced us to live apart for 8 ½ of the last nine months. THIS is what matters- being together. Laughing. Singing/screaming. Dancing. Together. We know now.  

Also, you can spend a grown up birthday in a mental hospital visiting your son with your family, and it’s not just fine. It’s the best day in a very long time. 

Child of Mine.

Roman has had a series of problems in his left ear as long as we’ve known him. Last year, he had a corrective surgery and a few weeks ago went for a follow up. In addition to damage and scar tissue, the chelation therapy required for his thalassemia can cause hearing loss so it’s important to stay on top of it. At this appointment, we needed to confirm total post-op healing and, hopefully, finally pass a hearing test. Unfortunately, during the exam it was quickly discovered that he had developed multiple polyps inside his ear, some ruptured, and he had a massive infection.

“Roman! Did you know?? Were you hurting??”

“Well, I knew it was some kind of problem but I didn’t know what. Sometimes I cry in my bed or there’s blood on my pillow.”

I was stunned… kinda frustrated… and sad. How is it that he still doesn’t tell us when something is wrong? That he still isn’t trusting us completely? He still thinks he should tough it out alone.

In China, Roman was not allowed to get out of bed. Before his adoption, he was told not to bother us- especially at night - that we would be angry and he would be punished. He’s been our child for 4 ½ years and we are still trying to convince him that it’s okay to tell us something is wrong. It breaks my heart how many nights he has spent alone in his bed hurting or afraid and told us about it later. I have been constantly trying to remind him that if he tells us what the problem is, we may be able to help.

Recently, he came in the middle of the night(!) He gently tapped me on the shoulder and whispered, “Mama… it’s not a stranger…. It’s your son…. Roman.” I was SO glad he came to me and trusted that I could fix the problem.

I was in my prayer closet over a situation in my life today and had a revelation.

God is stunned… kinda frustrated… and sad. Because I've been His child for 37 years and He's still trying to convince me that it’s okay to tell Him something is wrong. I’ve been lying in bed with a problem, trying to tough it out alone. I didn’t want to bother Him. How is it that I’m still not trusting Him completely? It breaks His heart how many nights I've spent hurting or afraid. He's been constantly trying to remind me that if I tell Him about the problem, He may be able to help.

So today, I’m whispering…

“Father… it’s not a stranger… it’s your daughter… Amma. Something is wrong and I don’t even know what. I need you and trust you to fix the problem.”

A VERY MERRY UN-CHRISTMAS!

🎄🎄🎄

The change in routine, the expectations, & the unpredictability of Christmas chaos give Cale SO much anxiety. We prep, we plan, we structure, we provide alternatives ... he just can’t do it.

When you’re stressy and agressy then Christmas gets kinda messy.

Things were different this year though.

We weren’t together. And though he did panic with anticipation in the days leading up to it, he called Christmas morning and couldn’t have been sweeter.

He communicated that not knowing what he was getting was creating stress and he needed us to tell him. So we did. We told him his gifts over the phone.

No magic.
No surprises.
No hustle and bustle.

And we were met with “Thank you, Mom and Dad. I feel better. I love you so much. Merry Christmas and goodbye.”

Tonight we are together, just the four of us, opening a few small things alone in a dark, quiet hotel room. He couldn’t be happier.

It might not look like everyone else’s Christmas. It might not look like what *we* ever imagined even. I wont pretend we haven’t grieved that. But with no magic ... and no chaos... our son found joy and peace in Christmas, and isn’t that the point anyway?

All is calm, all is bright. Beautiful boy. 

#NoMatterWhat

I can't do this but I'm doing it anyway.

I guess this is my 2018 post for #AdoptionAwarenessMonth 🤷🏻‍♀️

Social media, you are one double headed beast. God bless my passive-aggressive bones and forgive me for vague-booking, but we can’t keep it all to ourselves and expect grace at the same time.

We are struggling, friends. Trenches? No.
We’ve been in the trenches. We are the wounded left behind in the war zone clinging for dear life. And we are fiesty little warriors.

I’m painfully aware that you can see it all over our faces. We are dropping the ball in pretty much all areas of life right now. Honestly, the balls have scattered and are bouncing away aimlessly.

There’s “regular” stress like broken dishwashers and washing machines, broken down cars and flat tires, sick kiddos who can’t tell you what’s wrong, unpaid travel fees, little boys in desperate need of a blood transfusion, unsettled IEPs, etc etc etc and I WISH those were the hard parts of life right now.

But on top of that, we are kind of literally fighting for our child’s LIFE. It’s taking 100% of our time and energy and we are hanging by a thread.

