Ten years— a decade!— ago, I met Phineas for the first time. He was small, and withdrawn, and clearly different than every other 14 month-old baby I’d ever held in my arms.
I’d be lying if I said there was no fear in that moment. Up until that instant, I had been the mother of children whose arc in life was fairly predictable. There would be hiccups and struggles (who doesn’t have those?) but by God’s grace, I had not seen the inside of of any specialists’ office for more than an acknowledgement that no, we didn’t need their services.
But, Phin.
From the beginning, from that very first meeting, we knew that Phineas would change everything. And he did. Instantaneously.
I’ve since been called upon by other mothers, learning to live their New Normal with their own Phineas. They share the same concerns I faced in those first days, they voice the same anxieties, the same heartbreak, the same frustrations. I tell them what I so desperately needed to hear as I felt the label of “special needs” licking my chin as I attempted to tread water the only way I knew how:
You are not enough.
You will never be enough.
You cannot fix this.
Love is not enough.
Things will never be the same.
Thank you, Jesus.
A little while back, a woman I had encouraged in her own fostering journey with a boy very much like Phin revealed that her husband was no longer supportive and her concerns over the impact on her “own” children were increasing. They would be contacting their social worker to find a new, hopefully permanent home for the boy she thought would be her son. I wasn’t surprised. I remember the emotions well and frankly, I’m more surprised when love weighs more than doubt. As I read her words, I felt a terrible sense of loss for the child, yes. But then I realized that my greatest sadness was for her.
What if? What if ten years ago, we had said no?
It’s almost paralyzing to even consider. Even in the face of nighttime potty issues, even when measured against the broken toys of siblings, the countless, endless medical interventions, the special diet, the parade of preschool workbooks and the 24/7 line of sight monitoring.
A life without Phineas? Please, Lord… no.
A decade ago, our lives were changed. Rocked. Upended. Destroyed.
And I am thankful. So, so thankful.
I am thankful for what I have learned, the gifts my son has given us, the chance to be the one he calls Momma. I am grateful for the times my husband and I have literally hit our knees in prayer over this child. I’m grateful that I have walked a path that has changed me— us— forever.
But mostly, I’m grateful for Phin.