My Hidden Walmart Blessing

It was October 20th, a Saturday afternoon.  I had just waken up from sleeping after working the nightshift.  I dropped my son Bubba Doo, off at a school function and went to the local Walmart to buy a rake.  The trees around my townhome have been shedding thier leaves and I was wanting to rake the leaves and clean the front flower bed so that I could plant tulip bulbs.  I went into Walmart and picked out the rake I wanted to purchase.  I went to get in line but the lines were really long.  As I looked at the long lines at the check out counters, I reminded myself about why I don't go to Walmart on Saturdays.  I didn't know at that moment, but was about to be reminded of another reason why I don't go to Walmart during peak times.  I proceeded to get in the speedy check out line so I could pay for my rake.  As I was standing in the middle of the aisle, a twelve year old tall thin blond haired boy walked by.   I was still tired and waking up and my mind was wondering.  As the boy walked by, I smiled to myself and thought how he was someone's baby and how our children grow to become slightly awkward before blossoming into beautiful adults.  Then I noticed a tall thin blond woman walk by and she had the same step in her walk as the twelve year old boy.  I thought she must be his Mom.  The woman paused by the large flat screen TV that was on display and bent down to talk to what I assumed was a child.  After a minute, the woman looked up and stared right at me.  I could not believe my eyes.  It was Bugga Boo's foster mother, Julie.  I just froze where I was trying to not show any emotions.  My heart was pounding in my chest and I felt the biggest lump in my throat. 

As I stood in line, I reminded myself that I had not done anything wrong.  I had every right to be in Walmart buying a rake.  I thought to myself  "don't cry."  You see I had cried in court and been told by the Guardian Ad Litem on more than one occasion that it was inappropriate to cry in front of your children.  I had been reprimanded in court for being in tears and told that was the reason the GAL requested that I have supervised visitation with my children.  All I could think was "Don't Cry!"  So I reminded myself to breathe and as I looked up I saw Julie leaving Walmart with the twelve year old boy, a six year old blond haired boy and Bugga Boo.  Bugga Boo had placed his jacket over his head and was walking between Julie and the twelve year old boy.  Bugga Boo was in shorts and I could totally recognize his legs and his walk.  A mother never forgets how her child looks and how he walks.  I then noticed some of his dark hair sticking out from under the jacket.  I was in disbelief.  I understood why they would leave Walmart, but what I didn't understand is why Bugga Boo had a jacket over his head.  Was Julie trying to sneak him out of Walmart without me seeing him?  Did Julie think I would hurt Bugga Boo?   Was Julie trying to protect Bugga Boo?  What did Julie think she needed to protect him from?  

After they left Walmart, I stood in line thinking about how I wish I could have ran up to Bugga Boo and hugged him.  My heart was broken.  I wanted to see him, touch him, talk to him and ask him how he was doing.  I wanted to smell him again.  I wanted to tell him how tall he had gotten and how much he had grown, since I last saw him on April 5th.  As much as I wanted to do those things, I knew I couldn't.  Instead, I stood in line wondering if anyone around me could tell how emotional I was and if it was noticable how hard my heart was pounding.  I looked up as the line moved forward and saw the six year old blond boy walk by the cash register and smile.  He looked right at me so I smiled back at him.  I thought to myself  "he must know I am Bugga Boo's Mom and he wants to know what I look like."  I had to wait in line about another six minutes before it was my turn to pay for the rake.  During those minutes, the little blond boy walked by the register and smiled two more times and so I smiled back.   It was finally my turn at the register and I paid for my rake and left Walmart.  My legs felt like they weighed one hundred pounds each and my heart was still racing and pounding.  As I walked across the parking lot to my car, I could see Julie three rows over standing by a minivan.  I knew they must be waiting for me to leave so that they could go back into Walmart. 

