What makes a successful adoption?

In my limited experience, this is a fairly complicated answer. For me, I fell in love with the boys who were placed with me immediately. They felt as much mine as any naturally born child could have. Adoption, for them, probably felt the same because they were always mine in their minds, having entered the foster care system at the age of eighteen months, with the final adoption taking place ten days short of two years later. Most, if not all their memories were with me and my extended family. For me, however, it was the greatest relief I have ever experienced. Because, they were my children in every way other than biologically, and mere months before the finalization of the adoption, I was being told that I would need to work with the biological father on a plan for potentially transitioning the boys back to him. This was legally required, and, by all rights, a successful conclusion to a foster case. But, nothing in my heart agreed with that outcome. To take that another step, expressing these concerns can be viewed as a barrier to reunification and grounds for removal, in and of itself. You, as a foster parent, have no rights. At least not in the legal sense of what a biological parent has, whether qualified or not. And that makes adoption through foster care an extremely stressful process. When you, as a parent, would throw yourself into traffic to protect your child, but you have to willingly give that child back to a parent who has made minimal effort to change the behaviors that lost him or her their children in the first place, it is difficult.

But, so as not to get too far from the root of the question, the answer to what makes a successful adoption is a willingness to endure anything you may encounter during the process, without allowing your fears to rob the child of the short time they are able to simply be children, free from the worry of separation, hunger, abuse, neglect, or whatever other unique situation landed them in your care. It is your job to shoulder every ounce of it, and be as forthcoming, outspoken or protective as you are legally aloud, without them knowing their future was ever uncertain. When the adoption is actually finalized, not a thing will change for them, but everything will change for you.  Because your biggest fear will have been alleviated to make room for new ones shared by every loving, responsible parent on the planet.

What advice would you give foster parents when making the decision to adopt?

Do it. Without a second’s worth of uncertainty. If you’ve made the decision to foster children and your motives were, in fact, to complete your family and give a child who was dealt a lousy hand, a chance at a better life, then do it. I had countless people offer opinions ranging from, “What an amazing person you are. I could never do that”, to, “Foster kids are problematic and you are going to regret it.” Both, by the way, are worthless. Taking in foster children does not make you Mother Teresa and foster kids are not inherently problematic. If you’re doing it to be considered for a special honor, donate a kidney instead. It’s easier. If you think you’re a savior going to set a bad kid straight, then talk to a therapist and deal with your hero complex, self-righteous indignation, or repressed childhood memories. This is hard. It’s forever. You are not responsible for whatever brought them into your life, but now that they are, you are absolutely responsible for what happens next. Adoption gives you the opportunity to see this through to the end. It is the most personally rewarding and simultaneously difficult thing you will likely ever do. But, from the bottom of my heart, it is worth every second of struggle, uncertainty, and pain. And, to walk my previous statement back just a little, your willingness does, in my opinion, make you uniquely qualified for this privilege. You will not be perfect. You will second guess yourself and compare the job you’re doing to everyone else’s experience.  My advice is, let your child see you struggle. They have likely never seen anyone do that for them. It is through your imperfections that a child learns to accept their own imperfections, and still know they are valuable. They also learn how to work through a struggle as a member of a family.

What advice would you give perspective adoptive parents?

I know many people who have had dozens of foster children and never had the opportunity to adopt. I, conversely, was fortunate to be able to adopt my first placement, a set of identical twin boys. Going through an adoption agency is similar to visiting a Build-A-Bear at your local mall. You can be choosy, but so can the parents who are placing their child up for adoption. It is also prohibitively expensive for a lot of people. I think adoption is great, however you choose to go about it. A lot of people will tell you that going into foster care for the purpose of adoption is a terrible idea. With that said, even the system will tell you that the primary goal of Social Services is reunification. As it should be. Personally, I would change the amount of effort and time that goes into meeting this goal, but it is primarily an avenue to remove a child from a dangerous environment so that the parent(s) can fix the issue. There needs to be ample opportunity for them to get their child back. Now, I will preface my next statement with: THIS IS MY PERSONAL OPINION AND NOT THE OPINION OF SOCIAL SERVICES, CHILD WELFARE SERVICES, STATE ADOPTIONS OR THE STATE OF CALIFORNIA. It seems to me that California laws pander to the lowest common denominator in society, meaning that the more an individual messes up, the more time and chances they are given, and the more resources get invested into them. As a perspective adoptive parent, this can feel like the laws are written to benefit the parents, not the children. To whatever extent that “feeling” is or is not accurate, will vary based upon the circumstances surrounding each unique case.

