Tonight I never want to see any of them again—I want to shout and break things. The visit next week is almost certainly going to be cancelled (for super legitimate reasons, I am completely not mad about that), and I’m almost just glad. My latest theory is that I have small amounts of adoption rage generated as I walk around, and every so often it boils over: not at anyone, thank God, but in my head. I spend a day or three angry as hell about the adoption and—this is the most bad part—angry at Ruth and Nora for having been made so happy by it. Of course I don’t want them to be unhappy about or with their son. This isn’t a super logical feeling.
Ruth’s father died on Thursday. I never met him, but he was by all accounts an awesome person, and she loved him deeply. She hasn’t actually cancelled the visit yet, but there’s no way she’s going to be in shape to have company just over a week later. I saw an essay that one of her friends wrote about him, and it was sweet and thoughtful and happened to be the occasion that set me off this time. It’s like an Incredibly Hulk thing, except that I don’t show it—I probably seem mildly frustrated, if you’re paying attention, but that’s the only way you could tell that I am suuuper pissed. I’m not pissed at Ruth, her father, or the author of that essay; I’m just mad about the adoption.
In the essay, Ruth’s friend mentioned that one of the recent highlights of the father’s life had been “welcoming Cricket.” That’s what got me going. Of course they were in no way obligated blah blah, but they didn’t let us know when they had a court date, or when it occurred until a fair while afterwards. And that bothered me. They were probably just trying to be sensitive. But for whatever reason, feeling excluded from that confirmation of their great joy at my expense bothered me, and now it’s giving me a chance to be pissed while Ruth has a genuine crisis to work through. I may be loathsome. But I definitely don’t want to visit them while I’m feeling like this. Of course, that has probably been taken out of my hands; the next visit was tentatively scheduled for the very end of March, so I’ve got time to get it out of my system.
Just because I know how unpleasant I am being here, I’d like to mention that I’ve sent Ruth a short and supportive email, Mr. Book has sent a similar email, and we purchased and sent a tasteful condolence card. If we were closer, I’d bring food—I wish that we could bring food, there’s no way they can cook right now. I can’t stand the idea of seeing the kid, but I could manage to drop off a couple of meals. And Oreos, I could make homemade Oreos for them. They have a supportive community around them, so hopefully they won’t feel the lack of my offerings. I wish I could be there to help, though. I guess my best case would be making food and sending my husband to deliver it. Because I still want to break things.