I got in my car and tears welled up in my eyes.  I just sat there and started crying.  I had just seen my baby and I couldn't even give him a hug.  I realized that Bugga Boo must have seen me and sent the twelve year old boy to get Julie.  Then I wondered who's idea it was to put the jacket over Bugga Boo's head?  Did they think they had gotten out of Walmart without me realizing Bugga Boo was there?  Why did the State place Bugga Boo in a foster home in our small town?  Did Julie really believe that I would hurt Bugga Boo?  Did Bugga Boo miss me?  Did Bugga Boo want to talk to me?  Did Bugga Boo hate me?  Immediately, I thought "of course he does."  What child wouldn't hate their mother if she voluntarily placed them in foster care?  It doesn't matter what the reason is?  As a mother, I had done the unthinkable!  I had placed my baby in foster care and then relinquished my parental rights.  I had abandoned him.  I had betrayed him and what being a mother is.  A mother sticks by her baby no matter what.  Bugga Boo has every right to HATE me!  I HATE me!!!!

Then I reminded myself that my baby boy was the same little boy who was so busy playing in the courthouse and seemed totally disconnected from the fact that his mother was relinquishing her parental rights.  He had been told I would no longer be his Mom.  I had already said my "goodbye" in therapy.  A goodbye that was met with his indifference.  He was totally detached from what was happening.  Would Bugga Boo ever understand that it was the Guardian Ad Litem that restricted my visitation with him?  Was he getting the help he needs?   Then I reminded myself of what he had been told by the State.  DCFS had told Bugga Boo he was in foster care because I was learning to be a better mommy.  A BETTER Mommy!  SERIOUSLY...  I don't know how I could have been a better Mommy.  I LOVED my son.  I wanted to HELP my son.  I tried to HELP my son.  I had my son in early intervention services for developmental delays until he was three years old.  When I thought he might be having seizures, I took him to a neurologist.  Since his sister had seizures he had a 24 hour EEG at Primary Children's Medical Center and an MRI of his brain.  At age three, he started receiving speech therapy when it was identified that he was having articulation and speech problems.  At age four, I had him evaluated by an occupational therapist per the recommendation of his first neuropsychiatric evaluation.   He was diagnosed with a Sensory Modulation Disorder.  I started taking him to weekly OT therapy sessions for this.  He received a psychiatry evaluation for anger issues when he was four years old.  He was tried on medications for ADHD and started in weekly play therapy.  He had an IEP for speech when he started school.   I had done everything I could to protect him from being abused by his sister.  I had placed her in emergency respite when her rages would flare and her behavior imposed a threat to his emotional or physical well being.  I had LOVED him, Nurtured him, Taken care of him, Played with him and Read to him.  We had shared our special times together when he would sit next to me in my rocker recliner and we would watch TV.   I would carry him to bed when he fell asleep and kiss him gently on his cheek as I tucked him in bed. 

When I found poop smeared all over the toilet and bathroom walls, I did not get angry or scream.  I reminded Bugga Boo to be more careful when he wiped and then I would clean up the bathroom.   When poop started showing up on the walls in the hallway and other rooms in the house, I cleaned it up and consulted his therapist.  I asked Bugga Boo, "why are you smeaing your poop on the wall?"  Bugga Boo said, "I didn't smear my poop on the wall."  Bugga Boo told me me he drew on the wall with water when he was mad.  So I then asked, "well what is the brown stuff?"  He smiled and said "all right, it is my poop."  I did not yell, get angry or punish him.  I tried to find out what was going on.  What was he angry about?  When I discovered my oldest son's hamster was dead, I got a sick feeling Bugga Boo might have been involved.  Again, I talked to his therapist about what my suspicions were.  Initially, she did not believe that he had anything to do with the hamster's death.  After that therapy session, she told me he definitely had something to do with the hamster's death.  I was devastated.  Why would he Bugga Boo hurt the hamster?  He was eight years old.  He knew better than that.  He hadn't been raised to be mean to animals.  I tried to make sense of all of this.   I kept going to therapy each week. 

