Not without a fight

Six months into the year, we have officially hit the middle mark. The year is half over, half still left to complete. And as I often am, I am stuck wondering if this is just another endless cycle. We rinse, later, and repeat. Day after day, year after helpless year. We keep plodding along, as if by our lame attempts to grasp some sort of normal will be met with a round of applause, or atleast not so much turmoil.

I remind myself atleast once a day – to be thankful. To be thankful for those very things I don’t WANT to be thankful for. To be thankful that I have these kids, and that I can fight for them. Be thankful. Because atleast I can still reach out and touch them, even though most days it’s a fight to not want to do more than a simple touch.

Because sometimes, when reality closes in and chokes the ever living daylight out of me – I want to give up the fight, and just be strangled already. Because when is ENOUGH, enough?

Often I comfort myself with the false hope that since we have already gone through this all already, that we are somehow immune to the day to day struggles and heartache of everyday life. And as I mentioned in my previous post – sometimes, I choose to make small things and BIG deal.

Sometimes, I need to be in control of something.  Anything.  And sometimes, when I know something big is about to happen, but don’t know what – and I cant stop it, I pick one random thing, and put all my anxiety and fear into this completely absurd and off the wall task, that I am often paralyzed to even do simple things – like check the mail.

When I first got the kids back, I had somewhat tunnel vision in what I was doing.  I had one purpose, one goal, and no one was going to stop me.  My end goal was to get them back – so they would have each other.  Thinking that it would not matter how tough life got, if they had each other, they could get through anything.  And that has been true for the past five, almost six years now.

But you toss in a few things like a special needs kid – and life sort of bottoms out on you.  Especially when your parenting skills are weak at best.  But my ability to raise a special needs child is limited at best, and most days I am flying behind the seat of my pants, trying to desperately hang on.  In hopes that its what is best.  And just when things get going rough, that doubt creeps in.  The doubt that on the best of days is hard to battle off – because when you really arent 100% sure, it doesn’t take much.

And when other things – like one kid moving off – shaking your whole basis and reasoning of fighting to keep them together, things get a little shaky.

But then when your normally good kid – the one has never caused more damage than hes worth, the one who lives to eat and spends most of his life outside.  The one who does average in school, and doesn’t raise any alarm or bring any cause for trouble – starts showing that things arent as good as you assumed…and that he too, is struggling…and well, pretty much everything you have turned you ENTIRE life around for, is bottoming out, in one way or another, you start to wonder – is it REALLY worth fighting?  Again?  For what?

The words of this past weekend don’t need to be repeated.  They will repeat themselves enough in my head.

I can deal with tantrums.  Don’t care if they like me, and don’t mind if they express their hate for what I am doing.  It really doesn’t bother me if they don’t like what I cooked, or if they want to do something differently.  I can google my way through homework, and when the stars align just right, I can even muster up enough strength to advocate for a certain 8 year old.


These past few weeks, my grounds and reasoning has been shaken, and this weekend – dropped out.  Leaving me, once again, scrambling.  To say its been stressful would be an understatement.  I don’t know where we are going, I don’t know how this will end.  I don’t even know the outcome of today, and I certainly know that tomorrow is NOT promised to come.  I know that I cant ensure the kids always have each other, and I cant force them to choose each other either.  I cant choose one kid over the next, and I cant shove one out on the streets just because hes a bit more complicated.

I may have lost the reasoning to fight for them, but they have not lost their need for me to continue to fight for them.  Especially – when they are down.  And this week, although it will probably go down as one of the more difficult ones in my life, and I don’t expect things to go smooth from here on out – I have come to realize…they are kids.  They struggle.  They hurt.  They might not openly admit ½ of what I have learned this past week, but I will fight.

For them.


Because while I might not be able to give them the best of everything, and I might not know the answers to anything – they will atleast know that good or bad, for the right reason or wrong – I will have fought to the very end.  To give them what I assumed, at the time, was the best.

Atleast, I hope it was and is.


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