TOO MANY FEELINGS.

Nika used to tell me that I have too many feelings.

Sometimes, she meant it in a way that said, "Okay, this amount of tears is awkward at a wedding. People might think you fucked the groom." Another time though, she said, "You just really care; like genuinely care. I worry you won't have enough space to hold the things you can't save." This comment obviously stuck with me; the meaning of it encompassing the expanse of what has happened over the past few years. The learning of letting go - and finding your footing when you're forced to - has been one of the most life changing mountains I've traversed.

This, let's call it 'lifestyle' has overflown in a magnitude of ways.

At the time, she made the comment over an injured bird I'd spent the day catching (while watching 3 kids, they loved it), eye dropping sugar water into his mouth, and even resorted to digging my garden for worms when he didn't seem interested. It was a hot day so I kept going out to give him a bath of cool water he like to sit in until the kids went home. I then took him to a bird rescue & sanctuary, taking my time to say goodbye and give him encouragement before handing him over. The employee looked concerned for my sanity when I told him there were other birds around the tub I think are his family, and asked if he'd find his way back.

I considered calling the next few days to check on him, but remembered my limits - my control was over, and this outcome was one to be filed under the 'ignorance is bliss' category. I still think about him. I hope he soars.

When Luvvie and I got back from Christmas vacation, I was putting away decorations when I realized the extent of empath I am. I was sad for the tree going to the curb, and considered trying to plant it in my backyard because miracles happen and at least it'd have a chance to grow roots. My poinsettia got re-potted before meeting it's garbage fate, because I didn't feel it fair for it's season to be cut short. I wondered if the lights outside my house brightened every person it was supposed to's evening, and considered giving them (fully unalive object) another night. A strand is still surrounding my office and they're here for an extended stay - requested by my little empath.

My little love has the same nurturing bones that I do. My favorite moment witnessed the other day when this unhoused woman in our neighborhood we look out for, told me she had two interviews and moved forward with one at the hospital. When I picked up and told Luvvie, she clapped her hands with a face beaming with pride for a perfect stranger. She suggested we write a card telling her we're proud of her, "Sometimes you just need to hear it."

Feelings I cannot explain bubble up through my body daily as I experience what life is with her. As soon as last night, we had walked Rue, and Luvvie had gotten me, bad, in a snowball fight. When we reached our street she counted to three and took off sprinting to the house with Rue chasing after her. I walked behind watching childlike joy emanating from both my girls, and couldn't ignore the light on my face too.

Four months, countless snowball fights, and a handful of, "mom" shouted from any floor, regardless of where I'm at, have flashed like the lightning I caught in a bottle twice now in my life, Nika and Luvvie. Trails have been forged on muddy hikes, frustrations were released via smashed glass, a longboard has taken her blocks when she felt overwhelmed, and a couple trips have been taken now. There's been deep conversations, joint healing, and a connection of honesty and trust I've always imagined between me and a child of mine. She is wrapping up drivers training and will drive soon... so TBD if that continues.

Easily one of my favorite moments with her was when we took a trip up to Traverse City. We went to the furthest point of the Leelanau Peninsula on a day that should be a Pure Michigan commercial. She asked what all the piles of rocks stacked from biggest to smallest were. "I call them rock stories. I'm pretty sure that's the technical name." I said. "They tell a story of those who have come here before us and will stay for the people after us. Even if they take them down, they'll use our rocks to rebuild in their story. Do you want to make one?"

"Yeah, but what will our story be?" she asked.

Hesitant to choose, I suggested, "Well what if we make our story all of who we are, even our past? For the bottom, find the heaviest and biggest rocks you can find. When you're ready to stack them, think of something heavy you've been carrying that you're ready to set down and leave on this beach. Once we've set down our past, we'll find smaller rocks for the top. These can be our hopes and promises for the future. And although they're small, they're the ones that reach the top of our story." Noting to myself that it was the smallest stone, warm and sparkling from the sun that reached the top in the end.

This was newly into our placement, and I thought for sure she'd be thinking, as she did when I took her to the apple orchard this fall, "This is white lady shit..." To my surprise, she jumped right in, and I'll share the one she gave me permission to. "I'm setting down all of the people who haven't liked me. I'm not the person they knew, and that's something they need to work out."

Dumbfounded, I scrambled to think of something equally profound. "I'm setting down the loss of my past. The universe had to have known those were things that no longer suited me."