Six months later, my oldest son called me at work very upset to tell me his cat Arnold, had a swollen eye with stuff draining out of it.  I got a sick feeling on the phone, but told Bubba Doo that Arnold just might have an eye infection and we would take him to the vet in the morning when I got home.  After I got off the phone with my oldest son, I went into the bathroom at work and threw up.  The next morning Bubba Doo and I took Arnold to the vet and she informed us that Arnold did not have an eye infection.  Arnold had sustained corneal damage to his right eye from trauma.  From what she could tell, his eye had been poked or stabbed with something.  I thought I was going to throw up again.  Bubba Doo looked at me and said "Mom, I think Bugga Boo did this.  I saw him around Arnold before his eye was swollen."  The vet warned us that Arnold could loose his eye.  We took Arnold home and had to place drops in his eye three times a day.   That day was December 24th, Christmas Eve.  My heart was broken because I realized my home was not safe and even my pets weren't safe......   

I tried talking to Bugga Boo, but was very careful to not accuse him and to see if maybe Arnold had been hurt accidentally.  Bugga Boo just laughed.  There had been no accident.  Bugga Boo showed no empathy or remorse.  For the next four days, everytime we put drops in Arnold's eye Bugga Boo would laugh.  I would look at Bugga Boo and remind him that Arnold was hurt and it was not funny.  He would just laugh and laugh.  It was on December 28, 2011, at the advice of my attorney that I placed Bugga Boo in foster care.  I had already been down this route with my daughter.  Even with two insurances, I could not get residential care for my son.  The cost for residential care is $10,000 to $12,000 a month.  I could not afford that.  I had found one place that charged $6,000 a month, but I still could not afford that either.  That was more money than what I made in a month and I had two children who needed residential care.  Yes, I got a monthly adoption subsidy but the whole month's subsidy would not even pay for two days of residential care.  I had a responsibility as Bugga Boo's Mom to do what I needed to do to get him help.  It was no OK for him to hurt or kill the family pets......

As I drove away from Walmart on that Saturday, I allowed myself to grieve the loss of my youngest son.  I reminded myself that I had relinquished my parental rights so that he could get the help I was not able to provide for him.  I want him to know  "I LOVE HIM" and want him to be Happy and Healthy.  I know he is hurt, but it was NEVER my intent to hurt him.  Bugga Boo, I am so Sorry that I could not provide for you what you needed!!  I remind myself that Bugga Boo was doing OK and he had grown.   As I allow myself to grieve the loss of my son, I also take a minute to "Thank God" for that Hidden Walmart Blessing.    I had been given a very special opportunity to see my son just one more time.......

A Mother's Broken Heart.....

This has been a very difficult year for me.  Probably the worst year in my life.  You see my three youngest children are adopted.  I did not set out to adopt three children, especially since I am a single Mom.  I started out doing legal risk foster care for the State of Utah.  I wanted to help a child and possibly adopt if the opportunity came along.  Then, after I adopted my oldest son his birth mother continued to abuse drugs and have more babies.  The State approached me about fostering and adopting his younger siblings.  When I got the call about my youngest daughter, I was in shock.  I could not believe that I was being asked to foster and possibly adopt if it went that way.  I asked for a couple of days to think about it.  I am one person.  Could I afford two children on my own?  Did I have enough time for two children?  Would it be fair to each child to adopt a second child?  How would my son feel when he got older and found out I did not adopt his sister when I could have?  Seems really shallow to not foster or adopt a second child because of money?  After two days of struggling, I made the decision to foster and place it in God's hands.  I do believe in God even though I am not overly religious.   I also believe that there is a reason or purpose for what happens even if we don't understand why something is happening at the time.  I believe I have to place my trust in God and follow my heart... 