Again, to get back to the heart of the question, my advice for perspective adoptive parents is this: Play the odds. If I was a mathematician, I would break down the odds for what it took for me to get to a place in my own life where this became a decision I was ready to make for myself and get approved at the exact time that a set of twin boys entered the system, and were ultimately a successful adoption. The odds of birthing twins is something like 1 in 30. The chance of a set of twins becoming available for adoption is probably somewhere in the vicinity of 1 in 5000. Then factor into that all the things that happened for me to make these decisions at the exact moments I needed to, and you’re probably somewhere closer to 1 in 500,000. I have no idea. In may be half that or ten times that. I failed statistics. But if you’re wondering if you should put yourself in a position where the odds are stacked against you, my answer is, yes. Absolutely. Make the decision and metaphorically burn the ships. It can and does happen for people just like you and me, every day in this state. It takes a leap of faith and a willingness to endure setbacks and disappointments, but my advice is to confidently take that step and ignore the advice of those around you who have never or will never do anything beyond what makes mathematical sense to them or takes minimal effort or personal risk. History is written by people who defied the odds. I am one of them. You can be, too. But no one has ever had a statue erected of them for their good intentions and, in my opinion, action is the most defining, replicable quality that separates great people from average ones.

Until next time…

On the 29th day of the 10th month of 2019, at 11:30 AM, Cole Daniel Scott and Thomas James Stephen became the newest official members of my family. But, through it all, this family has expanded to include the number of people who have helped to make all of this possible and those close friends who have supported me through all the twists and turns in this journey. People often ask if it feels good to have helped reshape a child’s future. The simple answer is, of course it does. Unless you’re a sociopath, that should always be the answer. That is always a great feeling. But I didn’t start out with the motive of saving a child, or, in my case, children. I set out on this journey from a place of desperation and narcissistic navel-gazing. Scared that I would die without ever having the privilege of being a dad. What I set out to do was prove to myself that no one had the power to decide that for me, but me. What I did was reshaped the lives of everyone who has ever mattered to me. None more than my own.

From the first day the boys were placed with me, November 10th, 2017, they felt like my kids. One year later, the possibility of reunification was barreling down on me like a rabid dog. There’s nothing quite like looking at two children whom you would jump in front of traffic to protect, while listening to someone telling you that it is necessary to start working on a plan for transitioning them back to their biological parent, which will surely be a death sentence. Metaphorically, hopefully, but not necessarily. Vision clouding as the blood drains from your face, wondering if it had just been a reprieve and everything you’d been through together would leave the most confusing and gaping hole in their short lives, to date.

That was when I knew for sure that I was capable of extreme violence against another human being. But my rage was against an invisible adversary. It was against an imperfect system in an even less perfect world, and for that, there would be no bloodshed. It is an intangible beast for whom men position themselves, fruitlessly, at her reigns, only to be, themselves, devoured by the very power they seek to wield.

Fear is the fuel that feeds evil deeds. It has been said that people do nothing, but to change the way that they feel at a given moment. Terrible to think that everyone, stripped of there convictions, can be boiled down to this one trait in common. From the addict to the CEO; from the slave to the King he serves. All responding, godlessly, mindlessly, instinctively to the baser needs all mankind shares. And there is no more motivating a feeling than the fear of losing a child. It will bring the proudest warrior to his knees and the weakest coward to pick up a sword and take a life. Be it another; be it his own.

