Why I concealed being a birthmother

 Why I do not open up about being a birth mother - an introspection

[While going through papers, I found these pages ripped out of a spiral notebook.  I have absoultely no idea when I wrote it.  It may have been around 2014.  Although I do not hide my 'status' anymore, it captures where I was at one point. It is part of my story, and I think it is still relevant.]

Why do I conceal instead of open up?

Because it is something about myself that I hate,

and I cannot change it

A substance abuser can change

and not be a substance abuser – “recovering / in recovery”

An abuser can change, stop abusing

no longer an abuser

A liar, thief, selfish

a liar can stop lying

a thief can stop stealing

a selfish person can stop being self-centered and learn to give

No Matter what I do or not do

I will never find

a way to cease being _____ a birth mother

 

There are people with disabilities that cannot be changed either

A person with dwarfism will always be a person of short stature

But the dwarf did not choose this– it happened without any decisions of his/her own

Not all disabilities or handicaps are from birth

Accidents may result in a person losing their sight, their limb(s), their ability to walk, talk, or even feed themselves

Perhaps they are permanently disfigured

 

I guess that’s it, this

Being a birth mother      is             an           emotional disability

So, this emotional disability – is internal, unseen from those who pass by.

We recognize the signs of physical disabilities:

a blind person uses a cane or service dog,

a paraplegic is in a wheelchair

scars or deformities that are not covered with clothing

But emotional disabilities, signs of it are only seen by the very astute.

 

People with disabilities are often

labeled,

misunderstood,

ridiculed,

mocked,

marginalized,

scorned,

dismissed,

stereotyped, &

 judged.

So, why would I want to expose this handicap, this emotional disability to the reviling of others?

It would be like gathering tinder and sticks and arranging them around a post I’ve hoisted up, where they will surely burn me – not physically, but emotionally burn me at the stake.  (I can predict the reactions)

When you ask me to open up – this is what you ask me to do

 

I am who I am

Being a birth mother is something that has disfigured and painfully marred my life,

But I cannot change that

If I remove the veil so you can see the emotional scars

– can YOU be trusted with the burning torch in your hand?

 

I care too much, not about what people think about me, but about what they will say to me.

I did not make a “loving, selfless choice” as you believe

My son’s adoption was not a baby “saved from abortion”

It is not a “beautiful thing” or a “win-win”

[being told these things used to sting, but now they just make me angry because they are lies, lies, lies that people WANT to believe] 

NO! It has been two decades of excruciating pain and torment

 

And you want me to open up to your trite & stereotypical responses?!

 

BUT        I               Must.

I               Must      remove the veil

You        Must     see the reality of a disfigured & wounded soul

 

YOU MUST have this OPPORTUNITY to see a reality of this institution you esteem so highly

You

Must

Have

this

Opportunity

It will then be up to you

Whether you look quickly away

because it is not the picture of beauty you expect to see,

OR

Whether you look long enough to challenge your preconceived

& tightly held beliefs

and perhaps re-evaluate them

I've stopped

concealing 

that I am

a birth mother

so you can see

the UGLY  TRUTH

Christmas - the season of dread

Today is January 25^th – it is one month after Christmas.  I just finished putting away the Christmas stuff.  I have also done a lot of reflecting and comparing this Christmas of 2019 to last year and others prior.

I think the last I celebrated Christmas – celebrated; as in really threw myself into it and enjoyed the season, played the music, and happily bought or made gifts and wrapped presents, was probably 2007.  Each year since then had its own wave of “hard”. 

That first Christmas after my son was born was undeniably difficult.  The following first few years I was still completely under the adoption spell and in denial.  I still believed the lies of adoption, that he was “where he belonged” that he deserved better, that love was not enough, that I would have ruined him, etc. 

During the early years I still got pictures of him each January (semi-closed adoption, all communication sent and forwarded by disgusting unholy adoption agency, bethany non-christian services), and those pictures were my way to stay afloat, and perhaps helped keep me in denial.  
When they arrived it gave me what I felt like I needed to go another year until another batch of pictures would come in.  My way of coping was to push away any negative thoughts and focus only on the positives (how happy and healthy he looked in the pictures) – denial much?