I love my children and did the best I could do as a single working mother with limited resources.  Around age four my daughter started have serious issues.  She was diagnosed with seizures, ADHD, ODD, depression, anxiety and learning disabilities.  I jumped in and did everything I could to help.  We saw neurologists, therapists, psychiatrists, psychologists, mental health professionals and did all kinds of testing from EEG's, MRI's and multiple neuropsychiatric evaluations.  Matter of fact, we did over seven years of weekly or biweekly therapy with no improvement.  She had one residential treatment center stay at age 5, three psychiatric hospitalizations and multiple hospitalizations and ER visits for seizures as well as behavior.  My daughter wanted to kill her brothers.  Her first residential stay was when she tried to strangle her older brother in the middle of the night while we were sleeping.  I had never dealt or seen behavior like this but tried to be as proactive as I could be to get her the help she needed.  Nothing seemed to help.  My home was NOT safe.  The boys did not feel safe.  I did not feel safe.  We were all suffering from PTSD from dealing with her trauma. 

My oldest son felt that I was not holding her accountable for her behavior.  How could I?  She would rage and destroy our home.  She tore a dresser apart, she puts holes in the walls, she would become violent, hit, kick, bite and spit at her brothers.  She wanted to be in control.   She wanted to be the boss and she wanted everything HER way.  She could rage for hours.  I loved her, but nothing seemed to help and the older she got the more unsafe our home became.   I would lay in bed and not be able to sleep.  If she got up in the middle of the night I would be afraid of what she might do.  Would she try to hurt one of her brothers?  All of the mental health professionals we had seen could not even agree on a diagnosis or what I needed to do with her behavior.  I was exhausted, but kept trying.  I sold my home, quit my job, moved out of State trying to get her the appropriate help.  I did get her help with her siezures but could not get appropriate mental health services.  When I needed to move back to Utah, I sold my home again, quit another job and moved back to get her mental health services.   I did not ignore her behavior.  I loved her.  She was my baby girl.  I wanted to help her, however the safety in my home kept deteriorating.  Finally, in August 2010 she was hospitalized after trying to hurt her little brother.  She was diagnosed with Reactive Attachment Disorder.   I was devastated.  I could not take her home.  The violence would escalate again.  I made one of the hardest decisions I have ever made.  I refused to take my daughter home from the hospital.  I had a responsibility to my other two children.  I had them to think about.  Children's Protective Services was contacted and my daughter went into Foster Care.  That day was August 24, 2010. 

I continued to do everything I could to advocate for my daughter even while she was in Foster Care.  I attended all meetings, did weekly visits, attended therapy with her, helped transport to therapy and doctors visits, provided clothing, hair cuts and Halloween costumes.  I saw her at least once a week and usually twice a week.  My heart was broken, but I had two more children to protect.  When my daughter spent the first six months in foster care with no therapy, I asked for a meeting and questioned how she would get better with no therapy.  We had been doing weekly and biweekly therapy in my home for seven years.  I got alot of excuses, but no real answers.   Turns out that the foster family was not available to transport her to therapy, so I stepped up and did the transporting.  It wasn't always easy either.  There were times she had screaming melt downs, kick the dash of my car, was rude and offensive to the workers who were just trying to help her.  It seems I always saw the worst of her behavior.  I continued to be there for my daughter and do everything that was physically and emotionally possible for me to do.

It was during this time, that my youngest son stepped up his behavior.  I had started him in counseling at age 4 for his temper.  He was extremely quick to anger and could have melt downs.  When he was angry he was destructive.  He would intentionally break or destroy things.  He was diagnosed with ADHD, however just like his sister the medications that were prescribed did not help.  His behavior continued to escalate.  He wanted to be in control.  He wanted everything his way.  He was oppositional and no matter what I did he became more angry.  He had behavior that my daughter had not even demonstrated.  He peed down the heating vents in our home, smeared his poop on the walls, was responsible for death of my oldest son's hamster and intentionally injured our cat's eye.  I came to the painful realization again that my home was still NOT safe.  My youngest son was also diagnosed with Reactive Attachment Disorder.   I was devastated.  I LOVE my children, I provided for them, I did not neglect them or abuse them.  I tried to be the best mother I could be, but the behavior kept getting worse.   I realize I am not perfect and I am sure I could have done some things better, but I feel certain that my parenting is not the reason my children have these issues.  It was difficult to admit to myself, but my pets weren't even safe in my home. 

