The Past:
I was struggling to sew with a kid on each leg and on in a pouch against my chest, her little soft breath tickling my neck. I was making Christmas outfits for them all, trying to anyway. I had made outfits for years for my cousins, the family pictures a record of my love for them. And I did-do love my cousin though they are all grown, most out of high school and starting families of their own. And so I wanted to continue the tradition with the children in my care, the ones that as far as I was concerned were mine for a time, however long that maybe. But sewing with little fingers and little voices is to much, and I realized that I wasn't going to make it, that other outfits would have to be cute enough for the pictures we were having made...for us and for their "real" parents. December 1997 what a month. We had a foster son and the girls, all under three- in truth 2.5, 16 months and not even 2 months. It was as close to magical as my Christmases have come to the ones my mother made for my brother and I. The delight of little people discovering presents and figuring out how to open them...I don't think we even have pictures we were both so caught up in the moment. I had worried over getting things for the girls, that there would be enough for them...we didn't even know how long we would have them, that they would be there to have the gifts.
The Present:
I am not enough for her. I have lost the ability to talk to her with the look of hate coming over her face, and in truth the anger in voice comes out far more often than it should. Or maybe it should I don't know anymore. Nothing I say to her helps, she does nothing to help me understand how to help her. I have had enough. Enough anger, more than enough sadness, enough embarrassment. I can't make anyone else understand what I am going through. I worry that this is all making me less than what the little dude needs from me...will I be enough for him. His little voice telling me that he loves me is what keeps me going some days...nothing else is enough to pierce the wall I have up. It's made of sadness and hurt, loneliness and desperation.
She still wants to leave us. When the daggers are shooting from her eyes I am tempted to give her a suitcase. 16 for the oldest was an age of heartbreak and growth, a strengthening in her understanding of the world...16 for the middle is a continuation of the struggle within herself and with us, with everything. She has been through three relationships since the beginning of school, turned her back on the religion that six months ago was going to save her even if it meant that she hurt us to join it. She sleeps here. She rarely eats, unless it's from a restaurant or the neighbors. I am so angry with those neighbors that I want to move, but we are stuck. Stuck with everyone and everything and it's more than enough. I have struggled since last I posted with faith and belief...just when I think that I can still find solace in faith something else happens...maybe God has had enough with me. I am losing myself in the sadness that overwhelms me but I am a good actor and can make everyone else smile with my tales of woe...ones that only touch on the problems, not the whole truth.
The Future:
I have to make changes for myself. I can't keep trying to make her better, I am not enough.
