Last week was one for the book.
There was the continuous stomach ache waiting for Wednesday and the decision about Smiley.
The bad news that he was going to be placed in the other home.
O's uncle passed away after 2+ months in ICU - not unexpected but he'd hung on so long, we all just kept hoping that he'd make it somehow.
Then on Saturday morning as I was going through the mail, I opened a card.
A card? Well, that's nice. Someone was thinking of us and that's a good thing, right? But let me back up.
O is a very private person. Very private. But through this foster/adoption process, I've talked to him about us sharing some of what's going on with the people who love us. Not every gory detail, of course, but just brief updates so they'll know what's happening. Most especially our family.
Now, I don't share much with my mother. She has really severe anxiety so any tidbit of information about this topic sends her into a tailspin. I get a series of phone calls about how worried SHE is, how SHE can't sleep for thinking about it, how her cousin adopted two kids from foster care and one has spent most of his life in jail. Blah blah blah.
But I've made an effort to keep my SIL E and my MIL in the loop, with the understanding that they PLEASE keep any information I share private.
You have to understand the atmosphere in the small town where O was raised and where E and my MIL still live. Gossip sweeps through that town like wildfire. Everyone knows everyone else's business and the main jumping off spot for all the gossip seems to be the churches. I have never experienced anything like it. Thus, the very explicit and constant requests for them to keep our information/journey to themselves. I have never left any room for misinterpretation. Do. Not. Repeat. This.
So Saturday morning, we are on our way to the store and amidst all the mail is this card. Which I open. It is from E and my MIL's Wednesday night ladies' church group. Some sentiment about life being hard sometimes but God being with us on the journey. Signed by every one of them - 20+ women.
I can't explain to you what I felt in that moment. Anger. Betrayal. Sadness. Rage.
I called E from the parking lot of the store and the conversation went a little something like this:
(Oh, and imagine my voice shaking and me being almost to the point of tears, I'm so mad. It was pretty.)
me: E, I am interested in what was said at church that caused 20-some-odd- people to sign a card for us.
E: Oh, that was the Wed. night group. I just told them that my brother and SIL had had a rough week and that I wanted them to know we were thinking about them.
me: So the word "adoption" was never mentioned?
E: Welllllllll, I did mention that you were trying to adopt a little boy and it hadn't worked out.
me: E, every single time I have mentioned anything related to adoption to you, I have asked for you to keep our information private. This is OUR business NOT their business. I understand and appreciate what caused you to do this, but I don't know these people and O knows every single one of them. If we wanted them to pray for us, we would have contacted them (including the women he went to school with and the girl he took to prom for hell's sake!) and asked them to pray for us.
E: Well, most of them already knew . . .
me: If any ONE of them knew, it was only because you or your mother told them.
E: Well, I'm sorry but I was only trying to help . . . (To me the BUT negates everything she said before that.)
me: It does not help us for all of these people to know our private business. It doesn't. It is OUR story to share or not share, not yours. It's not your decision.
At one point she either stopped talking or had cell phone problems, and I just handed the phone to O. I was too mad to continue talking to her.
He told her how difficult the week had been and that to receive this news on top of it was very hurtful.
I haven't heard from her since, but will have to see her this afternoon at O's Uncle's viewing. I am every bit as angry as I was on Saturday morning. I just can not believe she took it upon herself to open her big fat mouth like this. I don't want to see her - not even a little bit.
Rarely have I felt so betrayed.
