Raging, eyes dilated, staring into the unknown. Arms flailing, legs kicking into space. Hitting whatever they come into contact with…usually me. Most often me.

He picks up the Retro Rocket, Gus’s favorite rider bike and whips it, hurling it across the floor, skidding it on the hardwood and gets pissed that it starts making noise.

“3, 2, 1, Blast off.”

He screams at it to shut up and slams his foot into the wheel, only to send more noises into the living room chaos.

In the corner, Gus starts to cower and looks at me in wonder. The dog, now used to AJ’s madness, quietly slithers away to his own retreat. Gus, familiarizing himself with his surroundings, takes a seat in the Pickel chair out of harms way. I have taught him well.

AJ begins to swear his favorite and only expletive, God Dammit. He’s standing now in the middle of the room, staring at me arms fisted at his sides, mouth open as wide as it can possibly go, eyes closed. Hard stance.

This is the part that always scares me. Yes, I am afraid of my own son. Sad, I know. But I’m afraid of the unexpected. Afraid of being beaten by him. I don’t know what comes next. Who will he attack? What will he throw? I’ve had dreams where he comes up to my bed in the middle of the night with a knife and that, THAT, scares the crap out of me. Do I think that he is capable of it at 7? Heck no. But I don’t know who he is going to become.

His next move doesn’t shock me. He drops to the floor in a W sit, hitting his own leg in frustration. He’s whining now….

“I don’t want to, I don’t want to.”

I respond calmly that I know he doesn’t but it’s time.

He searches the room. I know this look. He’s looking for something to throw so I cut him off, taking two steps toward him and clasp my hands around his wrists to gently remind him that he is not supposed to throw. In my attempt to do this though I have inadvertently lowered myself  into an Asian squat and making myself available for the headbutt.

Headbutt received. Shit.

Not so calm anymore because I’m on my arse in the middle of the room, holding my head AND getting kicked. AND? He’s yelling at me to SHUT UP. AND? I’m not talking.

AND? Gus is now screaming at him.

Welcome to chaos.

I only asked him to get his pajamas.

Alcohol Exposed, Severe Sensory Processing Disorder, BiPolar Disorder, PTSD, anxiety, OCD, and multiple learning disorders. He’s only turning 7 in May and he’s so, so, disoriented. But I love him.

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My daughter arrived home at thirteen months, broken in spirit and disconnected. I sensed that she was engulfed in an invisible cocoon. Her cries and screams, which happened without warning and often over a dozen times each day, expressed her fathomless grief and her inability to connect. My daughter was trying, but her sensory processing system was not integrated. I didn’t know how to help her, other than to snuggle her up as close to me as I possibly could, many times skin-to-skin, in an attempt to absorb the demons that chased her.

It would be years later until I understood the magnitude of the cards she’d been dealt by losing her birth mother and by being adopted. I, mother to this precious soul, was ripped open.  My daughter’s grief and her sensory integration processing disorder connected us on the deepest level imaginable. She felt safe with me and shared every bit of what she felt. Her disorder made me take a closer look at another side of adoption, one that is difficult to face and resolve—loss.

Most of us come to adoption through loss. For me and my husband, it was infertility and the loss of another child. Long story short: we grieved and went ahead with adoption.

My daughter arrived with enormous emotional baggage packed full of loss—of her birth mother. The loss of her birth mother was another layer that had to be addressed. As occupational and physical therapies integrated her sensory processing and improved her speech, she began to verbalize the loss of her birth mother. Her greatest grief was triggered around her birthday. She only shared her grief with me.

Her grief (at least for now) culminated when she turned nine. I was ready for it, well as ready as you can be for your child to descend into emotional hell. When she finally was done screaming and raging, and telling me I was just her baby sitter, that I didn’t love her, that her birth mother didn’t love her, that she wanted her Chinese mother, and she wanted to live in China (I had quiet answers for all of these…), it dawned on me that she was trying to justify why I shouldn’t love her. I asked her if she was afraid that by expressing all of this that I really wouldn’t love her. And she cried—a completely different kind of cry I had never heard. I told my daughter that there was nothing she could ever say or do that could keep me from loving her. I gave her permission to grieve. I also told her that I wanted her to share it all with me. Mommies are good for that. I got one of her super duper all-body hugs and she went out to play with her younger brother.

During a birth mother discussion with her younger brother in the car months later, my daughter shared that her birth mother had died. I listened, but didn’t say anything. She shared that same information with me weeks later and when I asked why she thought that, she just insisted that her birth mother was dead.

I don’t know if my daughter feels some cosmic connection to her birth mother or if she considers her birth mother dead to her because she has come into another level of healing—acceptance. I’m expecting that loss will come up again—when she gets her period, falls in love, marries, and has children. And I will be there, holding her hand and her heart.

Judy M. Miller’s essays and articles appear in parenting magazines. Her stories are included in A Cup of Comfort for Adoptive Families: Stories That Celebrate a Special Gift of Love, Pieces of Me: Who Do I Want to Be? and Chicken Soup for the Soul: Thanks Mom. She is an editor for Story Circle Network and recently was a presenter for “Finding Our Stories Online” at the Stories form the Heart conference in Austin, Texas. Judy blogs at The International Mom’s Blog and facilitates classes for adoptive parents at Parenting Your Adopted Child: Tweens, Teens & Beyond.

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He has been talking about Halloween since August when he saw the first pumpkin in the store. I’m certainly not looking forward to the Christmas decorations because we all know how he reacted last year to the holiday decorations and the activity.

He obviously loves carving pumpkins but his favorite thing to do is actually making a gingerbread halloween house and he has talked about making one since last halloween. It’s not the candy that he likes…he just loves the project. Luckily, since AJ loves Halloween we don’t have any trouble with the build-up and the costume…but we have tons of trouble with the trick-or-treating because of his sensory overload problems and his issues with strange people.

I wrote much of this post several years ago but it was such a hit I thought I should bring it back out…

Some Helpful Halloween Tips:

1. Be Sensory Smart about costumes
Choose a costume that you know your little one will love. AJ loves soft and fuzzy textures and thrives on deep pressure. So, what does he want? Fuzzy Elmo, a Big Yellow Duck, and this year…A Fluffy Pumpkin (albeit…nothing with hats). They are all so soft he can pet them when he gets anxious. If your child hates tight clothing avoid it and go for the sweatshirt, the tail, the bunny/mouse/dog ears, and a touch of face paint (if allowed).

2. Be Sensory Smart when Trick-or-Treating
Start early, avoid the dark, dress warm (or cool), and stay away from crowds.

3. Be Mommy Smart
Eat before you go, hit the bathroom, head to houses you know and your child knows, don’t push it when things get overwhelming, have a buddy for you and him/her, do a practice run at the neighbors or grandma’s house, and know when to call it a night.

4. Be Smart
Avoid the scary night.

5. Be fun
Have your child open the door for trick or treaters, especially if they did not do well getting the candy…AJ loved giving the candy more than getting it last year. He was much more comfortable at home than he was at other’s houses. He did not know what to expect out “there” but LOVED opening the door.

6. Be crafty
AJ loves to do crafts at home and at school. Last week we carved our pumpkin (which has already molded), made a Gingerbread Halloween House, and colored a ghost. Yeah, I’m not very creative but I am sure you can be more innovative. Try Parenting our Children for some better Halloween Crafts and Family Fun Magazine.

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