We are desperate- but praising. Empty- but fasting. It feels Ike every hour we alternate between determination and falling apart. Thankfully, we have people around to stitch us back together and tell us to keep going. Most of them walking right alongside us in any way they can ❤️

Our kids are SO easy to love, but paving a way for them in this messy world is HARD.
Hard hard hard.

Occasionally, over the years, we’ve been met with “You asked for this.”

Yeah, we did.

We could, in theory, be a family of three. I could be working full-time so it wouldn’t be so easy to attack our finances. Our house could be quieter, our days could be less hectic, we could have hobbies in our spare time... we could have spare time!

But we asked for THIS.

We knew it came with challenges: advocacy, exhaustion, grit, guilt, shame, loss, grief. But I’m really not sure we could have ever prepared for these heartbreaks. (Theirs/ours.)

It also comes with wisdom, strength, faith, perseverance, perspective, acceptance, trust. And I’m really not sure we could have ever prepared for these miracles. (Theirs/ours.)

We asked for this. For them.
And I’d do it a million times over.

I don’t know what tomorrow holds. LITERALLY NO IDEA WHAT WILL HAPPEN TOMORROW. I don’t know how or why or when. But God. I’m grateful I don't have to.

* I do know I was not given a spirit of fear, but of LOVE, POWER, & A SOUND MIND.
* I do know it’s working for our good. Even if it looks different, even if it takes longer, even if it hurts.
* I do know He will provide- a safe place to land, funds for His call, a hope for the future.

I. CAN’T. DO. THIS.
He can.

#Hallelujah.

Paging Dr. Gray...

For the first year she was home, Anna Gray watched Signing Time and only Signing Time. Nothing else held her attention or interest. Then it was two years of Sesame Street. At age four, she made a hardcore switch to Doc McStuffins.

She’s sprinkled in a variety of options here and there lately but Doc is still her #1 gal. We’ve seen so.much.Doc. So many McStuffins. For a while, Anna Gray wore her stethoscope everywhere she went. Grocery, church, bath time, bedtime...

Recently, we were at an appointment for a sibling and AG tagged along. She brought her med bag and gave the endocrinologist a full check up- named every tool & used them correctly. She instructed the doctor to “take deep breaths” as she listened with her stethoscope. She promised “no hurts” from the otoscope, and pronounced her patient all better.

The specialist asked AG (she didn’t ask me... she spoke directly to the, albeit small, fully functioning human beside me) and asked if she wanted to be a doctor someday. After a “yes ma’am”, she looked at Anna Gray and said, “YOU CAN.”

It was so strikingly different from another experience we had. During an IEP meeting for her, a person (who, please note, does *not* work at her school) dismissed all of her reported strengths and said, “Well, she has Down syndrome so obviously she’ll just be in (CDC/Special Ed) all day.” When I argued that it wasn’t Anna Gray’s LRE (least restrictive environment- which she is legally entitled to) and explained the benefits of peer models and inclusive classrooms being best for ALL students, she remarked that AG “can’t even carry her own lunch tray”. She had never even met Anna Gray. Ever.

Despite the fact that there were a slew of Anna Gray experts in the room speaking to her ABILITIES, this person made big giant assumptions based on NOTHING but her diagnosis.

Can you imagine the way each of those experiences felt? Whether you happen to have an extra chromosome or not, can you imagine being told you CAN’T by a person who doesn’t know you? What that would do to a child, to a brain, to a heart?

Now imagine being told you CAN.
What that would do to a child, a brain, a heart!

****Hot tip: ASSUME COMPETENCE.

Whether a person has Down syndrome, is on the autism spectrum, or is typically developing... assume they CAN. Then, if they need support/extra time/whatever to do it, help them get there.

AND WHILE WE’RE HERE (bc who knows if I’ll manage to get another post out this month 😬😬), let’s re-visit the “R” Word...

Twenty something years ago, it was unfortunately common slang. Not anymore. At this point, “retard” is lazy & HURTFUL. Scientifically, our girls are considered mentally retarded. Did you mean stupid when you said it? Because this kid speaks parts of four languages. Did you mean ugly when you made that face and called it ‘retarded’? Because she also has a modeling contract 🤔 And you better bet she can carry that dang lunch tray.
Honestly, I’m done being nice about that.
Get yourself a thesaurus and break the habit- you CAN! 😉
— When you know better, do better. —

Thank you & be kind is all.
And listen ... if you don’t know our Annie Sunshine, the only assumption you should make is that YOU ARE MISSING OUT.

“Anna Gray, you are incredible.”