My Anger

Iíve tried not to be angry, but I sure have been mad!
I think there is a difference.
Anger is something that is deep inside,
Mad is just all on the surface.

I get mad at the birth moms but know itís much more,
Itís their parents and siblings
The life they had before.
Iím mad, but not angry, not at them.

I get mad at the system that canít stop all this mess,
Of kids born in trouble
Kids born with FAS.
Iím mad, but not angry, not at them.

I get mad at other foster homes that wonít keep the kids,
They get moved and moved
And moved yet again.
Iím mad, but not angry, not at them.

I get mad at the kids with their brains that donít function,
They learn something one day
And forget it the next.
Iím mad, but not angry, not at them.

I get mad that I get mad at the littlest things,
They do the best they can,
They just donít know how.
Iím mad, but not angry, not even with me.

If I let myself go,
Face the anger inside,
I know where the anger should go,
Not with the kids, the foster parents, the system
Not with the birth parents
Not at all.

My anger is all toward that demon
that caused this trouble in the beginning,
The demon that caused it all.
You know his name
ALCOHOL!

My anger seems wasted,
What is there to do?
No one seems to get it,
They donít seem to care.
That all these babies are damaged
for life.

My anger doesnít change how the kids function and think,
My anger doesnít stop one single person,
They still take the next drink.
How can we stop the ALCOHOL?


by Carol Peavey, June 23, 2001
Grieving the Loss of the Dream