We had just finished two hours of intense therapy. We are focusing a lot of attention on feeling mad. This is her most manifested emotion. Anger. We are talking about many things that could be the source of this anger. Towards the end of the session, the wall was weakening. We get into the car to go home and I always have to sit for few minutes to regain composure. The sessions can be draining. She continues to talk about her anger. I can see she is still "in the zone" and real feelings are being manifested. I bring her into the front seat, hold her in my arms and talk for 45 minutes. For the first time, heart to heart. I will not be specific here. I will be in my book.
I cannot remember all the words that I spoke. I cannot remember all of her responses but of this I am completely sure; it was divine, as real and pure as it gets. Just trying to think of the specific words feels like it would somehow diminish the experience. The revelation to her of the hurt and anger she has for her birth mom was freeing. She has lived her lifetime with this anger not knowing where it came from. Neither did I. She has taken it out on me for four years because she didn't know how to get rid of it. And neither did I.
Allowing herself to feel the hurt she has endured is more than a small heart should ever have to bear. For the first time since bringing her home, I felt fortunate to be her mother. I am seeing what it is in me that made me the only one that could do this for her. That could survive her. I don't want to let her out of my sight. I want to hang onto her. I want this to stay. It was the sincerity I have been waiting four years for. It wasn't a sword. It was the Balm of Gilead.
It doesn't last. Weeks have past. Hours of therapy have gone by. I am waiting to see her again.