In 2011, I stepped down from a manager position at work to free up more time for my children.  Later that year when I realized working full-time did not leave me the time I needed for everything, I cut back to part-time and had to purchase COBRA insurance for myself.  I tried to look at all sides of everything and do what I felt would give my children the best chance to get better and to keep my family together.   It seemed the harder I tried the worse things got.  I contacted the State and found out there was no real help for adoptive parents.  My children were on my insurance and had Medicaid and I still could not get them in residential care as it was no longer covered by insurance.  The post adopt workers at the State told me that my only resource was foster care.   What do I do?  I still have my oldest son to protect?  I don't think it is a good sign when a child kills a family pet or injures a pet intentionally.  Should I just look the other way and act like the behavior is not happening?   Don't I have a responsibility as his mother to get my youngest son the help he needs?  What do I do when I can't get the proper help even with two insurances?   I had already been down this road once.  On December 28, 2011, my youngest son was placed in Foster Care.

It was in January of this year that things with the State got very adversarial.  I was told that is was obvious to the State that since I had to place two children in State custody that I must be the problem.  I was only allowed supervised visits with my youngest son.  In addition, I was not allowed to know the foster parent's address or phone number and could not contact them except my email.  I could have no phone contact with my son.  I did one supervised visit and was screamed at by the worker for answering my son's question about why he was in Foster Care.  I told my son "it is not Ok for you to hurt or injure the animals."  I left that visit and cried all the way home.  I later found out that my son had been told he was in foster care because I needed to learn how to be a better mother.  I was being treated like I was an abusive parent when all I had tried to do was love my children and get them the help they need.  My oldest daughter did not have these issues and my oldest son did not have these issues.  The stress of all of this was taking it's toll on me emotionally and physically.   I got very sick in February.  I ended up hospitalized three different times.  I was dehydrated and had low potassium, had a septic gall bladder removed, suffered an acute lung injury after surgery and then a week later broke out with shingles.  I was out of work for almost two months.  I went home on oxygen.  I slowly came to the realization while I was recuperating that I did not have the emotional and physical strength to continue in this adversarial role with the State.  I LOVED my children but I did not have the appropriate resources to get them the help they need.  I was told that they were adoptable.  I tried talking to the State and my attorney advised that it would get much worse before it would get any better in regards to the State.  Against my attorney's advice, I made the decision to relinquish my parental rights.  I had several friends try to talk me out of my decision to relinquish.  I knew what I was doing was not what most parents would do, however I still had another child to raise and myself to think of.  I was TIRED.  The more I tried to LOVE my children the more their unsafe behavior escalated.  I was truly in a no win situation. 

On April 5, 2012, I relinquished my parental rights to my two youngest children.   I had to admit to myself that I did not have the emotional strength to continue this adversarial relationship with the State.  If they are adoptable, then I need to be out of the picture.  No family is going to want to adopt them if I am still their mother.  Despite what the State and other people may think, I do LOVE my children.  I have always LOVED my children.  I will NEVER stop loving my children.  I want what is best for them.  I want more than anything for them to get the help they need that I am unable to provide.  I am only one person and I can't do it all.  I tried, but I am limited.  This is about LOVE.   This is about loving them enough to want what is best for them.   Yah Yah and Bugga Boo you may never understand but I do LOVE you both and want you both to be happy and healthy.   There is an empty place in my heart but I will never forget you.  I have placed you in God's hands and I pray everyday that he watch over you both and protect you both.   I pray someday you will forgive me and possibly understand.  My Mother's Heart is Broken and now we must all try to heal......