Rescued and Abandoned

My foster mother took my brother and I in despite all we were facing. She was fearless and loved us as if we we were her own. I was angry at my family for not stepping up, and that drew me closer to her. It took a lot of getting used to as the way we entered in to her home was not favorable. Nonetheless, she took on the responsibility of caring for my brother and I. I was so grateful. I asked her to adopt me. I wanted to get away from the family that I felt abandoned me. I also wanted her to know how much I loved her, and what better way to do that than by taking her last name.

Once my brother passed away, the adoption process began. I asked my mom to change my name to signify a new start. I was hoping to put the past behind me and move on. However, that’s not exactly what happened. I felt like I was moving backward, not forward. I absolutely loved my new family, however, I remember being faced with the same challenges that I was trying so hard to forget. Another child, fighting HIV/AIDS. It was heartbreaking. I couldn’t bear dealing with that again. How selfish of me? I just wasn’t sure I could witness the process of death to someone I loved anymore. The process was too much to bear.

My mom was a huge disciplinarian. She was from the South where they got their tails beat if they stepped out of line. So, it was no wonder that she lived by the “spare the rod, spoil the child mentality”. I can remember being whipped with switches tied together that wrapped around my entire body and cut my skin. I was so immune to it that I couldn’t even cry anymore. I just wanted out. Between this and knowing that death was imminent for one of my siblings, I vowed that if the opportunity ever presented itself I would leave.

As the years began to go by, I began to miss my birth family. I wanted to be with them. They had hurt me, and I could count on my two hands how many visits I received from them; but, deep down inside, I did want to reconcile. Although I couldn’t stand her style of discipline, I felt like I owed my mom for all that she had done for my brother and I. I just didn’t know if I could stay. I knew that I would be abandoning her and felt guilty for even having the thought of leaving. However, there was something inside that I was missing. So, when the opportunity presented itself, I took it. I was 14 years old.

I hurt my mom when I left. I knew she wanted me to stay. I felt guilty for leaving because I knew all that she endured while my brother and I were in her care. She rescued me, and I abandoned her. She deserved better from me. For my own selfish reasons, I had to go. I realize the sacrifice she made to open her home to children who were not her own and take on their pain. As I became an adult, I made it a point to let her know how much she was appreciated. However, I held on to the guilt of leaving her and not being physically present when she needed me most.

When I learned of her health declining, it was too late. I always felt like I could’ve done more for her. I did my best to be there for her during the last few months of her life. Was it enough? Did she know that I was there? I have always felt like I should’ve been continuously connected to her and maybe she would have had much more support when she needed it than she did. She helped so many people and there weren’t too many people around for her when she needed them most, myself included.

I have carried the weight of that guilt around for far too long. I am letting it go now. Guilt is a heavy burden and crowds the heart space. I am forgiving myself today and letting it go. #release

Isaiah 61:7

Instead of your shame you shall have double honor,

And instead of confusion, they shall rejoice in their portion.

Therefore in their land they shall possess double;

Everlasting joy shall be theirs. -NKJV