Just remember," I said, "even though we're setting them down here doesn't mean they're gone. We will still find them weighing us down when we get back. Imagine this beach, the water, and the sun; and imagine how you set them down as the base for what we're building, together. It's all at the beach; and we're home safe." The significance of this statement wouldn't come for a while.

We went back-and-forth like this until our heaviness was a 3ft tall balancing act, a familiar tightrope to the one I've walked on since 2019. We started on the smaller rocks. She jumped in first, "My future will have the family that my past couldn't." It took everything I had not to weep into the abyss. I went in with my stone, looking into her eyes, making sure that her soul was listening too, "My future will have the family that my past couldn't."

She cried. I cried. The universe cried. We all had just the right amount of feelings.

Over the holiday's we travelled to Arizona, so she could meet my family. I knew the things I could give her in that trip; experience, travel, learning (I can't help but have a ridiculous amount of information in my head I compulsively share), caring, being loved, being worth spending money on an experience with her. I was able to teach her how to snowboard in Flagstaff, survive in the desert, and how to lose gracefully at family olympics - unlike me historically. And she taught me what the joy in simply watching someone you love from the sidelines felt like. When it's not about what you're doing at all.

What I didn't expect, was how much my family, and especially nephews, gave her: space to walk into, and to make herself comfortable when she was ready. She held the newly hatched quails my parents raise, rode the dirt bikes, played laser tag, and safely experienced the 2nd amendment right she'll hopefully be afforded one day. The hugs goodbye said everything that trip changed, compared to the preferred handshake greeting when we arrived.

Luvvie came to me by pure alchemy. As humans, we have no say in the kismet of our lives.

In May, she will graduate from high school at 16 years old. Four months after a beautiful young woman was on my doorstep, I ordered her cap and gown - before realizing I now have to throw an open house and we're already late for college applications. As a person who had a fraction of her life experience, I almost didn't graduate the year I was supposed to, and therefore we celebrate in this house. She is taking two semesters at once (fully her decision), working part-time, and doing drivers training.

She is silly and serious; hilarious and honest; caring and concentrated; loving and loved beyond reason; insightful and intentional; beautiful and breathtaking; resolute and resilient. Making her laugh has enabled me to discover my silliness again. Oh, how she loves it. Oh, how I've missed it.

The pride that envelops my body, however, is none of these impressive feats; but her devotion to creating the life for herself in America the way her parents/grandparents made impossibly hard decisions for her to do. And like her new mama, her heart is prepared to reach back for those in need when she does.

Personally, no other thing I've done has been more rewarding than opening my heart to the unknown. Nothing has shown me depths of myself I never knew existed. Like a muscle you didn't know was there until you begin working out again after 2 years; but my heart muscle hasn't had to work this hard in 31 years. No days off.

The greatest recognition received through this path, has been from a judge, social workers, and my daughter. At the last hearing the judge said to me, "Ms. Perroud, all parties present here today have spoken highly of your role in [X]'s life, and hearing your testimony today, your reputation precedes you. From my personal experience with [X] over the years, I have seen the most tremendous stretch of growth in only the last few months. I, and her team, would be remiss not to recognize your commitment that has set her up for success in school, relationships, regulation, and what was regular behavioral outbursts (I've never seen a single one). The role you've embraced is not one suited for everyone, and we thank you for the gift you've given this child." Turns out, an old white man's opinion counts now-and-then...

A worker from her team relayed to me that Luvvie divulged she really feels seen and can expose her darkest self and still feel loved. Oh, my heart. My favorite thing for people to see is us together, and seeing the dynamic we have. To see in real time the person I have worked tirelessly to rebirth and how that transcends to my parenting with her.

Back in 2020, I remember sitting on my deck in my backyard, at my dollhouse of a home, during a successful career, with all the love I could want from family and friends, thinking, "I hate everything I've built." A life espoused the same dream America boasts; where happiness is at the end of the hard work. So why did I have so much, yet feel entirely bankrupt? Therein, starting the path to where I stand now.

Which is on the most solid ground in my body and in my mind. I trust my decisions, my intentions, my actions, the relationships that no longer serve me and those I've found intimate bonds with. I jump out of bed excited for the people and plans the day ahead has for me. Like I tell Luvvie, every person and experience has something to show us. Whether it's something about ourselves - or our humanity.

I remade my bed.

It just took digging 6ft to prepare my own grave to realize I wasn't ready to be buried alive.

Emotions and all.

- A