By 2001 pictures were not arriving as previously.  Also, the pain did not “fade” as the coercive greedy adoption agency said it would.  Instead, it was getting more intense.  I was still in the fog and viewed adoption as “beautiful”, but I also felt like I needed a little help with coping, and I began to find on-line resources.  My getting to the point of “unraveling” was just a few years later when the depression began to creep in two months before his birthday in October.  It got heavier at Thanksgiving and the weeks leading up to Christmas got more oppressive each year. 

I developed a survival skill of avoidance.  It seemed to work the first few years when I just skipped out of church on the days of the children’s Christmas play and such events.  But then it mushroomed
to the point that I did not go to church the whole month of December, I refused to listen to any Christmas music, thus no radio, I got angry when seeing billboards or ads in the Sunday newspaper, I would not go to any Christmas type events, I completely stopped decorating, resisted there being a Christmas tree in the house, and I would not even open Christmas cards (unless they were from my online Cheerio family”-which was my only ray of light in those days).  I pretty much tried to pretend that Christmas did not exist.  It was not fun and I woke up each day wishing Christmas was over and it would be January already.

However, no matter how awful I felt or depressed I was, I consistently sent presents, cards, letters, and pictures to my son and his family.  I did my best to make the packages as festive as possible, and wished he would only feel the immense love I had for him and I hoped the heaviness I felt never bled through for him to feel. 

One tradition I accidentally started was sending a Christmas ornament each year.  The only requirement was that the ornament had two characters – symbolizing both of his original parents.  Part of the tradition was buying two ornaments; sending one to him and keeping the other for myself.  The first few years I enjoyed getting the ornaments out – in sequence, and as I hung them I would reminisce if there was a particular reason for that year’s ornament.  But it just got to be too painful being reminded of what was not.  I wrote about it here (click to open prior post.)  When I unpacked the Hallmark Ornaments to hang this year, I was surprised to realize that ornaments I kept for myself over the past seven years were purchased and put into storage unopened.   

But this year – Christmas of 2019 – this year was completely different. 

This year it was a very merry affair

I rekindled the old tradition of going out to get our live tree the day after Thanksgiving.

I pulled out all the Hallmark Ornaments and lined them up on the couch (in sequence by year, of course).  Mr. Cheerio plugged in the lights and wound them around the tree.  I asked him – to his utter surprise – to put on Christmas music several times before Christmas.  I opened the Christmas cards and hung them above a window.  I went shopping. Yes, I did.  I actually went to stores and walked around the Christmas sections without wincing (and I should have bought the shower curtain with gingerbread men on it!).  

The difference this year is that my son kicked off reunion back in March.  He went from occasional snail mail to regular contact via fb, text, e-mail, and phone calls.  Plus there were three more visits after our first face to face, and they (he and my favorite daughter-in-law) asked to visit us several days after Christmas.  They not only visited, but they stayed with us and we brought in the New Year together!

The Hallmark Ornament I picked for us this year is a heart shaped picture frame with “1^st Christmas Together” inscribed on the side.  

The photo I put in the frame is one of the four of us on a hiking adventure during our last visit at their place.  I didn’t want to take down the tree this year because it felt so good to see and it just kept bringing more joy and happiness.

If you would have told me Christmas a year ago that I would feel content and celebrate, I would have given you an incredibly harsh scolding – and good chance I would have lost my temper with you too.  Even if I knew last December that our reunion would soon start, I would NEVER have predicted this precious and priceless blessing.  I have a wonderful and incredibly thoughtful son and sweet and loving daughter-in-law.  I think this year I have experienced a healing I have heard a few talk about, but never imagined for myself.

a dream

6/24/2017

I had a dream last night.  

Oh wait, let me back up a wee bit.