Nothing in any foster parenting book will ever prepare you for this reality.

But it’s still worth the fight. It’s worth it for even a glimpse of the light in a child’s eyes as he or she looks up at you with total trust and childlike innocence and says, “Help me, Daddy.”

Well, today, I got to witness judicial power grant me the rights of a father to do just that for two boys who have shared my home, my life, and now share my name for as long as the good Lord will allow. This is the happiest I imagine I will ever be in this life, and I have never felt less worthy of the gift I’ve been given. But I promise you this: I will spend every day of the rest of my life trying to earn it.

And, not just that, but to stare humility in the face as I think about the impact various people have had along the way. I’d like to name a few now:

To my ex-fiance, Anna. Thank you for your honesty. Had you given me what I wanted with you, I would never have experienced the pain of the last two years, which shaped me into the man, and, more importantly, the father I am today.

To my mother who showed me what a parent’s love looked like from the very first seconds of my life. A woman who has sacrificed more for me than I can ever fully comprehend.

To my sister, Ashley, who has given nearly every one of her days off to the care of my children so I can still maintain my employment. A person who has been as much as a mother figure as she’s been an aunt.

To the rest of my family, who have embraced these children as though they were my own blood from the very moment I welcomed them into our lives, terrified and overwhelmed.

To Daniel, whose name my son now carries, for being the unshakable rock who could always talk me off of any emotional ledge and offer a word of reason and an unwavering friendship that is, truly, one in a billion. There are no words to express the value you carry in my life. And, to your beautiful family who gave me the honor of calling me family and supporting me through this process.

To Rose, for being the big sister they have grown to adore. You are a beautiful person, inside and out.

To my friends, whom I nearly forgot to mention because, in my mind, they were covered under, family. You are all amazing. You are always there for me. I hope that I have been that kind friend to each one of you. Loyalty is a trait I value at the highest level. Thank you for yours; You, in turn, have mine.

To my employer, who has graciously allowed me times of absence from work to handle sicknesses, appointments, and exhaustion. Thank you for your generosity!

To the Social Services Dept. and my State Adoptions worker. From licensing to adoption, you are all incredible people with the hardest job on the planet. Thank you for dealing with my neurotic moments and for your support through it all. I feel a little sad that it’s over, but as we part ways, know that you do so with my eternal gratitude and respect.

To the biological father of my boys. Thank you for the job you did for the time you did it. I don’t take for granted the fact that without you, there is no us. Your boys will be great men because you gave them a chance at a life you knew you couldn’t provide. For that, I thank you. And, one day, these boys will as well. I wish you all the best!

To the family whose name they carry no longer. Please know that it is with no disrespect that I have taken the actions I have to insulate them from aspects of your lives. I have one job, and I intend to do it until my dying breath. Thank you for respecting the extremely difficult boundaries I’ve set, and for recognizing that they are non-negotiable. But they are not without mercy, either. You will always have access, within those boundaries, to have a relationship with them. In time, maybe those boundaries will loosen. But you, better than anyone, can appreciate the power of influence and example. You, ****, made one of the most difficult decisions any (relationship omitted) can make, and, because of that decision, you are never going to be shut out of their lives. But this has to be on my terms. That’s the only way this works.

And, finally. To my loyal readers. I’m sure that when you started this thread you expected something different from what you got, but I sincerely hope that what you got felt real. As real, unfiltered, and genuine as what you set out to find. Please know that this was started, under a pseudonym, for the privilege of being free to write unbridled. To take you through all of the raw emotions that I experienced. At times, there were large gaps between posts. Those were often the result of me dealing with emotions I could not yet craft into literate prose. But it is all true. And I hope you gained as much from reading it as I did from memorializing it.

I hope to one day share in your journey…

This concludes the intention of this blog thread. The author reserves the right to revisit it from time to time, to update you on where things go from here. Blessings!

