Well, that last post was a 'fun' one.  I'm all about the 'joys' of parenting here.  Sigh...onto other things.  Encouraging things...

Practical, Real, Tangible ways to facilitate grief.  *disclaimer- not a pro, just a Mom with grieving kids.

Write down memories - allow them time/space/resources to write out what they remember.  Don't disagree if it doesn't match what you were told.  If old enough, let them write it down.  Help them fill in the details if they ask.  Be careful to not interfere in their memories with what you believe to be true.  Give them prompts based on their story.  Don't shy away from the hard topics.  Ask them to write about daily details.  Ask about people.  Re made a  book.  A page for each family member.  Stories about siblings, parents, the orphanage, and the process of coming home.  We did this project during the summer.  We had specific time to sit down and write. We were making a book. It was serious business.  Rough draft, editing, publishing, illustrating, and binding.  It gave weight to the importance of the memories.  After writing on hard topics, we made time for the grief.  For the push back, acting out, and were available.  We didn't write the day we had doctor's appointments later.  We made this project the priority for the weeks it was in process.  There were many great conversations that came about.  Questions asked, and room to answer in context of the whole story.  And at the end, we turned a corner.   There was healing in some significant ways.

Pray- Pray for the family they are separate from.  If you know their names, pray for someone each evening.  If you don't, pray for them by role.  Don't know if they are alive, pray for their caregivers.  Pray for their 'orphanage' siblings.  Prayer moves the hand of God.  And in prayer, they can feel powerful in a powerless situation.

Grief meltdowns-Grief looks different in every person.  In every situation.  I've grieved for my Mom very different than other losses in my life.  Grief for a parent is different than other grief.  No more, not worse, just different.  Culture affects how we grieve.  If they were allowed to grieve in the past, and how, will effect how grief shows up.  Re grief showed up in meltdowns fueled by rage.  This isn't anyone's fault, it's how he is equipped to deal with the raw emotions of loss.  He starts out pushing back against us, his parents.  He becomes passive.  He starts to spiral around the issue.  Some days we are just waiting for it to come.  Grief is lurking out the door, but won't just open the door and come in.  It wants an invitation.  Yes, it's okay, now is a good time, come on it.  Some days it burst open the door, and gets comfy on the couch, to stay awhile, before we've even taken a deep breath.   But when he is spiraling, the only resolution is to grieve.  It usually involves wailing, tears, trying to get away from us, tearing apart the room, and ending in a hollow stare and tears running down his face while we hold him.  Then some time alone to recover.  Time alone, but with us close.  When this happens, this is all that happens.  You turn off the stove, and dinner is late.  You miss church, the soccer game, school event, and grief takes over.  Thankfully, this cycle is less and less.  By allowing the cycle to happen, it has allowed him to grieve the loss.  Er's if different.  It's over abundance of activity.  It's a need for constant attention.  The desire for a bottle, to be cuddled, to be right where you are, doing just what you are doing.  It's the need to be close, really close, all the time.  It's separation anxiety.  And it's just beginning.  It's listening to her tell her story over and over again.  Trying to make sense.  It's answering questions about whose tummy she came from daily.  It's clarifying the unknowns over and over again.  It's falling apart when someone doesn't want to play her game with her.  It's taking rejection very personally.  It's over reacting to being told no.  It's an inability to deal with unpredictability.

Be present- this is hard.  Hard because it triggers every grief you own.  Don't shy away.  Don't hold back the tears for your own lost, even in the midst of theirs.  Don't give up and leave them to their own emotions.  If you are exhausted, and can't do one more minute, then stop trying to control it, just sit in the room and pray for them out loud.  If they are in the corner, completely shutting you out.  Stay anyway.  Sit in the room, even if you say nothing, your presence matters.  They fear the grief.  They need to see in you that the grief doesn't win.  Yes, you leaving might make the meltdown end sooner.  Our theory has been to let it take as long as it takes, but we aren't going anywhere in the meanwhile.  Even if it's just sitting in the room, doing nothing.

Professional help- there is no shame in seeking out help.  This parenting is not normal.  You don't have the tools.  You didn't sign up for this.  If you don't see progress, get help.  From some one who understands trauma, loss, adoption, attachment, and be willing to try something that feels strange.  Different kids need different approaches.  There is no one size fits all.

I said I was going to post more, and I've had this post running around my brain for awhile.  In the vein, that this blog offers me a place to put my thoughts down, and I'm not an expert.  At least not on parenting.  Or adoption.  Or really anything.  Except how to do laundry really fast to keep up.  I may be an expert on that.  So please don't take my words as if I somehow have this all figured out.  I'm just thinking through my life, and putting it down here.

In light of Mother's day, I'm going to write about grief.  Yep, that uplifting and encouraging topic.  Of wait, it's not.  Neither uplifting or encouraging.  So maybe come back to this next week.  I won't be hurt that you don't want to go there on this beautiful weekend.  So you've been warned.  Hard, heavy and yucky topic ahead.

Grief.  Mother's Day is a huge trigger of grief for me.  My own Mom died 11 years ago.  I talked to her in the morning, made plans, and hung up the phone without a second thought.  And less than 12 hours later, I was racing to the hospital, saying over and over again, "Please, no.  Please, no.  Your will, not mine.  But Please, no.  This can't be.  It simply can't be HAPPENING."  But it did happen.  Brain dead.  Organ donation.  Eating breakfast at an IHOP, while life goes on around you.  Then good-byes.  And then the final blow.  She is gone. Death.  Loss. Shock. Numb.  And the aftermath.

I had attended a funeral a month before all of this flooded my life.  There were parents standing over a small coffin.  And a Mother who somehow stood and shared, and I was in awe of her strength.  Which is a good indicator of how LITTLE I understood of grief.   The uncle shared his understanding of how grief feels.

