It didn't last.Yesterday I reached the difficult and sad decision to relinquish Jed back to the Foundation from which I adopted him. I am heartbroken, and grieving the possible life that might have been ours together under different circumstances.
It was a combination of factors. The neighborhood in which I live contains so many
sounds and "moving parts" that continually spooked him. After a garbage truck ground its various gears into action last week Jed was so freaked out that I practically had to carry him back to the house. This happened so close to home that what may have seemed like a safe place (around the house) ceased to be that. It took him
three days to leave the safety of the front porch to walk after that. The wind battering loose siding made him jumpy, and garbage cans that lined the sidewalk were impediments. It became harder and harder to walk him without resistance, and my efforts to tug him along did not encourage trust. At home he began to avoid me, and any earlier bonding moments were obliterated.
I might have been able to work through the above challenge if I wasn't so out of my depth addressing his issues. His needs, in terms of understanding what he is going through and
responding to his behavior adequately, were great. Although I had access to some help with this, the support wasn't timely or sufficient, and with every passing day it felt like I lost ground and faced an additional hurdle. I was drowning.
Finally, the context of my
life at the moment is also problematic. It's not all bloggable, but what
I can say is that there are few places where I feel supported and
loved. I am emotionally depleted, and without adequate support and
relationships to fuel and feed me, I didn't have much to give to Jed.
The hope in adopting him was that we would nurture each other, but he
was nowhere near being able to offer love or affection. The sadness of
that imbalance, though not unexpected, proved difficult.
When I decided to adopt him I thought I was up for the challenge. I thought that love, patience, and compassion would undergird the process of helping him heal and recover from his trauma. I was naive, and let my desire to be his hero blind me to the reality I faced. I have no confidence in my decision to bring him home, although I do believe I gave him what I could. It just wasn't enough for him, and proved wounding, in the process, for both of us.
I can't know what will come next for him and what the future will hold. I hope for the best for him. On those few occasions when he seemed open and trusting I experienced a gentle spirit and a sweet soul. I hope someone can lead him to a place where he feels free to release the genuineness of who he is. I hope we both emerge from our wounds victorious.