“I so got this.”
No text message had ever brought so much comfort.
The evening we dropped our kiddo off at Adora was quite possibly the most emotionally contradictory moment I’ve ever had to push through. When my husband and I drove away that night, I was surprised that there were no tears. All the years of trauma and grief that led us to the decision to move our child from our home and place him at Adora – all the days of purchasing supplies in disbelief and saying some goodbyes to family – all the hours spent secretly crying in my bathroom – led me to believe that I would be an absolute wreck as soon as I closed the truck door.
The reality, however, was a shock.
I felt relief. Relief that the drive home would not be spent with our child verbally and physically abusing us. Relief that our dinner meal would not be spent interrupted by food and dishes being thrown in anger. Relief that the hours between 10pm and 6am would not be spent managing, in exhaustion, a child who would not sleep.
And then I felt guilt.
All the questions we’d been asking as we wrestled with sending our child FROM home and TO Adora came rushing in. I talked to myself with that perpetual, looping, instinctual-to-any-parent dialog, which vacillates between “Have we REALLY tried everything else?” and “You have ABSOLUTELY no other options.”
The endless, juxtaposed thoughts of: “He will never forgive you for this.” and “Even so, he has a chance at a better future.”
“Will he be terrified and sad to sleep tonight?” and “What does it matter? He hasn’t slept in months.”
“What are people outside our inner circle of friends going to think of us?” and “We are so far beyond caring what people think. My child’s health trumps their mindset.”
“What if we have made an unimaginable mistake here?” and “In Whom have you placed your trust after all this time of prayer and seeking wise, compassionate counsel?”
“Have you MET my child? Are you SURE you can handle all the garbage you are about to be given? Surely no other child in your school’s history has met with the likes of this one. You have clearly met your match. You. Have. No. Idea.”
So, when the text message from our child’s House Mom came just as we were ordering dinner, the questions quickly receded and my anxiety decreased. And I chose to believe it.
“This is WHAT you do. This is WHO you are. You HAVE got this.”
It was immensely comforting to receive several updates that evening as our child settled in to play a board game with another student, to attempt to impress others with knowledge about anything and everything, to quickly change out of an outgrown, torn up, smelly pair of “comfortable” shoes into a new pair that he refused to wear just hours earlier. There were comical text messages. There were questions to quickly establish our child’s credibility. “Does your child know Slovakian?” Um. No. Only a handful of words from the back of a work of fiction.
Over and over we have been so touched, impressed, and comforted to bear witness to the amount of knowledge, compassion, and skill the staff at Adora so humbly operate with. And I can say, now that some time had passed, they DO know what they are doing. Each and every challenge my child brought them has been met with wisdom, caring, and even comedy when necessary. Our child is flourishing in the Adora community. Slowly, but surely, we see progress. There IS hope for these kiddos who seem to be so far down a path of destruction. Whose future seems so very impossible.
With genuine hope,
An Adora parent