"We are all walking along on this journey of life.  Walking along, checking out the scenery.  Beautiful, Life, Joy, Peace.  And we come to the part of our path that lead to grief, the ocean.  Some times it's a slow meander down to stand and watch the tide come in.  Sometimes, the path gives way underneath you and suddenly your drowning.   But there you are, standing in the ocean of grief.  Regardless of how one arrives, there you stand.  Well, standing might be a bit generous, more like flailing your arms, trying to get one good breath of air and feel your feet underneath you.

But you don't get to just walk out of the water and be done.  You make it to shore, you get your feet underneath you, and the only path leads along the water.  Well, actually through the water.   And so you take a few steps, and another wave comes.  And it washes over you.  And you lose your footing again.  You get mouthfuls of water, and your chest hurts to breath.  And when you get your feet under you, your so tired.  A few more steps ahead, and another wave comes.  And you repeat.  repeat.  repeat. repeat.  It seems endless.  It is endless, the path is long, and the waves make it hard to move forward.  And then one day, a wave comes, and you notice your feet don't move.  You're still out of breath, your chest hurts, you are wet, but your feet are planted firmly.  Sometimes the tide is out, and the waves just lap at your ankles, reminding you that you are still next to grief.   Good days, you stay dry and feel like you've came to terms.  Then a really big wave comes.   Your path now always has an ocean at one side.  Some days you forget it is there.  Then a significant date comes, and your standing in the waves again.  Or a song, or a smell, or a memory and  once again the path is headed back to the ocean.   You learn to feel when the path twist that way.  You learn  how to choose to visit the ocean when you need to.  You learn to let the path wander that way, get wet, and then move away from it. "

But I'm not the only one in our little family who lives this way.  My children live with this too.  They too have an ocean of grief that regularly pulls them in.  Their grief is bigger and greater than I could ever imagine.  So how does one parent a child in grief?  I'm not really sure.  Most days I feel like we're just trying to keep their heads above water, so they don't get lost in it.   But I think we've learned a few things.  From my grief.  From walking with them through theirs.

-Grief doesn't end.  You aren't going to love them enough to make up for the loss of their birth family.  Read that again.  I know as an adoptive parent we really want to believe our love will somehow save them from the pain of loss.  That in choosing them we will somehow compensate for abandonment.  That with all our therapy, attachment parenting, and good intentions we can somehow fix what is broken.  *I believe in therapy, attachment parenting and good intentions, it just doesn't fix all the brokenness that comes packaged up in their story.*  They are not going to have a day when magically they are done grieving.  When you've filled the hole completely.   You aren't going to be enough.  Yeah, I know - it sucks.  It really, really sucks.  It sucks more after two years, then it did after two months.  I'm willing to bet it sucks more after 20 years then it does now.  I don't have to be 20 years down the road to guess that.   There will be days they will long for their birth family.  Maybe not to live with forever.  But to know them.  To understand their own story through the key people.  To be held by them.  To know their voice.  To know who they look like.  Who has their laugh.  They will push you away, simply because you are not them.  You aren't what they want or need.  Because they are grieving.  Not because you are lacking.  Not because you don't love them.  Not because they don't love you.  But because you aren't what is missing.

-Grief is messy.  At our house, grief is loud.  It's defiant, and quite honestly exhausting.  It involves wailing.  It involves pushing away.  It is attachment rejection.  It's actually a pretty crappy guest.  It doesn't let you know  it's planning a stay.  It messes up the schedule.  It tears up bedrooms.  It thrives on chaos, on a busy schedule, on tired parents.  It's not easily appeased.  It requires attention.  It demands it.

-Grief matters.  How you allow your children to grieve matters.  How you react to your children's grief matters.  I don't have a lot of advice.  Other than as someone who grieves.  Don't tell them they are ok.  Don't give them platitudes.  Don't tell them they should be grateful.   Don't tell them you understand.  Unless you've lost your family, your culture, your language, your country, and everything you know.  In that case, relate all you want to.  But most adoptive parents have no ability to understand what their children have lost. Acknowledge that.  Be sorry, but leave pity alone.  Don't leave your children alone in their grief.  Be present in it with them.  Be strong enough to stay.  Don't turn away.  Don't take it personal.  Cry.  With them and for them.  Tell them their story is sad, and breaks your heart too. And mostly, pray.  Pray with them.  Pray God's word (Psalm 116) over them as they fall apart.  Hold them when they will let you, and sometimes even when they won't.  And pray some more.

-Grief heals.  This is the hardest to accept.  When grief happens, and it is walked through, there is healing.  When you stay put, and let the grief come, wash over, and the tide to go out, there will be healing.  It is hard.   It's hard to choose grief.  It's hard to go walking into the water, fearing you might drown.  But you won't.  You don't.  You come out having one less wave to get to healing.  And while healing is a life long process, it does get better.  Teach your children to grieve.  Speak to them about it.  Name the process.  Name the jumbled up emotions.  Give them permission to miss and long for their losses.  Have compassion for their story, long after they've come home and transition is over.   Accept that your child comes with grief.  Long term, not just in transition.  It may leave for awhile, but you can bet on seeing that shore line again. and again. and again.

Here is the amazing thing.  Grief is a great teacher about life.  And God will slowly begin to bind up the broken places.  He has recently brought me woman to start to fill some of those spaces left void without my Mom.  11 years of grief came first.  In part, my own stubborn desire to hold onto grief in lieu of my mom, kept me from being open to those relationships. In part, I just had to go through the grief process to this place of healing.    And that is my prayer for my children.  And my job.  To walk through the grief.  To allow the pain of grief to lead to healing.