Finding Family

Dear Diary…

Today, as I sat on a comfortable sofa with a soft cozy blanket, I once again realized how lucky I am. Life wasn’t always this way for me. It’s difficult to determine whether I have adopted my family or if they have adopted me. Perhaps we mutually decided. I never imagined my life would turn out this way.

When I was very young I was placed into ‘the system’ for adoption with my two brothers. I never knew my father, and I don’t really know what happened to my mother. I have a few vague memories of her, but I was very young when I was sent away. It still bothers me a little that I don’t remember much.

I fully respect those who work with those who are waiting to be adopted day in and day out. I am sad that my experience as an adoptee was not best, but I feel like I am mostly to blame. My brothers and I had been in the system for about a month when I someone in upper management determined that we were no longer required to be adopted together. To acclimate us to the idea, we no longer shared a room and our schedules were adjusted for less interaction. It was for the best, but I did not see it that way.

The following week, my oldest brother was adopted, and a week or two later, my second brother was as well. I presumed they were being spoiled, and that they were happily living with their families without a thought of me. And I… I was left alone. I’d cry myself to sleep night after night, but no one seemed to notice.

I felt so helpless that I felt I had no recourse but to act out. I would forcibly take things from the others that I thought wouldn't fight back. Of course, I never got away with it. I would get reprimanded and the items were given back. My caretakers didn’t get it. It was never about the items. 

Was I jealous? No, I don’t think that is what it was. I think I started to believe that any attention, whether it be good or bad, was worth getting.

I think they tried their best to comfort me. I didn’t want their kind words. I didn’t want them touching me. I wanted my brothers back.

There was one lady who was particularly nice to me, though I most definitely did not deserve the kindness. Her name was Colleen. One day as I cried, she came into my room to encourage me. She held me like a mom. It soothed my spirit, but not enough to remove the undercurrent of anger within me. When she told me that she had to go and take care of someone else, I don’t know what came over me. I bit her… hard. I regretted doing it right away and never did it again.

After the incident, however, I was labeled as “hard to handle,” and “restricted.” If I had realized, at the time, that it would make it harder for me to be placed, I wouldn’t have ever done it. Once the damage was done, though, it was too late. The stigma indelibly stuck.

From there-on I strived to remain in the background. Apart from the occasional accident that children are apt to do, I no longer misbehaved. And for a long time, that is how my life remained. I had grown comfortable in my sadness and loneliness and expected nothing more.

Eventually I turned fourteen. No one wanted to adopt an older child. A newborn or baby? No problem!

There was no celebration for my birthday. No one to take notice. I made a snap decision during recess. That was the day I ran away. Stupid… I know. At first it was exhilarating, but later on when I was hungry, not so much.

I walked down an alley at the back entrance of a restaurant and begged for food. Just like the orphanage, I was overlooked. I decided to hide back by the trash bins to find any scraps of food that were thrown away. It felt like an eternity waiting there. By the time evening came I had fallen fast asleep. 

I awoke early the next morning. It was drizzling. I was overjoyed to be greeted with day old cold spaghetti for breakfast. I was cold and wet and so was my breakfast. I gobbled it down. When one is hungry, all food tastes good. But now I was thirsty… very thirsty. There was a small puddle of water gathering to my right. I paused at first, but it was right there. So I drank it. I lived like this for a week. Staying hidden so I couldn’t be found. Grabbing what leftovers I could find from place to place.

I didn’t really have a plan of what to do next. I thought maybe I should find my brothers, but I didn’t really know how. It had been so long since I had seen them, and I hadn’t the faintest clue where they lived. What was I thinking running away like that?! There was only one thing to do. I had to go back. Somehow in my teen-aged brain, I thought, “They won’t notice I was gone.” So I headed back.

I ran across a street back in the direction of the orphanage, but I didn’t pay close enough attention. Tires screeched, and I got bumped. I howled in pain as I fell over. I laid still in the pavement. It wasn’t that I couldn’t move, but I think I was in shock. A man got out of the car, and it was a cop. Just what I needed… a cop!

Instead of the orphanage, I now went to jail as a known runaway. I thought things couldn’t be worse than before, but I guess I learned it can always be worse. In jail, you are in a caged cell, you don’t have a room. There was no warmth and no comfort. Meals were subpar. The cold spaghetti was better.

It was there in jail that my salvation came. A couple, that I didn’t know, came to visit me. Why did they visit me? What could they do to help my situation? I sat with them for about twenty minutes or so, but if I am being completely honest, I didn’t pay much attention. The guards told me that if things went well, I could leave. So I feigned happiness and minded my manners, and hoped for the best. They decided they would give me a chance.

I jumped into the backseat of their car. It was nice. On the ride to their home they informed me that I now had a sister named Sally. I wasn’t too keen on having a sister, but when you are adopted you don’t have as much say on who your family members are going to be.

That was two years ago, and now those strangers who welcomed me into their home are my family. I have a Mom and a Dad again. Sally is a little weird, but that is ok. I still miss my brothers, but if they are even half as happy as I am, then I am happy for them.

Dad sat next to me on the couch, and he patted the back of my head. I didn’t mind the comfort. I didn’t mind the touch. He called me ‘a good boy.’  I licked him on the nose and wagged my tail. That seemed to make him happy. It made me happy too. Sally was jealous. She meowed and leapt into his lap. I love my family.

Sometimes I forget how lucky I am, but not today.