Does it get better?

I woke crying again this morning. The loss from adoption is so real. The pain of betrayal so harsh. You would think that after 5 years of this the pain wouldn't be as intense, but it is.

I dreamt last night that I came across Brit's grandmother's FB page and it was filled with pictures of Brit and her siblings from Halloween. Which in itself is nothing, quite contrary, something to be expected. But with the hurt I have been dodging for the past few weeks, it was like salt in a wound.

You see, in real life I responded to Brit's adoptive parents monthly email update thanking them for sending a couple of pictures and I included several family pictures of our own. I then ended the email by saying that we would love to see Brit and their other little ones in their Halloween costumes, so if they would, we would love it if they might send us a picture.

Halloween came and went and no picture. I know how hectic Halloween is for a family with young children. Since the day after Halloween was a Saturday, I thought I would just send Brit's dad a text asking if he might be so kind as to share a pic of what Brit decided to be for Halloween. That was Nov 1st, today is Nov 12th, still no response of any kind to my text.

I know that under normal circumstances that is just one unanswered text, and one email that was not responded to. But when that is all you get, it cuts like a knife.

So the dream was a painfully real reminder that we are simply not considered part of the circle of people who are allowed to be part of Brit's life. As dreams do, this one morphed and suddenly I was face to face with Brit's adoptive mom. And instead of confronting the issue of why we are so easily dismissed, in this dream world I shared bags and bags full of groceries I had just gotten so she could take them home to their family. When the sharing was complete, I walked away with no food and sent her home with all of it.

It seems so appropriate. Even in my hurt, I continued to give to them because I wanted their family to have everything I could possibly give.

During the daytime when it is easier to rationalize things, I tell myself that these years are the ones that will be easiest with an adopted daughter. She won't ask many, if any, questions. She will just be one of their four children with no reason to question it. The gifts we send every holiday (which is about 6 times per year) probably just arrive without much regard to who the giver is. There are likely no explanations of who Lisa is, or why she would be sending gifts. I often wonder if I am simply Lisa the Gift Box Lady. I have no way to know, because I am never told. Only recently have any of the gift boxes been acknowledged. And it was just a simple "thank you for the gift box, we just got it, have a good day" response.

But hopefully someday Brit will begin to ask questions, maybe not directly to her adoptive parents, but maybe just in her mind. Maybe her heart will wonder and want to know who she came from. And maybe, just maybe, she will reach out to me.

Until then, I will continue to long for relationship with her in my heart. And I will pray for a softness in her heart toward me. And that she will possess a spirit of forgiveness for why I relinquished her at all.

I am grateful that when the day comes that she seeks relationship with me, I will have the letters that I continue to write to her to share with her. So she will know there was not a day that passed that I didn't think of her and wish that things could have been different.