(photo from http://www.dreams.co.uk/sleep-matters-club/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/woman-dreaming.jpg)

Last night when I went to bed, I was thinking of my son.  I am in a different place than I was a year ago, and I try to not think about him too much or too long (obsessively?). It is difficult now that I am back in school.  My long-range goal is to become a counselor or therapist focusing on post-adoption support.  Unlike previous college papers, I am not playing it safe anymore.  I am going to take the risk of writing about real adoption issues (for adoptees & for original parents) other than the right for equal access to OBC.  Therefore the adoptee perspective is central in my current research paper.  Translated to mean it is virtually impossible to NOT think about how this research may or may not relate to my son, virtually impossible to NOT think about  him.

 

Nevertheless, as I was trying to drift off to sleep, A thought wandered in that it would be nice to see him in a dream.  I quickly rejected this idea.  I DON’T WANT TO DREAM ABOUT HIM, and tried to redirect my thoughts of what it would be nice to dream about. My mind went to Pussy Willow.  I could dream about her.  I questioned myself - why should I dream of things cannot be?  Why dream of sadness?  My Willow Puff has been gone almost four years now.  I loved her and still miss her, but I should dream about something positive. 

Aren’t you glad to hear the ramblings of the Cheerio mind at midnight?

Alas, my mind did wander off and sleep did come.  Then I had the dream.

In my dream, I don’t recall Mr. Cheerio being there.  It was like a family gathering, but no one was distinguishable except for me and one particular family member whom I have a tense relationship with (I’ll just call her Eliza – not her real name).  We were at home. I don’t know if it was supposed to be my own or Eliza’s.  In this family gathering, my son was there with someone else.  I didn’t see him or who he was with (his aparents?  his current fiancé?  his own futuristic family and children), but I knew or felt he was there.  I was letting the ball in his court – at least that’s what I think was happening, because I did not approach him, and we did not talk in this dream.

What did happen was that Eliza hugged him, or he hugged her.  I don’t recall exactly.

At some point I had my back to the group, washing dishes, when Eliza came in and said he left.  I repeated “Oh, he’s leaving?” And she said, "No, he left".  I felt a surge of emotion.  I was angry that she got to hug him but I didn't.  I was hoping to at least say goodbye, and now I didn’t even have the chance.

I ran out the front door and saw their car going down the driveway.  As I proceeded to run , the car pulled onto the street and turned right.  Because of the large privacy fence that ran down the length of the driveway, as soon as they turned, I lost sight of the car.

I still ran down the driveway yelling, “Come Back! Come back!  Please! Please come back! Come back!  Please!”  I ran, yelling and waving my arms and hoping the car would reappear.  But it did not.  I don’t recall in my dream if I just stood there, but it felt as though I fell to my knees begging him to come back.

So that’s my dream.  

I woke up and wondered why, of all the family members who could have been in my dream – why Eliza?  Why not Mr. Cheerio?  Why not a family member who listens and supports me regarding my son?

I also ask myself, if it is symbolic of me giving him his space?  Is it a mistake to let the ball in his court?  I just am so careful to NOT be like Eliza in real life.  One reason our relationship is tense is because I feel that she is manipulative.  I never want him to ever feel like I am manipulative in anything I do or write.

In the end, I suppose, the desperate plea for him to come back indicates that even though I try to cope by pushing thoughts of him away, I don’t honestly want him to go away. Even thought I often tell myself these days, try to just forget he exists.  (This is new for me.  Of all the denial and emotion stuffing I did when he was still a boy, I don't remember ever trying to forget he exists.  I have reasoned that I don't deserve him and had no right to refer to him as my son.  But I didn't try to "forget" about him.)

I suppose too, the dream is expression of my fear of losing him again (third time’s a charm, right???)

… so close… and yet so far … so very far apart we are…

I had a dream last night

you don't define me

There is a phrase from Barlow Girl’s song, “Mirror” that I keep replaying in my head. The song is about a girl who doesn’t like who she sees in the mirror and starts to starve herself to become thinner.  While the song has an important message to our young people (yes, both guys and gals) about self-image, that isn’t what I’ve been clinging to.

The phrase I keep replaying is “you don’t define me.”


Who or what defines us? 

There can be danger in who we allow to define us.

I think this is something someone who is in an abusive relationship probably struggles with. 

