The Lost Children

I had a huge breakthrough that I’ve been trying to figure out how to approach. I have been feeling like my trees, my circle of life if you like… is missing something. Or rather, someone. Or perhaps… more than one…

I have a daughter- not Gabrianna my oldest. This little girl was my middle child. I gave birth to her at 22 weeks 4 days. Myria Lynn was what they refer to as a micro-preemie. She weighed in at 2 pounds, 4 ounces; her length was 12 inches. She was smaller than a coke can. Myria is full blooded sibling to my youngest, Rook. He was also early- but not so much born at 32 weeks. Myria was in the NICU at Strong Memorial Hospital for three months. Myria and Rook are 10 months apart.

I don’t really want to get into the whole story here, because it’s a long and involved one, but I’ll give you a tidbit about how life was going and where she is.

Gabrianna was 5 years old when Myria was born, and 6 when Rook was born. If you ask her now, she really doesn’t remember much, but does remember playing with them and how Rook did things faster than his sister. I was going to school at Bryant and Stratton earning my AOS is Graphic Design, working part time at a daycare near where we lived, and where the children attended. The daycare was great, they had space for all three children, and they were able to meet the needs of each.

All the children were vegetarian. Rook was allergic to anything remotely dairy (as in he had separate dishes to cook and eat out of). Gabrianna was my picky eater, and Myria would eat anything that came her way. Made no difference, if I was eating it- she’d pop her little mouth open as in a ‘feed me!’ war cry. I think she was the most rewarding to feed, because never once did she turn food away. I’d feed her siblings, and then she and I would share whatever was made.

Before I get too far off… When Gabrianna turned 5 she went to kindergarden. She loved it, and excelled. Our best memory is me being called into the elementary school office because her teacher thought it inappropriate for her to have her hair dyed hot pink. Let me say- I did not bleach it first- it was over her dark brown natural curly hair. I literally laughed out loud! I couldn’t believe this was the reason I was being called in. I told both the teacher and the principal, two things. The first- if I’m going to argue about every little thing, how will we ever handle the big stuff? And, secondly, hair grows out. Really?? I still chuckle. Gabrianna is 18 now and almost never has dyed her hair since. She knows she can whenever she wants, I’ll even help. Still it’s not a big deal. Death, accidents, secrets, boys, money, health and happiness are important, not the color of your hair.

By the time Rook was a year old (DOB 1999) Myria was almost two (DOB 1998); we had more people in and out of the house than the post office. On a weekly basis Myria had physical therapy 4x, speech 3x, occupational 3x and though she was down from the huge amount of meds, she still received them around the clock. Rook had occupational and physical therapy as well, and he began to take speech when Myria’s speech pathologist realized that Rook didn’t talk at all. And because Myria had trouble gaining weight, we had a nurse coming in once a week for weight check, and to make sure her sleep apnea machine was in good order.

Poor Gabrianna and I were left out of the chaos. I think that is why we both thrive on being busy. There came a point when Myria and Rook’s dad decided he “wasn’t ready to be a father” and left us with no apartment lease and no place to go.

Long story not so short…. I was single. I had 3 kids under the age of 5. I wasn’t handling the situation very well. And, I have to note- I was not diagnosed with anything yet. I was not on any medication. I should have been. But that’s hind sight.

I decided after much deliberation, list making, a heart breaking decision that we were not going to make it. Myria was the one who needed the most. She had been diagnosed with brain bleeds due to the early birth, cerebral palsy and a non-related seizure disorder. Although all the kids deserved more, I knew she needed a family who could really take care of her, and could meet her needs.

I worked through an adoption agency in Rochester. There was only one family who fit every single criteria I asked for. So, by the time her second birthday was here, she was moved in with her adopted parents. Myria is now 14. We have an open adoption. My mom sees her on a fairly regular basis. I used to go see her. Robyn hasn’t met her yet. She wants to, but understands that for right now, I can’t go. It’s something I am sure I will get to in therapy after time.

Myria Lynn is just one of the missing, lost children in our family. Prior to my pregnancy with her, I lost a baby boy at 20 weeks gestation. My mom helped me name him: Jonah. The hospital let me hold him, and took pics of him, and did a footprint, and they gave me this little necklace charm with a gold ring on it. I have them all in a box I have with stuff that has meaning. I have not looked at the photos in years. I sometimes wonder if he would have looked like his brother Rook, or sister Myria. In going down memory lane to the child I lost, it reminds me of another boy I have not had the chance to know…

My mom and dad also gave up a baby. It’d mean I was the middle child, and not the oldest. He’s eight years older than I. I think of him now and then. Wondering if he’d look like us. Likely he does. But, I also wonder if he ever thought of finding us. The adoption is closed, and something this family of mine doesn’t talk about. I’m hoping, praying, I don’t get too much backlash posting it, but having him out there has been both an external and an internal influence since I learned of him all those years ago.

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