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Last month I wrote two posts on Life Books. The first on why we have them and the second, different ways to make them. I have to tell you that shortly after writing those, within a week actually, I had to put my money where my mouth was and it was hard to do.
As I had mentioned, I view Life Books as a tool to help my girls with their grieving and a way to stay connected with their first few years. My girls sleep with them under their pillows and look at them frequently. This makes me happy. Like I did the right thing in making them and allowing them to hold on to them (my photo albums and scrapbooks tend to be put up high, for very good reason!)
Shortly after my posts were made, Enu had a fit. A very long and particularly destructive one. It started over something mundane (sent to her room for throwing a shoe at her sister) and escalated into a huge grief-fest. I was fortunate that my mom had just picked up the other three kids, as my Hubby was working late that evening.
When I heard things being thrown I went upstairs. She was up on her top bunk ripping the sheets and blankets off and throwing them on the floor, then she moved to the top of her wardrobe, which acts as a end table for her. She tossed it all on the floor. It gets worse. As she reached for her Ethiopian Memory Basket, I knew she was going to do some harsh things.
* FYI I don’t want you to think I am blasé about this. I hate it when these fits occur with my whole being. I also know that she is grieving and has to get it out somehow. These episodes happen less frequently now (months apart) but seem to be more intense when they do happen.
Her Ethiopian Memory Basket, as we have christened them, holds pictures, scarves and a cross from Ethiopia. Also a small jar of water from Awash Falls, Ethiopia. An Olympic Coke can decorated in Amharic from the 2008 Olympic series also is in the basket. Both the water and the coke went all over the floor. I always knew this would be a possibility, but I wanted the girls to have them close.
These things I handled well. I stayed in her room and made sure she was safe as she threw things. This made her even more mad, but I was worried about her. Especially when she was trying to detach her ladder from her bed. I could picture it going through a window.
As she calmed down and ran out of things to throw. I gathered up her Ethiopian stuff and put it back in the basket. She screamed at me to give her the Life Book. I told her that I was afraid of what she was going to do with it. She looked at me with these intense eyes, full of fury and said,”It’s mine, I want it.” I handed it to her and said, “Your right. It is yours.” She then started with the shredding of pages.
At this point, I am exhausted and feeling some self pity I might add. I ended up in the back of my closet (very movie like, I know) crying to myself. I was so mad at her for destroying her book. I just knew she was going to regret it soon and be sad about her actions. Then, after my cry had done its job, I felt renewed and went back into her room.
She was right. It was her book. Her life story. She just wasn’t really happy with the story. She wanted to go home to Ethiopia and live in those pictures. She didn’t want our family as it is now, to ever have happened. She cannot do anything about the past. She cannot bring her mom back. She cannot make her dad well again. She cannot leave her new family. But she does have the power in her seven year old body to demonstrate her loss. She can rip out all of the pictures of her life book with her new family in them, and this is what she did. After it was all over I looked through her mangled book. Every picture of our adoption day on was out of it. Even the pictures with just her in them. If it was about this new life, it was gone. The only thing left was her pictures of Ethiopia from before the life-changing event of adoption.
So that you don’t think bad of my darling girl, or change your mind about older child adoption I have to tell you how this fit ended. It ended like all other upsets. She just surrendered to her exhaustion. She went limp in my arms and hugged me. She couldn’t even talk or cry anymore. I rocked her and told her how I loved her. Told her I was sorry that she had been through so much. I agreed with her that this wasn’t fair. I prayed with her and sang hymns as I didn’t trust myself to say the right thing. After some time, Hubby came home and I updated him on the events and stresses. Enu cleaned up her room without being told to.
Her Life Book went back under her pillow. She hasn’t said a word about it or voiced that she wants a new one. I think she “re-wrote” the story as she wished it would have been and that is what she needs right now.
So, I had to mean what I had written earlier. The Life Book is a tool, not a photo album or scrapbook. A tool, that if used properly can help heal a broken heart.
Mandy,
Sorry you had to go through this painful experience, but it sounds like you handled it great. Thanks for your willingness to share your experiences, even the difficult ones. I always enjoy reading your blogs, as our family dynamics are similar, but with boys! We have two biological sons, ages 5 & 3 yrs, and just recently adopted two Ugandan brothers, age 6 & 3. Reading your posts gives me some insight into some of what we are or will be going through. Thanks!