On Christmas Eve, I found out it wasn’t.
As we were frantically preparing to visit his mother for the holidays, Craig got
a phone call that would alter everyone’s lives.
The boys’ mother, Heather (whose name has been changed for this story), had been taken
into custody for making meth in the home. We were to take the boys that
evening, and retain full custody. The state was preparing to sever all child
custody ties with their mother. As he told me about the phone conversation, I
could see in my husband’s eyes a variety of emotions: anger, sadness, relief.
We had wondered if there was drug use. Craig had even cried over the
helplessness of not being able to offer them a better life. We found out later
that relatives around the boys knew that their mother was into drugs, but
failed to do anything about it.
I sat on the bed as Craig quickly made preparations to welcome his boys into our
home on a full-time status. I closed my eyes and fought back tears. Those poor
boys, I thought. Those poor little boys.
Together, we called my children into our room and told them that Chase, Chris,
and Sean would be coming home to stay. Instead of focusing on anything
negative, I instructed the children to thank God for “the best Christmas present ever.” They were upbeat and excited to “always have someone to play with.” They hurriedly ran off to make room for their new full-time brothers.
Gray, dismal rain fell as we arrived to pick up the boys. They quietly filed
into our car. Their hugs were empty, defeated. My three welcomed them into the
van with jubilation. Seeing that Chris’s eyes were swollen from crying, Keagan quickly began to tell silly stories to
lighten the mood. Chase soon joined in. Sean remained silent and detached.
We made sure that every child got an equal amount of Christmas presents. Sean
finally stated that he wished his mother could have shared Christmas with us.
The room went silent.
“I bet she would have liked that,” I told him and gave him a big hug.
On New Year’s Eve the inevitable question came. We were all sitting down to dinner when
Sean, perhaps the most fragile of Craig’s crew, asked aloud, “So, what do we call you?”
All eyes turned to me, even Craig’s. I searched my heart quickly and laid down my fork. Knowing this situation was
delicate for everyone, I prayed for the right words to say.
“I don’t care what any of you call me, as long as you know I love you,” I replied.
