Time has gotten away from me. Writing is cathartic, but
lately there hasn’t been much time for it. Things have slowed down (probably
only for the week, but I’ll take it), and so – while I have a chance – the November
edition. The thankful, and grateful, and not-as-sad edition.
I spend all this time remembering, mourning, thinking, and
talking about my children over this past year, and the relationship we had, and
the joy and pain that that brought me. And that was a major part of my year. It
definitely made up the bulk of it. But while remembering my children, and
laughing about their unique mannerisms, and mourning not having them, I have
neglected to include in that emotional formula the role my coparents had on me.
In truth, they are the sole and only reason I made it through this last year of
turmoil. They were my supporters, my encouragers, my sympathizers and my
allies. They were my comic relief and my shoulder to cry on. When I had a
difficult day with one of our kids, they were the ones I took it out on, and
they were the ones who didn’t hold that against me. When I lost a kid, WE lost
a kid, and we traveled that road of mourning together. They are the only ones
who also laugh hysterically at the antics of our children, or who cried tears
of happiness over their success. Because they have also been on this journey
with me from the first day that child came to our house. We navigated the
smoke-and-mirror world of the foster system together. Not very well, not
without setbacks, and tears, and no small dose of frustration, but we did it.
Together. And so, when I left at the end of June, I absolutely mourned leaving
my kids, but I also mourned leaving my coparents. My sisterwives.
Maybe you have or are raising a child with someone, and know
how reliant you become on that other person during the experience. Maybe you
have a sibling, and know that you would do anything for them while simultaneous
wanting to rip their head off sometimes. Or maybe you have a best friend, who
you can tell anything to. Who you know would never judge you. Who will always
be on your side, even when your side is wrong. Maybe you are one of those lucky
ones, whose sibling (or significant other) is simultaneously your best friend. I
was blessed in that the people I parented with became my best friends, and felt
like my siblings. They were my husband, wife, sister, friend and colleague all
rolled into one (well, four) packages. They were all I had, and luckily for me,
they were all I needed to make this past year a memorable and positive and
heart-filling one. Which made our departure from each other into things unknown
all the harder.
One of the hardest and scariest things about moving on is
the chance that you are doing it at the expense of what you have NOW. The fear
of forgetting is so, so real. Me forgetting someone, or someone forgetting me.
The fear that I’m messing up a good thing, and everything else will always lack
in comparison. There are tons of country songs written about it, I’m sure. But
it was a huge weight on my shoulders as I left the world of foster care to
enter the one of medicine. These people, this family that we had created, were
such a huge part of my life, and suddenly we were on opposite sides of the country,
doing opposite things with our lives. Maybe I need to have a little more faith
in the connections that I forge, and in the family that we created. I didn’t
doubt them because they weren’t real. Instead I doubted my ability to maintain
their realness as we moved forward. Separately. I feared that because our lives
were going to be so different, we wouldn’t know how to bridge that gap anymore.
That we wouldn’t have anything else to talk about except for what was, and that
would eventually dry out too. That once we were no longer raising kids
together, we would have nothing in common.
5 months have passed, which seems like ages even though I know it's not. 5 months since I said my tearful goodbyes to my
children, my home, my sisterwives, my family. Since I took that scary step
forward. One is still in Texas, one in DC, one in Maine, and one in California.
It feels like we are worlds apart. And yet… our conversations haven’t run dry.
We talk about the past, because it helps us cope. It helps us remember. But we
also talk about our present, and our futures. Long distance relationships are
hard – romantic or not. But we’re making it work.
So, as this is the month of Thanksgiving, thank you, to the four of you. You know who
you are. Thank you for making my experience unforgettable. Thank you for
getting me through it. Thank you for the shared cries and uncontrollable
laughs. For the commiserating over how little control we had, and all of our
pent up frustrations. Thank you for teaching me so, so much about love and
parenting. Thank you for the icing fights, and sprinkler parties, and
wrestling, and poop talk. Thank you for being my family on the holidays. And
for being my family this whole year. But most of all, thank you for helping me
maintain the special bonds that we have formed together. Thank you for continuing to be my family, and my
friends, now that our paths are separate. I’ll see you in March. XOXO
"Together or apart, no matter how far... We go on together" - Ann Brashares
