My Son Rescued Me From Grief
Read Time: 5 Minutes
Words by Lesley Rutledge
I always wanted to adopt a child, but before I could blink, I already had three sons, ages 9, 12, and 22 years old, and a daughter, 16 years old. My daughter, Kacie, was born with chronic medical conditions, but was more stable than she had ever been. My desire and intuition were driving me with such force to move forward with adoption; I couldn’t deny it. It didn’t take too long to convince my husband, who is a saint, to jump on board.
When I announced to family and friends our intent to adopt, I was met with shocked faces, unkind opinions, and thankfully, some loving support. We had our mind set on a preschool age child, yet, exactly nine months after we started adoption classes, a perfect three-week-old baby boy fell into our lap. It was so quick and easy; it was almost scary, but really it was fate. His name is Jaden and without even trying or knowing it, he saved me. He is 14 years old now. My arms are open wide to save him.
About a year after Jaden came into our home, our daughter’s health took a turn for the worse, and we had to hospitalize her the day before our court date to finalize Jaden’s adoption. I was devastated. How could we go forward without Kacie’s presence? She loved Jaden. He was the baby she would never have. My body felt ripped in half. One half of me smiled and felt so lucky as we carried Jaden inside the courthouse to officially become his mom and dad. The other half of me was paralyzed from fear. Kacie had many admissions to the hospital over the years, so it wasn’t unusual, but this admission felt different. I had horrible visions as we were taking pictures at the courthouse. I knew in my gut that “this” was the new picture of our family, without Kacie.
I spent every night in the hospital with Kacie as she was getting worse and worse by the day; it was just a matter of time. One month after being admitted to the hospital, we took her home, where she died in the early hours the next morning. As she took her last breath, I screamed in agony like a wounded animal. My world went dark. Not only was I Kacie’s mother, but I was her caretaker, advocate, and cheerleader for 18 years. I fought every battle with her. I was lost and broken. The older boys were not as dependent on me as Kacie had been or as Jaden would be, at 17 months old.
The days following were blurry. I was functioning in a state of shock and grief.
Jaden was the only innocent little soul in our family, who didn’t really know what had happened. He saved me from the choking grip of pain. He gave me a reason to smile, laugh, play, breathe, and remember what living was like.
He was light in a house of darkness. He needed me to hold him, rock him, feed him, play, and snuggle on the couch to watch “Wow Wow Wubbzy”. Jaden’s brothers stopped joining me on trips to the cemetery; it was a painful place for them. Jaden thought the cemetery was Kacie’s park and a great place to run and play. Jaden was my little buddy. He saved me from being angry at the world, and gave me more reason to love again, with all my heart. Those around us who thought we were crazy for adding another child to our family, began to realize that he was right where he was supposed to be. One must be wise enough to listen and brave enough to follow their intuition.
Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years. Life has a way of carrying on, even if you think you can’t. The older boys are all adults now; finding their way in this world. Their journey has not always been kind. When you’ve looked at death through the face of your sister, you can’t help but be changed in ways you may never understand. I’m looking up at Jaden now, into the face of a budding teenager. He came into this world with trauma, then walked with us through our trauma. I don’t think one can escape this life without bearing deep wounds to the soul. It’s part of what shapes our character.
We talked openly about Jaden's adoption, hoping to normalize it for him. We celebrated his “gotcha day”, which is the day the adoption was final, as if it were a birthday. Jaden openly shared with friends that he was adopted and seemed to be adjusting well. We painted a pretty picture of his birth mom, how she loved him, but could not take care of him. We wanted to protect him from the details, that were not pretty. We did not tell Jaden she tested positive for meth, and so did he, the day she gave birth to him. We didn’t tell him how fearful we are that by no fault of his own, he is predisposed to substance abuse.
Jaden was diagnosed with ADHD almost two years ago. The pretty picture we tried to paint of his past, started fading as we sat in the psychiatrist office talking about his ADHD diagnosis. The psychiatrist blurted out, “when exposed to meth in utero, the brain is altered, and you most likely will have ADHD”. I will never forget Jaden’s reaction of shock. The picture started fading that very minute. The information shared on the paperwork was not supposed to dance around the room and bounce off the walls. But it did, and Jaden was angry about it, and angry at his birth mom. As we left the office with his new diagnosis and prescription in hand, I thought to myself, “I’ve got this, I’ve handled much worse.”
I soon learned that ADHD is complicated. I thought the little pills would be the magic “fix”, and life would go on. Well, the days keep ticking by, and sometimes they go off like a bomb. I will never know how it feels to have ADHD. I do know that living with someone who has it, sometimes feels like walking on eggshells. Jaden’s impulse control is challenged when angry or frustrated. He has an amazing memory, is a quick thinker, and super smart. School is still challenging, because it requires focus, sitting still and organization skills, which can almost be painful for the mind, of those with ADHD. Medication has its faults too. It doesn’t fix anything, it’s only a helper which requires fine tuning along the way. Mental health support is so crucial, and although he is somewhat resistant, it’s part of the treatment plan too.
The weight of the past two years has been suffocating at times. My heart yearns for the days when I could easily make everything okay for the innocent little boy with deep brown eyes. Those days are gone; this road is bumpy and hard to travel. He is trying to walk away from me, into manhood, with raging hormones, and ADHD, all in the midst of a world pandemic too.
Although he’s grown up knowing he was adopted, he is coming to terms with it, through the eyes of a teenager. It’s a cruel world out there; people still say mean things when they know you’re adopted. I hope he knows how deep he is loved and was wanted as much as the children who came from my womb. He has battles and bruises ahead, and he will forever have me, walking beside him.
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About the Author:
Lesley Rutledge resides in Long Beach, California with her husband of 33 years. She made a career of raising her five children, and being a caretaker for her daughter with special medical needs. Lesley enjoys kayaking, seashell hunting on the beach, and delighting in beautiful sunsets. She finds writing cathartic, as she journeys through life.
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