Sincerely,

Elijah Cain

Until next time…

In life, the average person makes thousands of decisions a week. Some may be as small as deciding between lasagna and meatloaf while in the grocery store. Others are much more significant, such as deciding when and how to purpose to that special someone in your life. In my own life, I have made some wonderful decisions. Such as getting my real estate license at the age of nineteen and purchasing a home at rock-bottom prices in the beginning of 2014. I have also made a few terrible ones: Choosing to build a home at the beginning of 2007 and believing I could ride out the recession with the aid of credit lines, for instance. Even in the aftermath of the worst decisions, however, you can usually find a silver lining. When the bottom dropped out of the real estate market and the Dow Jones Industrial Average was at an all time low, I was forced to take a job. The first shift work I had done in the better part of a decade. Believing this to be rock bottom, I convinced myself that the job would only be for three months, six tops, and that I would soon be back at the top of my game selling real estate full time. What came next was total devastation. Short sale on the house, sold the BMW, hung up the recreational pilots license, bankruptcy, and finally, though not immediately, my fiance’ terminated our relationship. But, had I not ended up in what seemed like dire straights at the time that I did, I would not likely hold the position I do today, with a job that I love earning an above average wage. I also would not have been able to write the remainder of this post.

Two years after all this transpired, I got back together with my ex-fiance’, and we, once again moved forward in our relationship.

In opposite directions.

As some of you may remember from my first post in this series, she and I had a pregnancy “scare”, which ultimately ended our relationship and drove me to what has become the best decision of my life: Getting licensed for foster care. And, a decision I was nearly (and sarcastically) committed for making as a single man working a graveyard job, when I was matched with a beautiful set of eighteen month old twin boys. In over my head, tired beyond belief, and run nearly to the point of failure on several occasions, only to suffer, a year and a half later, with a period of a couple months where reunification was back on the table and I was being asked to work with one of the parents on a plan for transitioning the boys back to their biological parents. But after this long and arduous period, parental rights were terminated and, a couple months later, the twins were cleared for adoption.

I remember those couple of months as being the most emotionally trying time in my life. I wasn’t eating, barely sleeping, and unable to muster the faith to ask God for peace. What I did do was far worse. After the boys were asleep in their beds, I would drink and pray. But my prayers were not for peace. They were threats. Threats regarding the things I would say and do if after putting them in my life, He were to choose to separate them from me. These threats would usually end in tears as I contemplated this reality, followed by a series of apologies and pleas for forgiveness for my complete and utter lack of trust. Asking Him to make some allowances for my attitude, given the circumstance.

I have always believed that I had the ability to affect change based upon the strength of my own will and my determination to succeed at a given task, but even I could not ignore the extreme coincidence of having had everything in my life drive me to a singular purpose, which would conclude exactly the way I had envisioned, where the boys entered the system precisely the moment I was concluding my licensing requirements, and, now, two long years later, almost to the date, I will walk into a court room at the end of one path, and walk out at the beginning of the next, with two boys entirely my own, with my own name.

My own family.

Even in my most arrogant times, I could not deny the hand of God in these, otherwise, impossible odds. Believe me when I tell you this. Getting licensed for foster care has completely changed my life, not to mention the lives of two little ones who have reached a place deep withing my heart that I never knew existed, and turned my entire world upside-down. This has been the most difficult two years of my life, and I would do every second of it over again in a heartbeat.

One other addition that I’ve failed to mention is that, as of about four months ago, I took in another child. An eighteen month old girl, who speaks at a kindergartner’s level. She is sweet and beautiful, and, while I don’t yet know how long our journey together will last, I do know that it will be an adventure that weaves itself into the very fabric of my being and binds us even tighter as a family. I had intended to keep this story-line about my journey from a prospective foster parent to adoption, with the boys at the center, but I can’t help but see how much they’ve grown and accepted our newest addition into our odd, unconventional family, and how much we’ve all grown together because of her. So, I only think it’s fair that she be included in our story, until the time comes for her to be reunified with her birth family or move into a forever home, and if that forever home happens to be mine, I can only imagine what the next years will bring.

