Thank You
by Jan Taber
Sometimes, although not often
I ponder the succession of the events that brought me to this place.
It started with a banging on our front door.
It's 3:30 in the morning, who can it be.
It's two Sheriffs in dress uniforms.
Oh no, dear God everyone's here but Matt.
Please, please don't let him be dead,
I'll do anything if he's not dead.
They have me sit down and tell me he's dead.
Numbness, blessed numbness then the pain began.
Matthew, my first born, my twin soul.
Months passed then years and I remained broken inside.
Others didn't notice for I'm very good at concealing.
Then one day I saw an ad on a grocery bag.
It said "Would you like to be a foster parent?"
There was a phone number to call, which I did.
I asked God to send us the children who needed us most and he obliged.
Then came adoption one, two, three, four, five .
All meant to be with us for various reasons.
I thought for years that our RAD had been sent to us in punishment for my leaving the Catholic Church.
The first time Dr. Art said that she has Reactive Attachment Disorder I sighed
"Thank God."
It has a name now we can deal with it.
It will be wonderful to watch her change.
But will she change?
Am I strong enough to be a therapeutic parent
One day in Rochester our RAD and I were driving around rather aimlessly waiting for Hub to finish his appointment.
I found myself pulling in to the driveway of the cemetery where we left Matt's ashes.
"Would you like to see Matt's niche" I asked.
"Sure" she replied and so we did.
She stood for a very long time gently tracing his name on the marble.
Then she asked if she could write in the book left there for remembrances.
In the book she wrote:
"I love you so much Matt, even though we've never met.
You gave us a gift when you gave us Mommy. Thank you"
And I realized that had he not left so suddenly, we never would have never met these wonderful children who are now on loan to us from God
My eyes filled with tears as I whispered "Thank you".
Our lives touch as ripples upon eternity's pool.
Do the fates ordain their meetings;
Or is it the hand of God gently at play in life's waters?
