Day 345 - Leap Day Baby

The last time Clayton and I spent time together (March 2017), he actually said that he wanted someone to write his story, to hear what he had to say. I told him I really wanted to do that for him, but had no idea that I would be doing this on my own without him. So, I'll try to tell you some of what I think he would say. However, these are mostly my words and my story of my brother. 

Clayton, this is for you...but more so for everyone who can't bring themselves to ask aloud the agonizing questions that throb in our hearts and minds about the choice you made with a gun to your head. I want them to know how infectious your laugh was, what your hopes and dreams were, how deeply you felt life, why you were so angry and sad, and what an asshole that made you sometimes. You are and were a very complicated wonderful soul. 

You will never be gone. You will always be loved. 

~ ~ ~

Like most stories, Clayton's story begins before he was born.

Delbert and Mom married in November of 1977.

They were 21 and 18 years old.

In Mennonite culture, life after high school is fairly simple and straightforward: marriage and raising a family. More of the young people these days are waiting longer to marry and have children, but in my parents' generation and culture, if you weren't a mother by 25 years old, you were an old spinster.

So, they were almost immediately pregnant and expecting the birth of their first child by their one year anniversary. Except that he came early. Two months early and too still. They named him Jenson Eric. According to hospital protocol at the time, Mom was not allowed to be released in time for his funeral. She did get to hold her stillborn son, but missing his service was yet one more tragic sorrow for her. 

...Somehow in their grief, they kept hope and six weeks later she was pregnant again, this time with me. (This would become our pattern with how we charged through trauma and stress. There literally was never even the barest chance of healing or stabilizing before we were on to the next upheaval.)

Mom had always said she wanted a big family.

Delbert, on the other hand, only wanted two children. (I didn't know this about Delbert until a few years ago.)

Amber was born 17 months after me.

And Lauda was born 2 days after my third birthday.

Delbert was furious when he found out they were pregnant with Lauda. 

He was frustrated with the close succession of babies and trying to provide for us. 

His only solution was a vasectomy.

Only a few weeks after Lauda was born.

Mom was devastated by the betrayal in his decision to act against her about something so deeply personal and intimate between the two of them. She said she begged and pleaded for a different solution - she was only 23 years old, after all. But in the end, she drove him to a Planned Parenthood clinic with three small children in tow and his demands were met. It was a monumental grief to her to experience the unexpected death of her dreams for a big family at the hands of someone she had dared to love and trust with those dreams.

Still, she refused to give up hope for another baby and Delbert must have gradually relented because they started talking about adoption and foster parenting.

. . . . .

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and

Lean not on your own understanding

In all your ways acknowledge Him

And HE will make your paths straight.

My parents did. They really did.

They trusted God implicitly without questioning any of their ways. As long as they were following "the voice of the Lord," they assumed it would all work out. I don't know if they ever really asked themselves what a healthy family for adoption should be. Or if we could be that family. To them, providing food and shelter and discipline and education was all that a child really needed to have a sincere and honest upbringing. And they knew they could do that.

. . . . .

So they set out to adopt.

There were a couple of times over the next few years that our family thought we were getting a baby, but it fell through. Then in 1987 we moved back to Bethany, KY for the second time to work at a Christian children's home. Soon after, one of Mom's friends contacted her to let her know that she knew of a young woman who was pregnant and wanted to give her baby up for adoption.

Debbie was seven months pregnant with Clayton when she and Mom met.

She already had a seven year old son, Ray, and she knew that her lifestyle was not fit for another child. Even so, she wanted to give her son life and a good family and Mom wanted another baby.

Mom and Debbie spent time getting to know each other over the next two months. Clayton's dad, Ron, was there too and all of the parents agreed to move forward with a private open adoption. An open adoption meant that our family would legally adopt Clayton, but that his family would always be welcome to see him, know him and be a part of his life. Delbert and Mom had a home study done by social services who came out to see our home and interview our family. Then social services asked for references and Mom says she thinks that they may have even talked to both sets of my grandparents. From there, Mom found a lawyer who was willing to draft the paperwork for less than $500 and that was it to the legal hurdles.

Mom was at the hospital with Debbie when John Clayton was born on Leap Day of 1988. He was special from the very beginning with his gorgeous copper hair and the cutest impish face. He came home from the hospital right into the arms of three big sisters. He was our brother from day one of his life.

But he was also a sick baby and no one was aware enough to realize it. He was never officially diagnosed, but it was very likely that he had to endure a very painful withdrawal process from drugs and alcohol. Mom says he cried almost nonstop and at first she just thought he was an extremely fussy baby. However, when the crying started to significantly abate at four weeks, then she actually wondered about substance withdrawal enough that she asked Clayton's mom if she had used during her pregnancy. Mom already knew that Debbie had regularly smoked cigarettes while carrying Clayton, but she had never asked about the drugs or alcohol. 

The answer was yes. 

Fortunately, Clayton started becoming a much happier baby by around 6 weeks old and we counted ourselves and him very lucky that he didn't suffer any more damage than that in his development.

But it was a rough start.