Summary of My Life

I went to the hospital when I was 6 months old with a bleeding diaper rash. That was reported as abuse so I went into foster care. 

I've been told that I was quiet when I was younger. Hardly ever cried when I was a baby, and kept to myself as I grew older.

I got adopted when I was 5 yrs. 5 days old. I had two older adopted siblings, and then one younger one.

Then we got another kid. We all wanted him to be our brother. He had a colostomy bag, but we didn't mind. I think I was closest to him. I helped him with his bottles and was even learning about the bag. I even got him to fall asleep in my arms!

One night, I was sitting on the floor with him in my lap watching tv. He was about one at this time. I had my arms around his stomach.
He started screaming and banging his head against my chest. I was scared because I didn't want to hurt him, but I could tell he was in pain. My dad called the doctor and found out his colostomy bag had quit working. So he had a new one put in on his other side.

The doctor said that after his second birthday, the colostomy bags would be taken out. I was so happy for him.

At this time, I was reading a book about this little girl who's little brother had died. She wrote letters to her brother telling him about life after he died.

I finished the book on December 12. It was on a Saturday. My brother was in the hospital at this time having surgery. I started praying. I didn't want my brother to die like the one in the book.

My older sister started crying. I had never heard her cry. I knew something was wrong and it was about my brother. I went from praying, to bargaining.

"Please, God,
Don't let my brother die. I'll do anything! I know I haven't prayed in a while, but if You let my brother live, I'll pray and whatever else You want me to do. Just please!"

I kept like this for a while. I really wanted my brother to live.

Later, my dad came to my door and brought the news. I knew what it was before he said it: "Stephanie, Shawn died."

I was heartbroken. I got mad at God. I wanted my brother back, same as any ten year old would. I cried and cried.

Finally, I was let out of my room. I wasn't allowed to go to the hospital with my older siblings. It wasn't fair. I kept asking questions about death because I had never experienced it before. I didn't believe it was true. I wouldn't.

That night, I had a dream. I dreamed that everyone was in my room comforting each other. My dad came home from the hospital and he had my brother, alive and healthy, in his arms. My brother was wearing his favorite basketball outfit. It turns out, he was buried in it.

I went to his funeral. It was my first funeral. I thought he was asleep. Until I touched his cold body of course. Then I started screaming and crying. I wasn't allowed to see his body again. I didn't really mind. He wasn't in it.

It was snowing when he was buried. A cold day for a cold occasion. But that was the day my life changed. Mostly for the worst, but eventually for the better.

I lost control of my stability. I went from pulling out my hair to my first facility. In that facility, I still wouldn't talk. In group, I sat in my chair with my legs pulled up to my chest and I read. I got worse when I was mad, I wouldn't say one word. It's like I didn't know how to speak. I got an Individual Treatment Plan (IEP) to carry around one of those magnetic drawing pads to write on since I wasn't able to make words come out of my mouth.

Eventually, they said if I didn't talk, I would never get discharged. So, I started talking. I still didn't look anyone in the eye.

I eventually went back home, but I wasn't better. After a while, by adopted parents dropped me off at DHS without even saying goodbye. That made things worse. I started withdrawing back into myself.

I went from foster home to facility and back again over and over until I turned sixteen. I discharged from my last facility and went into my last home, a therapeutic foster home. 

Over time, my foster mom became my guardian and I was reassured that I wouldn't move again. I found a place that accepted me and doesn't care that I have Asperger's. I'm twenty-one and I plan on staying here for a while.