I hate the fact that my son had so much pain and loss in his early life. I hate the fact that I can't go back in time and make it better. I hate the fact that other than hold him, love him, and help him name what he is feeling, there is nothing I can do to make the hurt go away. And I hate the fact that after all these years, I am still not clued in enough as a mother to talk about these painful things when I first start see warning signs and wait until things come to a head and start talking about them as a last resort.
This morning was not one of my finest moments as a mother.
But, we have (all) reached calmness again... perhaps more calmness than we have had for three days. And we have some things worked out that might help my boy mend at least some small hole is his being. We will be installing the Rosetta Stone Vietnamese language program which I bought when we were waiting to bring him home. It turns out that it really bothers him that he can no longer speak his first language and really wants to relearn it. This will be a first step. I would still love to find a live tutor to help with language, but that can come later. He is pleased at starting the computer program.
I know that there is still so much inside of him that he has neither the words or ability to name at the moment. But, we keep working... and praying. There are moments in parenting that bring me to my knees, at least figuratively this morning, because it's hard to be literally on my knees and hold an 8 year old boy on my lap at the same time.