Friday, March 13, 2020 -
Today, if I’m not mistaken, would have been my dad’s 98th birthday. And today, I received from Kathie a copy of the program from my mom’s funeral, which brought tears to my eyes.
Speaking of grown men crying, yesterday afternoon I spent 1 ½ hours with “D,” the Christian brother who is a legal expert and is helping me in my battle to get my sentence vacated.
We were discussing what to put in my final answer to the most recent response to the judge’s very specific questions by my attorneys. “D” had indicated he wanted to bring out the fact that I’ve always had a pattern of not just helping people, but helping people in abusive situations, and that our adoption of six children would be a great thing to bring out proving this point. I said, “Have I not told you the background stories of my children?” and he replied, “No.”
So I proceeded to tell him, first about Jonathan being found in a garbage dump, left as trash, and then the story of how Rebekah and Anthony were toted around by the woman who had given birth to them as she sold her body for money and then finally selling her two young children to child pornographers from the United States.
I told him how when Josiah was brought into foster care, his infant body was covered with cigarette burns from his birth father.
Finally, I told him how William was brought in for adoption by his birth mother in an attempt to save his life, as she had given him nothing to nourish him during his first-month life but sugar and water. He weighed at the time a mere three pounds, and they had to force-feed him by sticking food down his throat with their fingers because he didn’t know how to swallow.
At this point, as many times as I’ve told the stories of my children, I began to lose it, tears welling up in my eyes. So I said, “I’m sorry,” and stopped talking, blowing my nose and wiping my tears barely getting control of my emotions. I know I said something else, but I can’t remember what.
“D” said, “That’s ok, I was getting teary as well.” I turned to look at him and his nose and face were bright red and then he just started sobbing. That set me off again, as well. Don’t ask what came over us, I don’t know, but we both were sitting on a bench on the edge of the walking track in the rec yard with dozens of inmates walking past. I can’t imagine what might have been going through the minds of those who glanced at us as they were walking by!
But at least “D” knows for certain where my heart is, and I know where his lays. It was the first experience of this sort I am sure for both of us. We both got our composure, and I went on to explain that William’s situation wasn’t one of abuse, but due entirely to utter poverty, U then explained how Victoria, William’s birth sister, was given up to us for adoption as soon as she was born, being the only one of our children not to suffer such traumatic experiences. It was a very interesting afternoon.