I was six years old when my new parents took me from one of the poorest places on the planet to one of the wealthiest places on the planet. It’s a bit of an understatement to say that the transition from street boy to suburban family was challenging. None of us knew exactly how to become a family, especially my younger brother and I who had been living alone on the streets of Kenya. We were both so full of pain and trauma that we had no idea how to live in a family. It was not an easy time for any of us.
One of the things I was really trying to navigate was how was I going to allow someone else to parent my little brother? Since the age of 3, I had been his primary caretaker. So you can imagine how hard it was for my parents who were trying to raise both of us. When my brother would get in trouble, I always stepped in to try to control the situation. As you can imagine, my parents really appreciated that! Ha! My parents would not only have to try and deal with what was happening with him but also with me trying to parent him. To them it probably felt like a hopeless situation.
But, then I remember the day that an incident occurred with my brother and I looked at my mom and said “go take care of YOUR child.” This was not just me allowing them to care for my brother, but this was also me telling them that I trusted them enough to care for my brother. At that moment, there was hope that trust would come for all of us.
When we were first adopted, we were really challenging I’m sure. Some of you know what I am talking about. We could be having a good day and all of the sudden out of nowhere one of us would start to misbehave. This usually came in the form of throwing a fit by kicking, screaming and/or throwing things…usually at someone! Our parents would remove us from the “scene of the crime” and then have to leave stores or restaurants or wherever we happened to be at the time. Eventually, the stores or restaurants where these behaviors had happened became triggers for all of us. A lot of you know that feeling, I’m sure. That feeling of not being able to go out without causing a spectacle or a huge scene. Scenes like carrying your child (of a different race) out of Target who is screaming “YOU’RE NOT MY DAD!” But luckily this was not a forever thing in our family. To be honest though, there are still restaurants that we try to stay away from, and there were stores we didn’t ever step foot in again, but it was a temporary season.
I think this was a temporary season because my family made sure to still go out in public. If my parents told us that we weren’t allowed to go out ever again, we probably would have acted out even worse! It was their confidence in us that we COULD behave and the trust they had in us and their belief that we could behave that ultimately helped us to eventually be able to go out without crazy behaviors ruining the experience for everyone. I am not saying that any of it was perfect. There were still times that we would act out while we were in public, and then we might lose the privilege of going to that particular place again, but there were always alternatives so that we could still be able to go out as a family. We didn’t have to go back to the shoe store that we were carried out while yelling “I hate you or ” or “You’re hurting me” or go back to the restaurant where we were throwing things, but what was important is that we didn’t give up going out just because of our behavior. My parents believed we could do better, and so we did.
One of the things that I struggled with when I was first adopted was bonding with my new mom. This went on for quite a while. I bet my mom thought this would go on forever. If there was one person that I was the rudest to, it was definitely my mom. But as I look back, I realize that no matter what kind of trouble I got myself into, I knew that my mom loved me no matter what.
Even when I would say or do super mean things, my parents made sure to say that they loved me no matter what. As a younger kid I thought it was just something they said to make me feel better. They would say this so much that I could recite this in my sleep. I didn’t really realize what a big deal this was until I got older. It became obvious that there was nothing I could do to make my parents love me any less. As a kid who had struggled and still struggles with not being loved by my birth mom, this was something I needed to hear over and over. It made it so that I could trust my parents, and ultimately it allowed us to develop the close relationship we have now.
Last summer I was able to return to Kenya for the second time since I was adopted. I got to see all of the work that my church is involved in as well as see some old friends. I even got the opportunity to see my birth mom even though I honestly was not planning on seeing her on that trip. I had experienced a difficult meeting with her on my first trip four years earlier when I was 16. It had been over 10 years since I had seen her, and it felt like I was talking to a brick wall. Talking to her felt like she was looking right through me. She didn’t say much. I wasn’t surprised, but I was truly sad and disappointed. I still longed to have a relationship with my mom even though she had abandoned my brother and me. The author of the book Just Mercy, Bryan Stevenson, says that “Each of us is more than the worst thing we’ve ever done.” Somehow looking at her, I tried to remember that line and find compassion for her in spite of the pain she had caused.
Because of this, my expectations for last summer’s trip were really low. But I wasn’t prepared for what would come next. Not only was my mother there and actually present, but she even looked like someone else. She had dressed up, she was smiling, she asked about me and my brother and about our life. It was funny, because later my parents kept saying that they didn’t recognize her because she looked so different. My favorite part of the trip was at the end of our conversation when my birth mom looked at me and said that she was sorry for not being there for me and my brother and that she hadn’t been a good mother. When she said this, it completely caught me off guard, but I was still able to look at her and tell her that I forgave her. Her asking forgiveness didn’t fix my relationship or the deep wounding in my brother’s and my life. It did however help heal a piece of my broken heart that was caused by her abandonment and rejection. This brief conversation gives me an insight into the future where my mom and I can hopefully have some kind of a relationship. This is truly a window of hope for me.
When I think about some of the things that have helped me get to the place I am at, I can’t fail to mention therapy. I think therapy is important for everyone, but for an adopted child dealing with the loss of a first family, I think it is crucial. Therapy in my life has helped me process and understand the traumatic things that have happened in my life. I haven’t always been such a huge advocate for therapy though. It wasn’t until my parents found the “RIGHT” therapist that I was willing to go.
I remember one therapist who all we did was play tic tac toe and then every time we would talk about something he would just laugh at everything I said. My mom tells me that she would listen to him laugh and think “why am I paying him to be entertained by my child?” This was an example of therapy not working out. But my parents didn’t give up. They saw the importance of me talking to someone to help heal and understand my pain. So my parents continued trying to find me a good therapist.
When we moved up to Washington, the whole process of finding a therapist started all over. Once again we saw some therapists who were not the best fit for us. There were times when we needed to leave early because we would be kicking and screaming not wanting to do therapy. Even though my parents often had to force us to go, I realize now that had we not been forced to go when we were younger, we would never have been willing to go when we were teens and had even bigger issues to face.
The turning point as far as therapy had to be when we started seeing Deborah Gray. For the first time ever, I had a therapist who would allow me to share my feelings on my terms. With Deborah, I learned that she’s not against me but actually for me. I felt early on in therapy that I could go through the motions with a therapist, but things were different with Deborah. She has helped shape the person I am today in such huge ways. Both times that I went to Kenya we did extensive sessions that helped me be able to process some of the traumas from my early life. As soon as I returned from Kenya, we went right back to working on the things I had experienced there. I think therapy has been a window of hope for me and my family. I’ve learned in therapy that to be able to look into the future, you need to be willing to work on your past and truly experience your present.
If I could leave you with one window into hope, it would be found in Galatians 6:9: “Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.”
Derek Hamer