Lessons of permanency are adoption lessons that I want cemented into the hearts of my children. They have a family, no matter what.

I love Memorial Day Weekend

I know all about how Memorial Day started and that our focus should be on soldiers who gave their lives for our country. I understand the difference between Memorial Day and Veterans’ Day, but in our family we have a hard time forgetting those who were willing to give their lives, even though it wasn’t required, so we show them our respect at every opportunity. We do talk about ultimate sacrifices on Memorial Day Weekend, but I have to tell you… when we visit the cemeteries, that isn’t what my kids who were adopted are thinking about. For our family, Memorial Day Weekend is an excellent opportunity to teach adoption lessons.

You might find it strange that I use a word like “blessed” when describing tragedies as opportunities for teaching adoption lessons.

Our family visits three cemeteries during that weekend, leaving flowers for particularly close family members. Our family has been quite blessed with stories that help our adopted children that are readily available as we decorate those graves. You might find it strange that I use a word like “blessed” when describing tragedies as opportunities for teaching adoption lessons. In fact, there are probably family members, long passed, that will be waiting to black the eye of my soul for calling their worst moments “blessings.” I feel their pain as I share stories in those cemeteries and as we spend over six hours driving between them. Even so, those events of the past give my children the opportunity to learn so that they might have more happiness by avoiding calamities that are not inevitable.

My grandfather was the epitome of paradoxical feelings in adoption and those adoption lessons help my children to understand that they are not alone in their feelings.

As we stand at the grave of my maternal grandfather, I tell the story of how his pregnant mother was thrown over a fence by her own brother in a property dispute. She lost her baby and soon after, her life, from complications of that event. I am able to talk to my children about controlling our anger and how fighting between siblings can produce consequences that were never intended, but that can’t be retracted. Then I tell my children about the feelings my grandfather expressed to me about how an uncle and aunt (old enough to be his grandparents) took him away to another state to raise him when his father didn’t think he could do it without his wife. I tell them about how my grandfather sneaked out of the house, running away to school on the morning that his father was supposed to take him back home, five or six years later. The three parents then decided it would be best for him to stay where he was, with the only parents he could remember. That story helps me to talk to my children about how my grandfather hated the fact that his first family failed and that his father sent him away. He wished that his first family had remained intact while at the same time, he loved those parents who raised him and never wanted to leave them. My grandfather was the epitome of paradoxical feelings in adoption and those adoption lessons help my children to understand that they are not alone in their feelings.

Four tiny headstones, two on each side of a larger one are a graphic reminder to our family that there are better ways to deal with pain and trauma, giving us powerful adoption lessons to share with our children.

When we have finished decorating the grave of my grandparents, I turn and face the graves of a cousin and four of her five children who died in a car accident caused when a drunk driver ran a red light and plowed into the side of their car, leaving only one of the children, a twin, as a survivor. We talk about how our choices affect so many others when we decide to break laws, even if we are depressed and think that we need chemicals to numb our pain. So many people who have been adopted struggle with the trauma that comes with family failures and often they turn to chemicals. Four tiny headstones, two on each side of a larger one are a graphic reminder to our family that there are better ways to deal with pain and trauma, giving us powerful adoption lessons to share with our children.

I hope that such adoption lessons will help him to fight that which seems to be a genetic tendency of his to feel hopeless when facing difficulties.

On that day of decorating graves we stand at the monument for one of my cousins and talk about his decision to end his own life. We talk about the emotions experienced by his family members and how he never would have put his daughters through that much pain had he realized what his death would do. Discussions about suicide are particularly sensitive to my youngest son, who is in our family because both of his first parents decided to end their own lives. I hope that such adoption lessons will help him to fight that which seems to be a genetic tendency of his, to feel hopeless when facing difficulties.

Love and acceptance are adoption lessons that I hope my children take to heart.

As we stand at the graves of my paternal grandparents, we are able to talk about my grandfather, who lost his mother at the age of fifteen. I tell them how, in his seventies, tears still came to his eyes when he told me about his mom. Then we talk about a step-mother, who my grandfather adored. We discuss his feelings for her and how he had every right to reject her, but that fighting those urges allowed him and his family to have more happiness than would have been possible if his choices had been otherwise. Love and acceptance are adoption lessons that I hope my children take to heart.

Lessons of permanency are adoption lessons that I want cemented into the hearts of my children. They have a family, no matter what.

We talk about lots of things as we decorate graves of my relatives. There were unplanned pregnancies and babies born out of wedlock in a time when it was a much bigger social situation than it is now. We talk about family members who made mistakes in their lives and suffered embarrassing religious consequences. We talk about those who don’t believe the same way that other family members do. In all of those discussions, there is a resounding point. In our family, family is always family, and they always have a family. Lessons of permanency are adoption lessons that I want cemented into the hearts of my children. They have a family, no matter what.

To me, the adoption lessons that will bring my children the most happiness in their own lives, involve forgiveness.

Several years ago my wife started a Memorial Day tradition in our family. At some point while we are attending graves, each child is given flowers to put on and undecorated grave of a father and/or mother (depending on the circumstance of each child and what we know about the demise of their first parents). Amy explains to them that sometimes we can’t help or serve the people we want to help the most, but that we can (and should) pick someone else to serve in their place. Then my children find places for those flowers and choose to spend a few minutes offering words of frustration, sometimes anger, and usually forgiveness as they address, in effigy, family members who really didn’t have a chance. To me, the adoption lessons that will bring my children the most happiness in their own lives, involve forgiveness.

Oh, I do love and honor those who died while defending our country. But that’s not the only reason I love Memorial Day weekend.

Often, readers receive as much help from other readers in the comments section as they do from the blog article, itself. Please be generous with your thoughts and experiences in the comments section. There are lots of people who need what you have to share. This is your chance to help them.

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