‘Til next time…

My Mother, who for as long as I can remember, has catalogued the lives of my siblings, as well as my own, through the once-thought miracle of photography, giving us the ability to relive every childhood memory in vivid clarity. Birthdays, Christmas’s, school plays, sporting events, the list goes on and on. This never seemed all that important until recently, while changing out photos of my boys with updated ones from our most recent summer.

If there’s one thing that the last two years has taught me, it’s that parenting is messy; but, that it’s the chaos that makes a house a home. And I don’t just mean the Fruit Loops under the living room sofa or the feint odder of urine from an ill-timed trip to the potty. I mean the imperfect way in which life creates organically perfect moments. Moments that seem insignificant at the time, but later represent memories that, when reminded of, bring a sense of completeness and warmth; But, with that comes, also, a somber reminder of the truth of how fast it all goes.

One of my boys will position himself in such a way that if he thinks I’m about to get up from the couch, he can quickly throw a leg over my shoulder and hitch I ride to wherever I’m going. I cry a little each time, often exhausted from the previous graveyard shift, and the mere idea of pouring juice for what feels like the thousandth time that morning seems nearly soul-crushing, even without the added forty pounds. At least until I remind myself that tomorrow, he may be too big to enjoy these shoulder rides from Dad. Or worse, decide that I don’t enjoy them and simply stop making the attempts altogether. Either way, they will be over way too soon and I will never be able to go back and relive these moments.

When the two of them first arrived, nearly two years ago at the time of this writing, one of my boys had a cold. To manage the irritation of his symptoms, he would tighten his upper lip around his front teeth. That face became his distinguishing gesture. And, for a time, was one of the only ways I could differentiate between the twins. That is until my family and I began mimicking the face and both boys would mirror the expression for effect. This simple expression was one of our earliest interactions. One of our first family memories. And that experience is now gone, other than for one photograph my mother happened to catch of both boys making this face at the exact same moment, side-by-side. Absent which, even the memory of that may have been lost forever. A memory which, at the time, seemed insignificant. Until one day it no longer happened. It had been replaced by new interactions and new expressions.

When I think back over the amount of work the past two years have been, it’s easy to understand why some people choose not to participate in the parenting ritual, electing instead to avoid the added complication altogether. The truth is, I can hardly remember what my life was like before I had children; Truth is, I seldom ever want to remember. Because, for all the self-centered occupations I found myself once engaged in, a million tiny moment of connecting with my children have replaced them. And, years from now, lying awake in bed at the end of my life, those are the moments I am going to reflect on in remembrance of a life well lived. And I’m going to miss the weight of my growing boy pressing down upon tired shoulders, egger for his ride to the kitchen. I’m going to miss them spilling juice all over the kitchen floor because they’ve reached the age where they’re wanting to be more self-sufficient. It’s tiresome, but pales in comparison to the joy of watching them grow and learn and thrive. Or, feeling the frustration of arguing with their newly forming opinions of how things should be run around the house, but smiling inside as new facets of their personalities begin to emerge with each assertion.

Because those tiny moments, that is the good stuff. That is what makes life worth living. One day I may again fly airplanes and ride motorcycles. I may travel for business conventions and get fitted for a Brioni or Tom Ford Bespoke tailored suit. Or maybe not. I knew what this venture would cost me, and I have never felt like anything less than a con-artist, trading fate my meaningless pass-times and possessions for the simple joys that being a dad has given me.

For me, becoming a dad took planning and patience as I learned to navigate the unorthodox and emotionally taxing journey through the foster care system. But, even now I can’t see my experience as anything less than blessed. The number of things that had to line up for me to enter into the licensing process and exit out the other side at the exact moment my boys entered into the system; And now, to be staring down the finish line, only months away, with adoption paperwork only weeks from being filed with the state. Even for someone as self-assured and confident (bordering on cocky) as the culmination of my choices have led me to be, I can’t help but feel humbled by the experience and recognize the evidence of divine intervention at work. As though every negative experience in my life were all engineered to drive me to the point where I was ready to burn the ships and forge a path through terrain I’d never imagined for myself.

