My Traditionally Nontraditional Family

            I was raised in what used to be a normal, two-parent household. My parents have been happily married for 36 years. My husband was not so lucky, his parents divorced when he was a teenager after a less-than-happy marriage. My husband and I have been married for nearly six years, and we are in it for the long-haul.

            We belong to a conservative, Catholic Church and practice our faith fully. We did not have sex before we got married and attend Mass every Sunday, no excuses.  Although, much to my husband’s dismay, I curse like a sailor, we do not take the Lord’s name in vain. We bless our food before each meal and regularly pray for an end to abortion. We are not like most other couples our age.

            About nine months after we were married, we started trying to have a baby. After about eighteen months of trying without a hint of success, we started to pursue adoption. We couldn’t afford an international adoption, so we looked into our domestic options, and quickly decided we would adopt through the foster care system. We began our search by looking at children’s pictures on-line and kept coming back to the picture of an eleven year old boy. We had been looking for a younger child, but were inexplicably drawn to this not-too-little boy’s picture again and again. I called the agency the next morning.

            After several background checks and months of training classes, our now twelve year old son moved in with us just in time to start school at the local middle school that year. We had been apprised of his various troubles and we thought we were prepared to handle it. We had no idea what we were in for.

            Our son had been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, reactive attachment disorder and attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder. He was also extremely small for his age, and now at 15, still only stands four feet ten inches tall. He struggled dramatically in school, and we quickly realized he needed a medication overhaul. I hate that my child has, at one point or another, taken five different mental health medications and two different growth treatments. He simply cannot function without these medications. Believe me, we've tried, and it’s not pretty.

            But, at the end of the day, he finally has the home he has deserved his entire life. He has two parents who love him and are committed to providing him with what’s best, no matter what. He has two parents who are involved in his schooling, and meet with the school whenever needed. He really hates that sometimes, but he no longer tries to convince us he'd rather be back with his birth mother. When he came to us, he was entering the sixth grade, but only reading at an early second grade level. Starting the ninth grade, he’s gained more than four years’ worth of reading skill in a little more than three years.  He misses his sisters sometimes, but he loves his cat and his dog. He loves his church, and is forming strong bonds with the other kids in his youth group.

            Raising a child with mental illness is never an easy trip. Many days are good, many days are not. There have been some extremely rough patches when we all wanted out. We have a sign that hangs in our living room that reads, “Forever and for always, no matter what”. We live by that.

            So, we get by. When he first moved in with us, our son used to ask which one of us he would live with when we got a divorce. Not if, mind you, but when. He would actively try to make that happen. It’s taken years, but he finally understands that won’t happen. We have to work at it every single day, family is work. Love is work. Love is worth it. Family is worth the effort.