Finding pieces.

I’m not an Oprah watcher. But for some reason within the last 7 days I had it on while I was getting some work done for my boss. I figured the mindless chatter would distract me enough so that the time would pass quickly. The more I listened, on these 3 different occasions, the more my mind drifted back to when I was a child. The three shows you wonder? Two on child molesters, one on reuniting with lost family.

My family is broken. I know no one likes to think of their family that way, but it is true. I don’t have the greatest relationship, or NO relationship with my brother anymore. My Aunt and I have parted ways, and I have long since said good riddance to my abusive adopted parents. I’ve been fortunate enough to hang on to my biological grandparents, and have started more sincerely nurturing a relationship with my sister within the last 6 months. One thing that really stuck out to me was this sentence: “You cannot find peace until you have found all of the pieces”. That brings tears to my eyes, because part of me feels that this is true. Another part, not true. I was saddened to find out that my biological father died a few months after my youngest child did last year. I found myself angry because I began to think about how that man knew he was dying and never reached out. He never made amends, he never said sorry. He never said sorry for deciding to give my brother, sister, and I away to his best friend. He chose a woman over us. And not only that, I was molested and haunted by this man. I feared him, he stole a piece of me that I can never back. We slept on the floor over a heating vent so that we would not be soaked in urine while sharing a bed with one of his other children. We hid in our rooms so we did not have to watch all the sex that was displayed around their home freely. I made a plan to run away with my brother. That never happened…… Another sentence from those shows I found to be true: When a child is molested you steal (from them) the person they could have become. That is true. I will never be the Misty I could have been. I am different. I am scarred. I am broken in that sacred way. Another sentence from those shows, was something to the effect of: a child that has been taught that they cannot trust their parents, learns they can trust almost no one. How does a child learn love and safety when they are not loved and safe with the human beings that gave them LIFE. I don’t keep many friends. I fear people hurting me, family or not. If trust is broken with in a friendship, I rarely return. If I don’t feel safe in a friendship or valued, I flee. Many times in my life I have found myself alone. And that was ok with me, because I knew I was safe. I think of my children often. They are at the age that I suffered some terrible things. My mother disappeared into the night, around the time of Easter, and I never saw her again. There were times we had no food. There were times my mother turned tricks to make money. There were times my sister had to steal in order to put food into our bodies. We knew how to hide from men, we feared much of the human race. I never learned to trust. Tired of that? So. Am. I. Tired of me being defensive and misunderstanding your intentions? So am I. Tired my need to feel loved and valued? So am I.

I think about my adoptive parents and the stage they set for my childhood. No love. No freedom. No care. No joy. I work every day of my life to NOT be them. Am I a perfect mother? Far from it, I’m afraid to admit. But one thing I have conquered is this: LOVE. Love for my children. They are happy, and nurtured, and safe. They are loved, and they KNOW it. They are VALUED, and they know it. They are SAFE, and they KNOW it. Many, many things I have gotten wrong - - but this, this I have not. My children know of their great and priceless self worth.

Loving my children as fiercely as I do has set the stage for me to love my child that I gave birth to, and held him as he died. He, TOO, knew he was loved. He, too, knew he was safe in my arms, that I chose HIM, that I chose to love him, all of him. I chose to love my child that I would not raise. I chose to love him as much as my other children. Isaac was our family lesson in love. I think about becoming pregnant again, and I think about making choices for my family, and not being willing to carry a child again like Isaac, and that I am afraid. I trust in the Lord to make blessings available to our family, even the ones that we cannot understand, and I pray for the faith to follow through any coming trials with hope. We are writing our family love story one day at a time, and we’ll include what God has in store for us, even if it is not what we had hoped or dreamed for.

I am still dreaming in Utah. I am still healing my broken heart over my dead child, and I am still healing over my latest miscarriage. We are praying carefully to have the knowledge to know how to proceed with pregnancy here on out, and for all things considering our children and life together. We don’t seek anyone else’s understanding or approval except for a loving Father in Heaven. Happy days are ahead. For you. For us. I can feel it. Walk with me until then, and even after.