I’m a parent of an extremely small and strong-willed 8-year-old daughter, and an equally small and very high-energy son. I work for a non-profit called Safe Families for Children and homeschool my kids three days a week. I have this theory that educating my kids at home will give them a larger dose of life that they can feel, touch, taste and smell. I want them to be raised with the awareness that we are always learning and exploring life, and that God is in so much more than Sunday mornings.
Some days my theory holds up and other days we struggle and I contemplate our choices; and still other days we grab our books, get in the car and my kids go to work with me.
Last Friday my 2 kids and I drove to Anderson to pick up Mary and her 5-year-old granddaughter, Anna. We have been giving Mary weekend respite placements with Safe Families because Mary is not only an exhausted Grandma with custody of her granddaughter, she also has terminal cancer. A few months ago, Mary shared that she had no options for Anna after she passed. Anna’s mother was incapable of caring for her because of a drug problem and Mary would need to find a family to adopt her granddaughter. On this day, it was time for Mary to meet the family that would, God-willing, be Anna’s forever-family. We picked up Mary and Anna at the tiny apartment in Anderson they call home. Anna squeezed in the back of my small car and Mary attempted to make herself comfortable in my passenger seat.
We sat with a bit of awkwardness for a while.
“Are you hot? How about some air…”
“Yes I am hot. I wasn’t gonna say nothing but, shew!”
I laugh to myself. I love Mary and her straightforwardness.
The visit between Mary and Anna’s Safe Family went extremely well. The kids entertained themselves and as I watched, I prayed again that all of the pieces would fall together to allow this miracle for this child to take place.
We leave Anna for the weekend with her Safe Family. She cheerfully waves goodbye to her Grandma and skips away.
My kids, Mary, and myself re-enter the Jetta for the drive home. Again I make small talk and Mary nods off in between sentences. She wakes herself either when she starts to cough or feels the tap of the breaks. Part of her cancer is obstructing her esophagus and excessive coughing cannot be helped. She probably feels slightly embarrassed and my heart goes out to her.
My inquisitive daughter doesn’t notice her exhaustion and jumps right in with her questions, and I let her.
“Mom? Why is Anna getting adopted?”
I asked Mary’s permission to tell her the truth and she consents.
“Because,” I felt needles on my skin. “Mary has cancer and she won’t live long enough to raise Anna.”
“How does she know she has cancer?”
“Because the doctor told her she did.”
“But how does he know? Doctor’s don’t know everything. Maybe he just thinks she has cancer but she doesn’t.”
Mary snickers and shakes her head. My daughter continues.
“Does Anna know that Mary has cancer?”
Mary replies an emphatic, “Yes.”
Long pause.
I ask Mary about Anna’s mom. She is an addict and has put herself on life support more than once by overdosing.
Mary replies, “Yeah… she comes around and ‘plays’ mother with Anna every now and then. She says, ‘Hi baby, Bye baby’ and waltzes out the door again.”
My daughter pipes up again.
“Mom? Why won’t Anna’s mom be her mom?” She is unable to fathom a mother who doesn’t want her child.
“Because… she has different priorities in life. Unfortunately she’s putting something in front of being a mom to Anna and, because of that, she’ll probably never be able to really be her mom.”
“What is it?”
“We’ll talk about that later.”
We drop Mary off at her apartment. I tell her goodbye. I want to give her a hug but I feel that she feels I am too young and innocent to hug her. I want to tell her I’m not. I also want to take her to church on Sunday, and my son had the idea of taking her flowers and making her a picture.
My daughter’s mind is not settled and on the way home she asks, “Why do you think Anna is happy? Why does she just run and play like nothing’s wrong?”
“Well, because she doesn’t realize entirely all the sadness around her yet. She will start to when her Grandma dies. But right now it’s just her life. We can be happy, though, that there is a family that wants to keep her as a part of their forever-family. So we can pray that they get to adopt her and keep her forever.”
“Why don’t they just take her now?”
“Because her mom has to terminate her rights first. She has to put her name on a piece of paper that says she’s not going to be Anna’s mom ever again.”
“Oh. Well, I hope she does that.”
“Me too. It’s definitely something to pray for.”
We get home, walk in the house, and the kids turn on the umpteenth episode of Little House on the Prairie, and I have a feeling we have all learned something today and maybe it’s ok that we didn’t finish all of our schoolwork.
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