“And”

It often seems that “or” is the preferred conjunction. It is “A” or “B”? Are you happy -or- sad? Do you want this -or- that? But, “or” draws a line. It divides. It claims sides. It is black and white.

But what this life has taught me, what fostering, mothering, nursing and living, has taught me, is that straight lines rarely occur in nature. In between two clearly defined groups, there is often a fuzzy divide. And shades of gray most commonly compose reality, instead of absolutes.

I believe we’ve far overused “or” and perhaps should instead consider another, more powerful conjunction- “and”.

This past fall and winter, my family entered the transition of closing our foster license and entering a relationship of permanence with our foster children (now just our children). And as we walked (and continue to walk) that journey, I was struck by the level of grief and loss that I felt. The inability of my children to reunify with their biological parents felt like a failure- not our failure, not even a failure of the system… but a failure nonetheless. That grief, coupled with the grief of closing our foster license, when I wasn’t yet ready to be done, when there were still more children I wanted to help… weighed heavy on me.

And yet with that loss, there was simultaneously relief- relief that I no longer had to comply with the foster requirements- of home inspections, health and finance records, required education, court approved travel requests and paperwork, relief that we could simply raise these children on our own without the bureaucracy of the agency, relief that we wouldn’t have to say good-bye this time, relief that safety and security could be provided at our hands and that these children’s futures seemed more certain than ever.

As I toiled with this inner conflict, I held the tear-stained faces of children who too felt “and”. They wanted to stay -and- they wanted to go back. They wanted this new family- an older brother and sister, zoo of animals and new adventures -and- their small, quiet family of origin. They love that they came to us -and- they hate that they had to. They wanted to fix what wasn’t able to be fixed -and- they wanted stability. They wanted “out” of foster care, and “in”- because they wanted to hold onto hope and possibility.

Together, we are both happy -and- sad, washed with relief -and- burdened with longing.

But this clarity of “and” didn’t begin with this most recent chapter. Instead, my reflections have allowed me to see that it was there all along.

On their day of arrival, their timid smiles relayed happiness -and- uncertainty, sadness -and- hope.

In times of leisure and recollection, when we gently and casually recall their early days and the new things they had to learn- like what “Pjs” were and meal and bed times, they laugh, confused by how it was once new and delighted by how far they’ve come… and other times they feel embarrassed… but it’s usually a little bit of both.

Holidays and vacations are often triggers. Behavior is often its worst during the times we give the most. And acknowledging that behavior lead me to affirm to the conflicted child that I held in my arms- “You can love what we’re doing here -and- be sad that it wasn’t like this at home. You can celebrate this moment -and- wish that things were different.”

My therapist, who was appointed to me from the agency to hep me dissect the tremendous load that came with my children’s story, and heard me grapple with understanding their parents through two different viewpoints, shared these words – “Parents can love their children very much, going to great lengths to show their affection and offer protection… AND do tremendous harm.” Parents can love -and- hurt, want to provide -and- be unable.

To my children, as they unpack the complexity of it all- You can love someone and acknowledge all the many things they did well -and- hate some of the choices, conditions or circumstances.

As I mother 4 very different children-3 teens and 1 preteen, each with unique personalities and character, I can affirm that all of my children are wonderful people who carry great strengths AND they are learning. They fumble, misstep, and all have their challenges. The straight A student has as many areas of concern as the one who struggles just to pass, they’re just in different areas. The child who’s been labeled a “trouble-maker” is one of the most compassionate I know. The one who’s a gem in school, often gives me the most fits. The natural born leader is taking an untraditional path. The academic genius is learning basic executive functioning.

And the “and”s continue…

When people discover what I do for a living they often say “Oh, labor and delivery, you work in the happy place!” And yet I hold a dual role of both a staff/charge nurse and a bereavement nurse. I watch life both begin and end and absorb the wails of heartache and cheers of celebration. I’ve aided families who have held birthday parties, complete with cake, guests and decorations, for a baby that was yet to be born, because they knew they wouldn’t survive long post-delivery- a joyful -and- heartbreaking event. I’ve received a baby from the sorrowful yet relinquished arms of a mother who couldn’t provide and placed it into the ecstatic arms of the adoptive parents whose dreams were finally coming true. And it’s always an AND.

What I’d like to see less of in the world is less boxes, less labels, less assumptions, less “or”s and … more willingness to see and accept the complexities and intricacies in all of us… the “and”s.

I can be a great parent/nurse/partner -and- feel defeated, overwhelmed and fall short sometimes.

I can adore the life I’ve built -and- need a break.

One can feel discouraged by life’s circumstances -and- proud of things done well.

In each of us, resides both light and darkness, beauty and pain. We don’t have to, nor should we ever, ignore one over the other. They coexist, one alongside the other. I can see one’s powerful light, without ignoring their darkness. I can tend to one’s pain without losing sight of the power and beauty they still possess.

A gain can simultaneously be a loss.

Tears can be shed for both sadness and joy and the two emotions can oscillate so quickly it’s like a vibration and you no longer know which one is causing the let down.

As my children learn to navigate their new lives and the telling of their very personal stories, I hope that the people who are so privileged to know them in that way, hold space for their trauma and loss and the byproducts brought on from it- the anxiety, the insecurity, the compulsions and unusual coping skills… AND I hope they see them for all the wonder that they are and behold, their resiliency, their character, their humor, their intellect, their humanity.

And I hope each of us too, see and are seen, both for what we do well -and- where we struggle- for that is how we are both nurtured and aim for improvement. When together we see light alongside the dark, our focus can shift from a good vs evil, black vs white mentality to a focus on complete personhood, humility and humanity. When we stop comparing and dividing and feeling as though we have to prove ourselves, we promote a society that both allows fault and fragility -and- encourages its members to learn from one another and grow.

When we don’t have to pick whether we’re the creature that crawls on its belly or the magnificent one that flies… the caterpillar or the butterfly…. but instead acknowledge that in all of us, we are both, the sooner we can become.

When we can sit in the open and restful place of “and”, we can more quickly and more clearly see ourselves, in all of our beautiful complexity… and take in the very same from the world around us.