No Poem. No Memior. Just Pasted Thoughts Of Large Adoptive Family Shtuff.

When life gets more real and raw, sometimes the answer suspends in mid air just out of reach. In my head I gather facts and history. The moment to speak is now and all that comes out is stuttering and behind the eyes a fear of no answer, grasping at air.

The raccoon is dead and we drive past without blinking. I often tell whoever is with me, “That’s a weird place to take a nap.” Or about the car in the median after a blizzard, “That’s a funny place to park.” There is a context in which each scene lies and I neither take the time or energy to investigate. Animal control comes to scoop up a carcass. The State Police slows traffic as the tow truck pulls the vehicle out.

But the scenes in a family, of which I am part, come with the context included. Each scene touches another like the beginning of rain on a glassy pond, the expanding circles from each impact cross over one another. It’s my choice to absorb the context of the situation.

I am often oblivious to the context of little (or BIG) extended plays of power and their struggles. What is a pulling on a toy between two children in my view is exactly what it is: Power struggle. I don’t see or choose to invest the time for the context of each child’s history in this family of adoption. My worn-thin wife, who chooses to embrace the context and operate out of it, is emotionally stretched thinner. I often find her parked in the median. It’s my choice to investigate the contextual framework for the big picture. She saw me drive on by too many times.

So history repeats and the expectation for help, or at least her hope for validation is weak. I don’t blame her. It’s a set up and I set it up for her. I understand men and women are wired differently. Men lean toward boxed and compartmentalized containment, while women integrate and thread all the aspects of life more naturally. There are advantages to both paradigms at times. They can also appear as dead animals on the edge of the road when placed side by side.

Honestly, I know people who live holistically, who have seemingly seamless transitions from one facet of life to another. Barbara, my wife, is one of them. When I consider the two paradigms as mentioned, I would rather move closer to my wife’s “whole pie” perspective than her sidle up to my “one piece at a time” mentality.

I suppose all marriages feel this anomaly tug on each end of a frayed rope, at least any marriage of consequence and extended history. Then enter children and the differences increase in volume as parenting seeks solidarity. Then enter adoption…

To be continued…

In the mean time, Anne Lamott handed me a compressed effective prayer…Help!

Any adoptive or blended families out there…here’s a shout out to you!