He’s My Son

Chubby little fingers find their way into my hand.

His (almost) three year old little self pulls me energetically towards the kittens down the hall… “Tome on mommy, let’s go look at the kitties” (except he said his hard c’s and k’s like t’s so you can imagine how comical that was).  The fact that he is calling me mommy just a few days after we met is not lost on me and I feel the weight of what that could mean with each step down the hall.

He’s my son.

(Almost) three years later we sit in the back of the car together.  He again slides his hand into mine as we drive away from his old life and toward a new life in our home.  He is stoic, already jaded by his experiences and the disappointments life can present.  He doesn’t cry. He doesn’t ask why.  He just holds my hand and doesn’t look back.

He’s my son.

(almost) Three years later he struggles to integrate into a “normal” family.  Life is full of extremes.  One minute enjoying the warmth of his mama’s lap while she reads Captain Underpants, the next striking out in anger because he didn’t like the way his eggs were cooked.  One day winning the county art award for his drawing of outer space, aptly entitled “I’d Rather Be Dreaming”, the next hiding under his bed and screaming like a caged animal at the thought of going to school.  One day having a sleep over birthday party with his friends and eating ice cream cake that turned his teeth black, the next being admitted to the psychiatric hospital (again) for being unable to control his anger and hurting his brothers and I. The adoption becomes final and it’s official…

He’s my son.

(almost) three years later and he lives in a “therapeutic” setting.  His behavior controlled for the most part, after years of therapy and learning the skills he didn’t learn at those critical years between 1 and 5.  One day he tries to do his best, the next he feels hopeless and wonders why he should bother.  He wishes he could come home, so do I.  He grows tall and handsome like his daddy.  He just may be okay.

He’s my son.

“Come on, mom.  I want to show you something”.  Now taller than me, he still longs to please me.  He opens a book, full of drawings of wild cats.  “I think I know what I want to do when I get out of here” (otherwise known as graduate).  He has hopes, he has dreams.  He has potential.  And, despite all that has transpired in the last 14 years…

He’s my son.

And I love him.  I’m proud of him. If I could take away his struggles I would.  If I could bear his burden myself I would.  If I could change what happened to him and what he did to us I would.  Gladly.  Happily.  Knowing that my boy would be okay.

He is seventeen today.  Almost a full grown man.  And still…you guessed it, my son.  This video says it better than I ever could.  And, is perfect for Holy Week.  Thinking of what another mother must have been feeling two thousand years ago.

Happy Birthday, Jason!  I love you!

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9 Responses to He’s My Son

  1. michellerose says:

    God bless you for not giving up and relying on His strength and love so that you can continually give that love to your son. This is a very touching post. i am always humbled when I read your blog and see how our Lord continues to work through so many trying circumstances in your life to glorify Himself.

  2. carissa says:

    what a beautiful tribute to your birthday boy! hope today is special for you guys as you celebrate!

  3. Seriously beautiful post – thank you for sharing your heart. A big happy birthday to Jason – I wonder where the next 17 years will take you? God doesn't waste anything…

  4. Jen Hinton says:

    A-MA-ZING post…and video!!

  5. Thats an amazing story. Really.

    Happy Bday to your son!

    And as a completely unrelated side note – you look SO young!! LOL

  6. […] At home was his sixteen month old brother and in Iowa was his four year old brother, waiting for us to come and rescue him. […]

  7. […] We went to court with Jason in 2004 and he didn’t come back home with us. […]

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