My adoption story.

I've been asked a lot recently about our adoption story. So many memories are right at my fingertips in this moment so, I will write. Man, I have a lot to say and this is so cathartic to get it all out. It's hard to have the courage to post this, but with courage comes healing.

Before I begin, l want to remind you that I was a young child when a lot of this was going on. I sometimes wonder how many of these memories are memories, or if these memories are stories we have created out of the fragmented glimpses of time left in our very young minds. But again, this is what my perception was, so it was my reality.

I'm going to write what I remember the way I remember it. At the bottom of each section, I will write the facts as I know them now. Be warned, there are going to be some really sensitive parts, so be aware of that before you continue on.

My sister, Andi, was born in Wickenburg, AZ in 1976. I was born in 1978, David, in 1979. My birth father was 40 when Andi was born. My birth mother was 15. He was a farmer. She was a child. Okay, so we have established that, but I wanted to point it out again.

Andi and I grew up with 3 photos that were taken before our mother left us. The photo of our mother showed her living in a trailer in the middle of the desert. She was thin, and was holding my sister, Andi, on her hip. She looked happy in the photo, holding her baby.

The next photo we had was of me standing alone in front of an apartment complex. I couldn't have been more than a year old, chubby knees and a cute little lacy dress that didn't even cover my diaper. Little petite hands held delicately in the air trying to hold my balance. The name, Laticia, was written under it with the name Mosie next to it. Mosie was the nickname my mother had given me. I have a tattoo of that name on my leg now. I spent hours growing up wondering if that was my mother's handwritting.

The last photo was of our mother and a baby boy. Our baby brother. We didn't grow up knowing his name. He was about a year in the photo.

At some point, Lloyd, our father left. Or she left him. In any case, he was gone.

Our mother dated. I remember a man with dark hair. I remember a feeling of unease. I remember yelling.

I understood growing up that at some point, our mother became homeless. She lived with us in a car, leaving us there during her shifts at Circle K. I don't remember a baby being there. We grew up believing our Mother wanted us more than anything, but DSS was upset about us living in the car and she had to give us up. She drove us to the office and sobbed as she left us there. We understood she wasn't coming back. She drove away in her station wagon leaving us with nothing more than a rag doll to remember her by. We still have that rag doll somewhere. I was around 3ish, Andi, around 4ish.

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The story I now know to be true.

Andi and I had been left alone a lot. We had created our own language of sorts. I hadn't moved around enough so I was unable to skip like the other kids. I was in speech therapy as well as physical therapy after we were adopted. I was failure to thrive, even though I was chunky, because of a lack of nutrition. Frozen biscuits and pastries just didn't cut it.

Our baby brother's name is David. Our mother married a man named David, who she passed off as his father. He was born prematurely and with a heart condition. Without proper resources, our mother left him alone in a room while she worked. I assume that maybe she took Andi and I to work with her, and had us sit in the car outside all day while she worked? Or maybe David was already gone by the time we were in the car. I know now, we didn't actually live in the car. We had an apartment. One of the neighbors turned our mother in for David's condition and he was taken by DSS. We must have lived in CA at the time, because that's where he was placed. Our mother had an apartment there in CA with us and visited David for a year. She had no idea how, or what, to feed him. David's adopted Mom remembers teaching her simple things, like giving him cheerios and fruit. She had absolutely no idea that kids were capable of eating such things. What in the world had she been feeding us for the last few years?!

Shortly before our mother was going to regain custody of David, she asked David's foster mother what would happen if she didn't come back again. Would they keep David? They said of course, but not to talk like that. She was coming back! She never did. The man she was married to, David, visited their house for years, stalking them, still believing the baby was his.

When she left our brother, David, she must have taken Andi and I back to Arizona with her. I don't know at what point she met Kristi and Tyler's father, Mike, but they were together when she left us at that DSS office almost a year after leaving David.

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I remember foster homes. I remember being hit over the head with Tonka trucks by other kids. I remember being hungry and being left outside. I remember my sister being forced into a high chair that was too small for her as they cut off all her beautiful, long blonde hair, then mine. I watched as they forced her to eat cauliflower until she threw up. I remember a teenage foster brother who tried to drown us in the pool every chance he got. We learned to be really good pinchers. That same boy once slammed my finger in a doorway so hard it squished like a grape, but that didn't stop me from jumping in and pinching the crap out of him the next time he tried to drown Andi. I remember being tied to a bed as I slept. My vagina burned with cigarettes and hot prods to teach me that touching myself was wrong. I still have scars to this day. I remember hot sauce being placed on my thumb at night so I'd stop sucking it. I rinsed it off.

In foster care, we lived in fight or flight mode. Andi and I had each other and that was all. We were a team. We were bonded, united against everyone. Andi was my protector and I was her's. Even if we were just 3 and 5.

I became acutely aware of every detail. Every change in facial expression, tone of voice, even the heaviness of footsteps. I learned to read emotions, listen to every conversation, I learned to manipulate, to become very small if I needed to be, and at times, to take up as little space as possible. I learned food was needed to survive, it became very important.

I remember when we finally found a foster home that didn't hurt us. The Stevensons. It was like they were sent from God. I don't know how long we were with them, but we were safe. I remember Grandpa and Grandma Stevenson, as we called them, carried around Jolly Ranchers in their pockets to reward us for being good out in public. Andi and I spent days collecting bugs, eating popsicles and falling asleep in our plates of spaghetti at dinner.

*****Andi and I should have been in intensive therapy, maybe even daily for awhile. We should have started physical and speech therapy right away too ******

We met our parents sometime after that. They were the 5th home Andi and I had been placed in. I was about 4 years old then. Don and Sara Grimm were looking to adopt. Don, my Dad, was a handsome man who stood 6'4, with dark hair and blue eyes. He had had a special needs son, Bruce, with his late wife. After she passed, he met and fell in love with my Mom, Sara, an absolutely stunning woman with a big bun on her head. Mom took on raising Bruce as her own. Bruce was 21, and the plan was to have him move into a group home when we arrived. Mom's father had recently passed away, but through her grief, they were elated to find us. Mom was an elementary school teacher. Dad, a high school counselor. They were perfectionists. They thought they knew what to expect, that we came with "baggage". They had absolutely no idea how hard it was really going to be.

In the next post, I'll cover my childhood after we were placed.  Some friends have asked if I would add what I would change about how my adoptive parents handled adjusting to having us in their home. My friends hope to not fall into the same pitfalls my parents did on their adoption journey. There are things my Mom wishes she had done differently and I want to share those things with you.