About Cheerio

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In general I am a cheery and energetic person. But I am enshrouded in a cloak of iron. That cloak is the weight of greiving my son, whom I've lost to adoption.

Monday, October 24, 2011

What a MESS!!!

Change is inevitable.
We can't always accurately predict ahead of time what the outcomes of change will be, nor can we always foresee the far-reaching effects of its tendrils.

The change comes,
and later we find that - oh, no!   I'm not liking this effect at all!

So it is with my blog(s).  Having been silent for months, changes happened while I was away.  With my most recent posts people were unable to add comments, so I had to adjust my settings.

Somewhere I clicked something, and I'm not entirely sure what it was, but I wish I could undo it.

All my old posts are now one huge long run-on paragraph.  If you're a regular visitor, you'll know immediately that is NOT my style.

So, now I'm going to be cleaning up a huge unintended mess as I go through all the blog posts I've ever written, and try to make them presentable and put back in the paragraph breaks for the intended emphasis.

That's what happens when we make decisions without a full understanding of its implications.  So it is with adoption...

Pregnant, afraid, and considering adoption she gets sucked into a world where the truth of the far-reaching effects of such a decision is skillfully hidden from her.

Later could be days, weeks, or maybe years down the road.  She turns a corner to find out she has yet another big huge mess that ties directly back to the 'decision' to give up her baby for adoption.  Unexpected effects could be dealing with the adoption closing, it could be finding out that the people who supported adoption as the best decision are nowhere to be found after the fact, it could be the inability to have another child, it could be the inward slicing of the knife as peers, friends, or co-workers have babies of their own, it could be silence after trying to reach out to adoptee who is now an adult, it could be flat out rejection after being found, it could be the difficulty of keeping ones head above water during the cycles of depression that threaten to suck her under each and every year...the possibilities go on, and on, and on.

By then, there is no way to un-do it.  We're simply left trying to figure out how to cope, how to deal, how to repair all the damage (if that is even possible) and pull together yet another room full of shattered pieces of our heart or life back together just to survive.

Adoption does not "solve" a "problem" -
it only creates different ones, and more of them.

what a
H O R R O Rific

Thursday, October 13, 2011

Wishing You a Happy 17th Birthday

Happy 17th Birthday
His Birthdate: October 13, 1994
It was a Thursday, just as it is this year too.

It’s a gloomy day outside.  No sunshine, just periods of rain.  A reflection of my own soul.

We’ve had so much rain this year.  I hear my son loves the snow and winter sports, so I keep wondering how much snow all that rain would have translated into.

Yesterday was a really hard day. As I drove into work I realized that it was on a Wednesday so many years ago that I drove my boyfriend’s car into work.  He was away at college and we traded cars or a few weeks, since I wasn’t supposed to drive my car because it didn't have power steering.

A manager sent me home before noon.  He said I sounded uncomfortable and it was making him nervous.  I didn’t want to go home, what was I going to do at home by myself?  Alas Barry won and I drove back to my apartment where my kitten Monster Paws greeted me. 

Now what?  There was not much to do but jog up and down the 12 flights of stairs in the apartment building  - again!  Not really interested in the stairs, I continued working on the blanket I was crocheting for him.

He was due on the 3rd.  Sometimes I wonder if it was a physiological reason that he hadn’t come yet.  Maybe my mind didn’t want to “let go” of him, knowing the impending separation.

I don’t want to think about it anymore.  Someday I suppose I should write out all the details, but for now I’ll just cut it really short by saying I went to the hospital that night and he was born the next morning. 

I wish I could be retelling it like other new mommas – all beaming with joy and smiles.  I can’t.  My heart is heavy.  I miss him so much, I don’t know if mere words can fully express it.

Of my adoptee friends, so very many of them say that their birthday isn’t really a happy time for them either.  So I don't feel so bad that I'm not happy on his birthday.

I don’t know what you’re doing today, my son.

I do wish you happiness and cake with really yummy icing. 
I wish you to be surrounded by love. 
Most of all I wish, and I’m sorry if this is selfish, but I wish you could feel the love I have for you and know that I hope for a day that these birthday wishes weren’t merely whispered prayers on the breath of the cool October winds.

 my son

Sunday, October 9, 2011

The 17th Birthday

Cheerios world has been on the back burner, with many posts that have been simmering. They’ve been stated, but not finished. I aim to refocus on my blog with regular posts each week or two.

This week my son will turn 17 (Oct 13th). 
Quite frankly, this terrifies me.

2002 began my involvement with online adoption activity. I’ve developed relationships with original moms, adoptees, and some adoptive moms. I’ve been part of a handful of forums. One forum is exclusive for original moms, and there I’ve observed a frightening pattern with moms in closed or semi-closed adoption arrangements. 

It seems to start with her child’s 17th birthday and the “final countdown” begins. Just one more year to go and he/she will be 18! Each month and every holiday that passes, her anticipation builds as she pictures the next year will be different. Her attitude seems lighter as she looks expectantly toward the 18th birthday. 

Finally the 18th birthday is at hand! She’s spent the past year getting advice and trying to decide how to proceed on that special day. She carefully and cautiously executes the plan. 

Let me emphasize that point. 
She doesn’t just go charging in like a bull in a china shop. Not at all! From my observations over the past 10 years, she carefully considers her options. She views it from many angles, and does her best to find a method of reaching out without offending or pressuring. There is no magic formula, no book or guidelines to follow; each mother’s attempt is different. 

The 18th birthday comes, and it goes. 
We wait expectantly with her to hear a response or reply. Days pass, then weeks. The weeks turn into months. All the while she is hopeful. 

The 19th birthday comes and goes – and she has had no response. 
We try to encourage and support her as we watch her struggling to remain positive. 

The 20th birthday approaches the horizon.  It comes, and it goes.
Once again my heart is torn a thousand times to watch this woman on such a painful journey. 

The 17th birthday is a time when she becomes hopeful that she finally may be able to connect with her lost child. For the next two years she struggles within to remain positive. When no response comes, it is so incredibly hard to witness her plight and her obvious pain. 

One year from now, it may be my turn to be the one who is teetering on the edge while my hopes are dashed to pieces.
This week my son will turn 17, 
and it terrifies me.