For me, as much as I hope for a reunion with my son – I cannot let that hope for something in the future define me today.  I cannot let him (my son) define me either.  He is who he is, somewhere distant and not inviting contact.  And I HAVE to be ok with that.

This has been on my mind for quite awhile, and I’m just now making the time to sit down and really focus on it – for myself.

It is hard, really really hard.  It is a decision I have to make.
I cannot let it define who I am today, right now.
And I will have to continually remind myself of this going forward.
Yes, I hope for contact, and will continue to hope.
But I cannot hold onto that hope so tightly that it defines me and what I do.

It is the same with shame.
That is what I see when I look in the mirror, shame.  When I hear or think about the words of this song, it is shame that I feel defines me, from the shame I am trying to break free. 

I have to define who I am.  I have to look myself square in the eyes and acknowledge it, and embrace who I am.  No side-stepping, no sugar coating, no wishful thinking, no consideration of turning back time. 

Perhaps this will be the way to start to not be so bound by the constant shame.
I think this is going to be much easier to write than to live by.

This you tube video shows several quotes at the end.  This is one of them,
"Other people’s opinion of you does not have to become your reality.  -Les Brown”

define

my

life

three years ago today

 

 

today - three years ago, I found you.

at the time I was shaking and so incredibly relieved.

today I know so much about you, but I still miss you terribly.

 

be well, my son. 
 

please don't stay away any longer than you have to.
 

k?

 

 

please

don't

stay

away

burn it all

sometimes I wonder

 

if

 

it would have been better

 

had

 

I

 

not

 

found you

 

Ironically I found this graphic on a blog post about forgetting

 

 

maybe

finding you

was

another huge mistake

I've made

 

 

found

 -   

still lost

his voice

his voice
i don't know why I do this to myself,
but I found more stuff online relating to  my son...
i found pics from around the time of his High School Graduation
(he is quite a handsome young man)
and there are some short video/pics of him at his xc events away at college...

DUMB, SUPID, PEABRAIN, FOOL THAT I AM

just had to keep digging 

why didn't I just stop with the three new pictures?

- i don' tknow,
i guess it's like a little kid picking a scab?
i am so curious,
i am also very happy for him relating to good things in his life, to see him smiling and doing what he seems passionate about

i found a video of an xc event this month, and after the race, the person wandered around asking guys how they felt about their time.
and so,
19 years later

I finally get to hear the sound of his voice...from a stupid video!! 

not over the phone,
not skype,
not f2f,
but some stupid impersonal video...

it is so hard being on the outside.  

yeah, I know - I know,
patience patience patience

He is happy, he is healthy, he is in a good direction for life ...
yes, it brings both relief and genuine happiness for him

at the same time
i am tired of finding stuff about him
- it always leads me back to this place of more hurt from still missing him


i don't want to know "about him" - i just want a chance to get to know him

 

hearing

his

voice

Where there are boundaries, there is safety?

My last blog post was end of May – over three months ago.  There have been so many situations since then I’ve wanted to blog about.   But as a full-time student working a full-time job, blogging time is very limited (to non-existent).  Perhaps it would be faster to record an audio file than it would be to type, which would allow me to share more of what is swirling around in my brain. 

The post in May was about my son’s high school graduation. It seems that the well is dry so often these days.  I was really hurting and originally posted because I was hoping for encouragement.  Instead I was caught off guard by the responses I got on FB. 

Now, let me make it clear that I am not upset with anyone who commented to that post.  I am just taking that discussion and blogging it, because I feel the subject of boundaries that surfaced is very important.  I have read MANY discussions about adoptive parents “setting boundaries” against the original parent(s).  But don’t recall boundaries being discussed between original mothers relating to our children when they are older. 

Healthy boundaries are different for every one of us, whether we are original parents, adoptees, or adoptive parents.  We all need to figure out our own healthy boundary lines – even with relationships having nothing to do with adoption.  Sometimes we move or change those boundaries as we grow personally.

 

So, back to the graduation thread …

Several responses had to do with the idea that I should “just go to his graduation.”  I tried to explain that around here, you don’t “just go” to a graduation.  Seating is limited and they give out tickets in advance.  You do not get in the door without a ticket.  Apparently not all High School Graduation ceremonies are like this across the country, but here it is not open to the public.

