...In our western world we are appallingly bad in dealing and talking about death, loss and grief. In any form, but death in particular. It's nothing to do with us. Until it is. And it will happen to us all. That much is certain...
As I hope most parents do we tell our sons that we love them every single day - often multiple times a day - and by now (almost 6 years as a family) we are pretty sure that they understand it and believe it.
'I thought these are your real parents, no?'
'So you are not real brother and sister then?'
I guess most adopters have experienced questions such as these being asked of us or our children at some point. It's frustrating to say the least and at worse it can feel insulting and indeed be quite painful, even so I am surprised at some adopters reaction to it.
A recent weekend away with a friend's son threw up moral dilemmas that I was not expecting. How we parents have to interpret other families' norms, how our own standards clash with those of the culture we're parenting in, and how innocent assumption can lead us into treacherous territory.
I am sorry to disappoint anybody who thinks this blog will be about teenage boys and their personal hygiene habits - or rather the lack of.
I left my nearly 10 year old daughter at home, on her own, for the first time last week.
I knew she was tired and that a 10 minute walk to collect her sister from a local playdate would be met with moaning and groaning, so I gave her the option of staying at home whilst I popped out...
We were getting to the end of our assessment and panel was rapidly approaching, it had been long, intense and surprisingly emotional. We had a great social worker who we felt we got along with very well and who we found to be professional and very capable.
We were told that our adoptive lives would be a rollercoaster ride, weren't we? My day started on a dizzy high, and now I'm sitting here feeling like I've been turned inside out.
My mother lived to just 62, far too young of course and her death seemed illogical and unjust at the time. However, just how young she was is only now starting to sink in - more than 16 years later.
I'm 55 this year, just 7 years younger than she was when she died.
7 years! It will fly by...
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