Breakfast with OAM and DebiP and families. Hand out hockey sticks and Canada Crap to the kids. Hockey sticks have been universally and good idea. Kids seem to enjoy those ones.
Greg and I pack up our hotel room. Say our goodbyes and head back to the prison.
Talk with Greg on the drive that I am running out of chatter. He needs to make an effort to talk more today, and if he has any unanswered questions, today is the day to ask them.
This time after our processing at the prison gates, Sr makes his way to us within 10 minutes.
Looks much calmer today.
Tired though. Said he hadnt slept all night. Went through the 100s of pictures he has of Greg that I have sent and said he just was trying to wrap his head around the fact that the kid in pictures was the kid he had seen. I said that was ok because I hadnt been sleeping for a week BEFORE our visit. Greg is the only one of us sleeping at all.
We talk. Sr. starts talking about his childhood. What he experienced.
He leans over, grabs Greg's hand and tells him he wishes he had been adopted. He wishes someone would have taken him away from his life and given him a new one with a chance to be someone.
He had no chance. He has Greg has every chance in the world to "be someone". "Listen to your mama, listen to your daddy, they love you. They will make you a millionaire. Boy, you are SO cute, you are going to have problems with girls. Boy you listen to your mama." Over and over again. The same advice.
Listen to your mama.Watch out for the girls. Listen to your mama.
And eventually after two hours we ran out of things to say. I have rehashed every detail of our lives that I can think of. We have heard the intricacies of the prison system. More than anything I am wishing for a basketball hoop so that we can leave our bench in the sun and DO something.
Sr and Greg played checkers. He beat Greg twice. Greg beat him once.
The only time Greg really talked was when they were discussing Shelby and Greg's fantasy football team.
We took our prison photos. Sr has to buy tickets for photos and he had stocked up today.
He and Greg.
Greg, he and I
Greg and I
He and Greg
Greg, he and I again.
By this point my mind is reeling. I am exhausted.
Greg has withdrawn and I am trying desperately to find conversation topics that are relevant and inclusive to get the two talking.
This visit is just too long. I stare at the clock willing 3:00 to come, knowing that Sr is feeling the opposite because at 3:00 he says goodbye to the son he hasnt seen in a decade, and might not see for another.
Finally it comes.
HUGE hugs. Squeeze the air out of me hugs. The same for Greg. And we turn around and Sr. is gone. It was a quick goodbye.
We leave. Greg seems fine. I wonder how he can be. This has got to be completely overwhelming for my child. Yet, for all intents and purposes, he appears to be calm and cool and collected.
We drive back into Missouri. Heading to the foster parents house. I am so relieved.
Their house, in many ways, feels like an oasis. A chance to just relax. Visit. People I know who love Greg, love us and wont ask or expect anything more from us.
I am stumbling tired. Not physically but emotionally.
We have dinner. Visit. Greg disappears into his foster brother's room to play Nintendo or computer games. I visit.
Bed early tonight.
Big day tomorrow. Meeting his mother, his grandmother, his aunt, his mother's husband, his cousins, his older brother and his three little sisters. My head is spinning. Again.
I just want to go home. Miss my boys. Miss my husband. Feel I need support. Feels like Greg and I are alone in a sea of craziness.
Sunday night is hard for me.
Greg and I pack up our hotel room. Say our goodbyes and head back to the prison.
Talk with Greg on the drive that I am running out of chatter. He needs to make an effort to talk more today, and if he has any unanswered questions, today is the day to ask them.
This time after our processing at the prison gates, Sr makes his way to us within 10 minutes.
Looks much calmer today.
Tired though. Said he hadnt slept all night. Went through the 100s of pictures he has of Greg that I have sent and said he just was trying to wrap his head around the fact that the kid in pictures was the kid he had seen. I said that was ok because I hadnt been sleeping for a week BEFORE our visit. Greg is the only one of us sleeping at all.
We talk. Sr. starts talking about his childhood. What he experienced.
He leans over, grabs Greg's hand and tells him he wishes he had been adopted. He wishes someone would have taken him away from his life and given him a new one with a chance to be someone.
He had no chance. He has Greg has every chance in the world to "be someone". "Listen to your mama, listen to your daddy, they love you. They will make you a millionaire. Boy, you are SO cute, you are going to have problems with girls. Boy you listen to your mama." Over and over again. The same advice.
Listen to your mama.Watch out for the girls. Listen to your mama.
And eventually after two hours we ran out of things to say. I have rehashed every detail of our lives that I can think of. We have heard the intricacies of the prison system. More than anything I am wishing for a basketball hoop so that we can leave our bench in the sun and DO something.
Sr and Greg played checkers. He beat Greg twice. Greg beat him once.
The only time Greg really talked was when they were discussing Shelby and Greg's fantasy football team.
We took our prison photos. Sr has to buy tickets for photos and he had stocked up today.
He and Greg.
Greg, he and I
Greg and I
He and Greg
Greg, he and I again.
By this point my mind is reeling. I am exhausted.
Greg has withdrawn and I am trying desperately to find conversation topics that are relevant and inclusive to get the two talking.
This visit is just too long. I stare at the clock willing 3:00 to come, knowing that Sr is feeling the opposite because at 3:00 he says goodbye to the son he hasnt seen in a decade, and might not see for another.
Finally it comes.
HUGE hugs. Squeeze the air out of me hugs. The same for Greg. And we turn around and Sr. is gone. It was a quick goodbye.
We leave. Greg seems fine. I wonder how he can be. This has got to be completely overwhelming for my child. Yet, for all intents and purposes, he appears to be calm and cool and collected.
We drive back into Missouri. Heading to the foster parents house. I am so relieved.
Their house, in many ways, feels like an oasis. A chance to just relax. Visit. People I know who love Greg, love us and wont ask or expect anything more from us.
I am stumbling tired. Not physically but emotionally.
We have dinner. Visit. Greg disappears into his foster brother's room to play Nintendo or computer games. I visit.
Bed early tonight.
Big day tomorrow. Meeting his mother, his grandmother, his aunt, his mother's husband, his cousins, his older brother and his three little sisters. My head is spinning. Again.
I just want to go home. Miss my boys. Miss my husband. Feel I need support. Feels like Greg and I are alone in a sea of craziness.
Sunday night is hard for me.
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