*Even with this information one response was that I could go to the graduation anyway and just sit out in the parking lot in my car. 

I know the woman who suggested this is hurting very much and gets very little information about her young son, and that makes me sad for her.  At the same time the suggestion was out of the question for me.  My own boundary is that I will not do anything to cause me to hide and duck from police/security.  Where is the honor in that? 

Think too for a few moments about the violence we’ve seen this past year on school grounds.  I imagine any one responsible for security would be more vigilant than ever to look for anything “out of place.” 

Imagine, had I gone, and was asked or leave or arrested, imagine if my son witnessed that?  He would be mortified!  Imagine if one of his classmates saw it – my son would be embarrassed.  Imagine if it would have ended up in the local paper!  None of those situations would bring about positive results.

 

*Another was asking that if I did go and sit out in the parking lot, wouldn’t it make me feel good just knowing he was in that building?

Quite frankly, no, it would not. If anything, it would have made me feel WORSE – knowing that he was in there and I was not invited, but excluded.

That was his big day.  I did not want to do anything to take the spotlight off him.  Knowing full well that his adoptive family is there, I did not want to do anything to put him in an awkward situation.  Even if deep inside he would have wanted to invite me, it would have likely caused too much turmoil for him. 

The reality is that I am second fiddle right now, and sitting in a parking lot would have only been a stark reminder of how incredibly true this is.

 

 *Another push-back I got was asking how showing up at his graduation would be different from going to any of his sporting events over the past two years.

Regular readers here know that we (my husband/his father and I) have gone to see our son at a few track/cross country events.  We went to the larger events that would have a larger crowd and each one was a public event.  There have been some events I found out about, such as one that was not sports related.  But I did not know if it was open to the public, therefore I did not go.

To me there is a very clear distinction between public and private space.  This is actually my first test to determine if something is within a healthy boundary or not.  I believe it is crucial to respect his private space.  He is not a seven year old boy, and I need to allow him to have privacy and I must respect his private space.   His adoptive parents do not “own” him and neither do I. 

 

*One last comment I want to mention was the input “But he has not told you to stay away.”

My thought on this is – Exactly!  Nor do I want to provoke him to the point that he would have to tell me to stay away.  I feel that I must weigh all of my actions carefully to avoid this kind of negative confrontation.

If I were to continue acting with the frame of mind “he didn’t tell me no” – and I do that over and over again.  If it finally gets to a point that he would actually tell me no, then I have already crossed one of his boundaries and it would then be much harder trying to repair the damage.

I hope that restraint will be worth something someday.  I have known his last name for almost three years.  In that time I have not been to his high school, his hometown, or driven by his home. 

All opportunities to watch at public events are over now as he went off to college last month – eight hours away in another state.  That will be his territory.  We won’t be able to watch, unless he opens the door and invites us into his space.

So those are my self-imposed boundaries.  I am not ashamed of any actions I have or have not taken.  I also think these boundaries keep us from falling into a stalker category.

Open for discussion, ideas, or thoughts. . . How did you approach finding healthy boundaries with your adult adopted son or daughter?

Healthy

Boundaries

Milestones

This needs to be a short post, as summer classes have started and I have a few chapters to read before class tomorrow night.

The past few months have had their ups and downs, with some down times being darker and valleys deeper.  I am thankful that I have a good network to lean on during those times.  It worries me that my son may not have such support.

It is hard to believe it was two and a half years ago that I ‘found’ my son.

I did not attempt direct contact until his 18th birthday last fall.

I have often used the analogy of a double paned window.  Until his 18th birthday both windows were closed, the ones on my side as well as the ones on his side.  When he turned 18 and I sent him our full names with contact information, it was as if I had opened the window on our side.

While that is great and fantastic, it isn’t the end of story.

It isn’t time for contact or reunion yet, because he needs to get to the place where he too opens the window on his side.

I have done what I can do, and the rest is up to him at this point.

BUT that does not mean I am in the clear.  I still need to be very careful with everything I do, because it will influence his willingness or resistance to opening that window.

