When he first moved in, and for quite some time after, J talked to himself. In fact it sometimes felt as if he talked to everyone, indiscriminately, constantly, exhaustingly. He didn’t know when to stop. Even in his dreams, he muttered and shouted.
It was anxiety of course. Luckily, that anxious chatter often made him friends and helped him along the way. He smiled and looked strangers straight in the eye, laughed and they smiled back. He was making damn sure they didn’t reject him.
He didn’t talk much about his feelings but that was OK. Sometimes he gave me little clues, I overheard him talking to himself about what was worrying him, and I could reassure him and the anxiety eased. He learned over time how he had come to be in care, and about his journey to adoption, and together we pieced together his history. He was a happy boy, affectionate and always full of enthusiasm.
But occasionally, I had a sudden, chilling glimpse into the subconscious musings of my adopted child.
I think it must have been a couple of years at least after he left their care that J wrote this thank you card to his former foster carers. By that time, he was putting thoughts down quickly, and briefly. He wasn’t going to spend a second longer than he had to with a pen in his hand!
Did his foster carers have any children he wondered? Or had they got rid of one? I gasped when I read that, perhaps I said ‘you can’t say that’. So he took up his pen and scrubbed out the words ‘get rid of’ and replaced them with ‘adopt’.
It was a moment of blinding enlightenment.
I am linking this post up to the Adoption Social’s Weekly Adoption Shout Out #66. The Adoption Social has just been shortlisted for Britmum’s prestigious BiB (Brilliance in Blogging) Award so if you feel inclined to vote for them in the Social Media category, you can do so here.
I have also written about another dazzling glimpse into the hurt of adoption, and you can read that here.