Two years ago I opened my heart and my home to twin 18 month old boys and the two of them saved my life. For all the successes and failures in my adult life and the amazing things I was able to accomplish and experience, none of it meant anything to me beyond the initial thrill accomplishment brings. I struggled at times with depression. I smoked, drank, and sought the wrong company in an attempt to dull the reality that there was more to life, but it seemed to allude my grasp, and no amount of power, influence, or money ever brought me any closer to attaining it. I was never suicidal. To quote Raymond Reddington from the hit TV show, The Blacklist, “Suicide is an act of terrorism, perpetrated on those closest to you…” But, I definitely wasn’t fulfilled. To quote a friend of mine’s recent and insightful assessment of my state during the time leading up to this decision, I was “cabin-fevered by my current life.”

I would never put the responsibility for the burdens I carry or the demons I face on my children. They are most definitely not responsible for my happiness. But they are absolutely to blame for it. The void that I felt has been filled with an abundance of chaos, which is both messy and unpredictable, but somehow fixed things in my life I never knew were broken.

So as a parent, unqualified to offer parenting advice to anyone: Be present; Be in the moment. The days are long but the weeks are short and the months fly by. Before you know it, they are gone and can never be recaptured. Don’t take a single second with your children for granted. No amount of money can rebuy the time you’ve lost trying to put them in a pair of Jordan’s.

Until next time…

The past six months would have been an emotional ride for anyone, such as myself, who has less than a fleeting and casual relationship with his emotions. Something akin to two strangers on a commuter train exchanging eye contact for a moment too long. That awkward awareness of the other one’s presence and a need to break the silence, but, choosing instead to repress the urge. Perhaps settling for an affirming nod in exchange for some hope that you won’t be robbed at knife-point the moment your feet land on the cool tarmac, just outside the purview of the other passengers aboard the train. But guarding oneself and repressing emotions have no place in the heart of a parent; instead, these are replaced with hope, fear, and a feeling of utter helplessness and panic.

You see, over the last six months, I’ve been engaged in somewhat of a zero-sum game. In order for me to win, someone else had to lose. The only comfort I can take in the hardness of my heart towards this reality is in believing with ever fiber of my being that my winning was the only way I could protect the children in my care from an uncertain future. A future in which their trust, that I worked so hard to gain, is shattered in what would amount to being the only abandonment they would likely remember. If you recall, they were only eighteen months of age when they entered the foster care system, and they’ve now been with me close to the same amount of time.

It’s been nearly eighteen months since they arrived, scared and confused. Fifteen months since the night terrors they suffered stopped recurring. Twelve months since the first time they acknowledged me as Daddy. Since that time, they have grown from size 4 toddler shoes into size 11 little kid shoes. Moved from diapers to big boy underwear. From potty chairs to potty trained (at least during the day). They say more words every day and express themselves in new areas of exploration, learning to dress themselves, feed themselves, and wash themselves. They love Peppa Pig and Paw Patrol and have recently developed a passion for everything Superhero related. Namely, Spiderman and Ironman. And they chase each other through the house making web shooter sounds and balancing themselves in the mid-air of their imagination with flight stabilizers in their imaginary Ironman suits. They are everything I’ve ever wanted for them. They are happy, healthy, and well-adjusted children. Just kids allowed to behave as kids. Free from the fear that everything they’ve come to know and love could be ripped out from under them at a moments notice.

But I have been living with that fear day and night for months. Allowing my new and unwanted emotional companionship to swing me from the heights of fatherhood to the depth that blacken souls with murderous intent, willing to go to any length to ensure that your protection remains intact. Only to settle into the worst feeling of all. The feeling of powerlessness to influence circumstances far beyond your control. Waiting far from patiently as decisions in court are continued for reasons that both haunt and terrify you. Brushing up against your biggest fears that reunification is going to happen, simply because State legislation mandates it, without the slightest concern for what happens next.