This is his senior year of high school, and it has been wrought with incredibly painful milestones.  Each milestone is a wonderful celebration for him, his progress, his growth, and his accomplishments.  These steps he is taking as he is closing this chapter in his life before beginning a new one.  This is good.  He has worked hard and it is paying off.

At the same time, it is difficult to sit here still being an observer in the shadows as he approaches and then passes these milestones.

I remember co-workers showing off senior pictures of their son, or niece, or other relatives they’re proud of.  I enjoyed sharing in their joyful moments.  For my son, I was hopeful he or his parents would send a senior picture, but I should have known better.

Early this spring, he, and other classmates signed their intent to stay involved in athletics when going off to college.  You should see the big smile on his face in that picture!  He’s a tall kid and easy to pick out in the group.  But I see this from the still-closed window.  I know of his college plans from a newspaper article.

The Friday before Mother’s day was their Senior Prom.  But he didn’t excitedly (or nervously) tell me about it, instead I found the date and information on their class blog.  I have not been able to find any hints or clues of him going to the prom.  If he did, it is another milestone where he was most likely smiling and I’ve missed it.

In two weeks he will graduate from high school.  I know the date, place, and time the ceremonies will be held – thanks to the information online.  He should be proud.  Even though we won’t get invitations to the ceremony or a party, we are still proud, very proud of him.

This past weekend was the district track and field competition.  He did well in the league championships and was seeded to do well in his events for districts.  While Mr. Cheerio and I went to watch him run, it was such a difficult time realizing that this was his last track event of the school year; therefore it was my last chance to see him until – until who knows when. 

 Back to the window analogy; not only has his side of the window remained closed, now the curtain has shut.

I am left here in darkness and silence.

There is no future date to look forward to anymore.

No more glimpses at running events.  No more news articles with pieces of information.  No more online pictures.

What do I do to recover now?

How

Do
I

Recover
Now

???

(sounds like another post for another day)

The power of being a Birth Mother

This is a very personal thread today. 
I want to show the progression of change since the last time I saw my son, 19 years ago.
A picture is worth a thousand words, and these three say it all.

This is a picture of me just after the adoption was finalized.

This is a collage of pictures of me during my son’s childhood years.

This is another collection of random pictures of me as my son was maturing into a teenager.  He is now 18 and a legal adult.  Included below is a shot around his 18th birthay when I sent him our names and contact information.

What did you notice about me throughout this journey?
What you couldn't see me in the pictures?!?!  I am there, it's just that, well, I am invisible.


1st pic of Invisible Me -- Once the adoption was finalized, the adoption agency was not concerned about me anymore.  They got what they wanted, a fresh womb-wet white healthy baby to sell.


2nd pic of Invisible Me --The aparents sent me pictures until he started kindergarten, and then I became invisible to them too.

3rd pic of Invisible Me -- My son is now a teenager and old enough to contact us when he is ‘ready’ for contact, but right now I am invisible to him too.


STOP with the marketed brainwashing rhetoric that birthmothers are brave
Or that they are heroic
Or  that they are making a selfless choice

Just stop – it is a bunch of lies made up by people who want to make money from legally selling babies – callously severing the sacred mother/child bond to fatten their wallet
We were vulnerable and exploited, so cut the pretty words and use the real ones

If you are considering adoption for your baby – be prepared for a life of being invisible.
 
Once you let go of your baby you will become invisible and powerless.  You are no longer necessary and you won’t matter anymore.  80% of open adoptions close - you really want to take a risk like that?  Let me guess, your social worker didn't mention adoptions closing?

The being invisible --
It stings when it comes from the agency. You blame yourself for believing them, even though they were so convincing and painted such beautiful pictures.  Being masters of deception it seemed they genuinely cared about you. How were you supposed to know they would drop you like a dirty diaper?

It hurts when the betrayal comes from your child’s aparents.  How could they?  We trusted them with our own flesh and blood – how could they          fill in the blank because it’s all happened.  With semi-open promises of updates and pictures that are no longer sent.  Perhaps, it is e-mails in a more open agreement that stop or go unanswered.  Maybe they’ve moved away, leaving you no forwarding address or information.  How could they?  The answer is simple – because we are invisible to them.

