January 5, 2017, we got the call for an emergency placement for a 4-year-old boy. The call was for you. You came to us with the clothes on your back and a shy smile on your face.
To say yes to the child whose behaviors were too extreme for the last parent to handle. To care for them as your own. To answer all the nosy people’s questions. To justify your actions to people who have met your children a handful of times.
I understand that in your mind these words make you feel less than, or that somehow your family isn't a family because it wasn't built on blood. That's not what you believe, but that's how you feel other people think.
It's called compartmentalization, and I became pretty good at it. I was able to separate my home life and life at basic. At least while we were busy.
It’s emotional and wonderful, but it’s not different. Not yet.
The next day she arrived. The all too familiar knots in my stomach were there as I waited. But something was different this time.
Other women have those memories.
My family wasn’t made like yours, but you still acknowledge that we’re a family. Thank you.
To all you well meaning people out there… just stop.
As I'm writing this, there have been 1,125 abortions and counting in the United States, today.