Grief through a pen

Only a few days remained before Thanksgiving. My parents visited us every year for the holiday, but I didn’t look forward to being around anyone. How could I celebrate this holiday season? I was a mess. I struggled to know my purpose, my place, my identity.

When you believe something for so long, your whole reality revolves around that belief. I believed those two children from Colombia were my children. That belief consumed me, along with everything involved to turn it into reality. Now, suddenly I had to backtrack and try to remember life without them, before them.

My faith a shattered mess, I tried to convince myself God purposed this all for a reason He had not yet revealed. I tried to keep my head up. We stayed busy and distracted so we wouldn’t have to face the ugly reality that we failed.

I didn’t know how to grieve. I didn’t know what it felt like, what we should do, or how we were supposed to act. I went through the motions of everyday life. I went to work each day, put on a brave (fake) smile, did my job and stayed as busy as I possibly could. I avoided eye contact with anyone because I couldn’t let people see the tears welled up in my eyes all day long, every day.

"Our Eyes Can’t Lie"

It couldn’t be more obvious

by the twinkle in my eye,

how dearly I loved them.

No, our eyes just cannot lie.

People said my eyes sparkled

whenever I spoke of them.

They'd become so precious to me,

as priceless as a gem.

I saw them as a gift,

given directly from God to me.

I cherished every moment

leading toward our forever family.

The day I heard the news,

I tried so hard to hide the pain.

I didn't want to face anyone

or answer questions I couldn't explain.

Yet one voice gently told me,

she'd seen through my disguise.

She suspected we didn't have good news

because of the sadness in my eyes.

Now I find myself avoiding

looking anyone in the eye.

I still don't have any answers

or explanations to the why's.

I'm trying hard to keep walking,

(though I feel like running away),

but the hurt cuts so deep,

the directions seem so gray.

I don't know where I'm going,

Nor where I am to turn.

I don't know what to make of this,

nor what I am supposed to learn.

If by chance you're a lucky one

To get a glimpse into my eye,

you'll have no need to ask

because my eyes just cannot lie.

            The tears streamed down my face as soon as got in my car after a long day at work. I cried the whole way home nearly every single day. Nothing in the world made sense to me.

I probably should have talked to someone, but I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to articulate the conflicting feelings raging inside. In fact, I didn’t even know what really went on inside me.

I should have taken advantage of my mom visiting, ready and willing to give me a shoulder to cry on, but I didn’t. I should have joined a grief support group, but a failed adoption lies in a category of its own. You’re grieving a death, even though no one ever died. I should have talked with a counselor, but I didn’t. I should have opened up to someone, but I didn’t.

I did build a huge wall around myself. I pushed everyone away, and I didn’t let anyone in.

My husband and I should have talked and comforted one another more, but we didn’t. We each grieved in our own way. I expressed my pain and confusion in the only way I knew how, with pen and paper. I drafted poems on any scrap of paper I found lying around. I scribbled prayers. I wrote letters to God in my journals.  

Writing brought me comfort and kept me sane, so I wrote as often as possible.