When children reunify with their birth parents, that may be the greatest gift to a broken family struggling to be once again made whole. I, myself, have seen this play out to great success and could not be more supportive of that outcome for those families. In other cases, this outcome becomes traumatizing, and the children re-enter the system again. This time a little angrier, a little less trusting, and a lot more fearful. There was a time when children would get removed from homes for unmitigated concerns and the parents would have little to no chance of regaining custody of their children. Today, the pendulum has swung in the other direction, where the primary goal is reunification. Not from an ideological perspective but from a legislative one, in which little room is made for the circumstances of each child as individuals. If the parent(s) does X,Y,Z, than the court rules in favor of reunification. If not, they move to terminate services for reunification. Why is it so cut and dry? Because there are thousands of children in the foster care system and that is the only way to get cases moved out of the way so that the State can handle the influx of cases coming in. It’s an imperfect system full of wonderful people trying desperately to do what is best for everyone, drowning in a sea of legislation, red tape, and paperwork, with one hand tied behind their back. It may likely be the most underpaid Government job in existence and no one leaves it completely unscathed.

The foster parent has both hands tied. And both will be tied as they watch the children they have bonded with, cried with, laughed with, and bled with, get strapped into a County vehicle and driven off to uncertainty without so much as the promise of weekly or monthly visitations. It is, without a doubt, the worst and most difficult part of being a foster parent. Second only to being reminded that this is what you, in fact, signed up for. That the 24 hours a day devoted, not only to the care of a child, but, also, to the needs outside of those necessary to a child’s mere survival — the reading of books together at night, the countless meals prepared, the trips to the park where you begin to see their confidence soar, the dozens of required and unexpected Doctor’s appointments, visits from Social Workers, program facilitators, and an onslaught of additional strangers who wonder through your home, from licensing to adoptions, many of whom become friends through it all, but can offer very little comfort where final decisions are concerned. Add to that the continuing education requirements and inspections necessary to remain licensed, as if everything else weren’t tiresome enough. All this, every day, without so much as a pause button — may offer them little more than a reprieve, and you can still lose them eighteen months later, due to a decision made by a Judge who doesn’t know them and is bound, at least in part, by cookie-cutter legislation.

This has been on my mind every waking moment for the past eighteen months, far more intensely for the past six. So much so that I didn’t know what to write about in this blog anymore. We’ve had amazing experiences as a family, and I can’t wait to share them with you, but they are constantly overshadowed by a cloud of uncertainty and fear.

But this is not a sad post.

Because two weeks ago the Judge ruled to terminate services. A decision that had been postponed four times, each one bringing additional anxiety, fear, and frustration with it. We are not out of the woods yet, but this was a huge milestone moving us one step closer to adoption. And, while I know that what is great news to me comes at a loss to someone else, in time, I think that even the family of these two boys will see that this was for the best. In time, they will get to watch these boys grow up, play sports, learn to play an instrument, excel academically, and learn to become men who protect each other and those around them. Who become contributing members of society and break this wretched cycle once and for all. You see, my intention has never been to take children by way of a hostile take-over. My goal was to be a dad. To raise children as my own. But my goal doesn’t exclude the birth family from being a part of that. I have been blessed with tremendous resources, and I intend to deploy those resources in the service of two toddlers whose names I cannot yet share with you. My goal is not to erase their past or to blot the names of those blood relatives from their family tree, but to graft in a new branch and to nourish the soil in the richness with which I’ve been blessed.

I look forward to working with them to agree on a continued roll in the lives of these children. But that chapter is still unwritten. Before that can happen, there are still two monumental court hearings that have to take place and a minimum of six month time in limbo, but we are so much closer now than we were. And that ruling marks the first true peace I have felt in months.

The boys are appropriately none-the-wiser.

Until next time…