All of that is much easier to bear than when it’s from your own son / your own daughter.  I know it has only been a few months and he “needs time.”  I just can’t shove off the feelings of being invisible, insignificant, and worthless. 

Only he can decide if/when he wants to make contact.  And I have no guarantee that he ever will – none of us do. 
Will I be invisible in the casket too?


If you are considering adoption for you baby – it is nothing like you imagine.  All the doubts you’ve stuffed while listening to the sweet social worker, all the questions you refused to ponder. They’ll come back to visit you again and again, whether awake or in your dreams.  They'll haunt you.

So, if you are considering adoption for your baby, the day you let go of him or her you may as well walk to the nearest toilet and flush your self worth – because that is what adoption will do to it anyway.

Invisible

and

Powerless

the Wishbone

The Wishbone

For me Thanksgiving has not been a happy holiday for a very long time.  How could I be happy?  It is only a month after my son’s birthday and everyone in the country is talking about family traditions, family recipes, family this, and family that.  My heart just hurts for the family I gave away – and how much I miss him.

This year I keep thinking about that tradition of breaking the wishbone. 

If a turkey was on your Thanksgiving table perhaps you kept the wishbone aside.

Do you remember the ‘rules?’

First is to not break the wishbone while carving the turkey.

After removing the wishbone from the bird clean it and sit it aside to dry.

You can’t really break it until the bone has dried, so you wait.

Finally the day comes when you each hold an end of the wishbone and pull. 

Whoever gets the larger end wins – and they get to make a wish! 

I remember a few times as a kid breaking the wishbone with my older sister.

This year I was pondering this whole practice, and thinking about how unlucky it is from the wishbone’s point of view. Something in my little head snapped as I realized that adoptees are usually the wishbone in the whole mess of adoption.

I kept thinking of my son and how I hope to hear from him, allthewhile realizing all the reasons of why I probably won’t.

I can’t imagine how ‘pulled’ he may be feeling right now

– pulled by the wishes of his adoptive family

– pulled by the hopes from his original family

I don’t want to hurt him,

So I passively? Fearfully? Hopefully? Almost patiently? wait

If/when he reaches out and there is a chance for reunion,

I don’t want to be party to him being torn, or splintered

–as if it is competition between me and his aparents 

Yes, I understand that the very fact he is adopted and has two sets of parents

He may already feel like he has to choose

But I don’t want it to be a pressure that comes from me,

I would not want it to become a lucky wishbone pull with him in the middle

If his aparents feel that way, I would have to let go of ‘my end’ of the wishbone,

I just don’t want to hurt him like that.

 

No 

wishbone

 pulling 

contest

 here

poem: Through the window

Through the window

 

I watch two mourning doves
sit in the tree far apart
'tis the cold of winter
it nearly breaks my heart

 

Would it be too hard for them
to sit upon the same branch
and keep each other warm
perhaps reduce  the draft

My son, not far away
won't turn to look at me
even though we are  perched
both here in this same tree

 

Hawk circles overhead
as shadow of its wings
pass over the two of us
alone and solitary



The shrill of her call pierces
through the cold and silent air
of her presence and danger
we are well aware

 

 Must we stay so far apart
as we sit up in this tree?
Which of us will be her prey
My son? No, let it be me.

 

 

 

apart

yet

in

the

same

tree

They're afraid of me

What do you do when you’re feeling blue? 
Sad?
Depressed?

I hear some people shop, some eat, while others may sleep.

When the pain is crushing down and I am struggling tremendously to keep my head above water, Cheerio retreats into a world of dragons.

My oldest nephew says the movie Eragon is juvenile, but that movie resonates with me in so many ways.  There have been times that I've watched it five or more times in a week.  I can gague how I'm doing by how often I'm watching this movie. 

[If you haven’t seen it, or don’t remember much about it, I recommend you watch it.  If you do, this post (and possible future posts) will make much more sense if you do.]


Skip trough to the point that Eragon reaches the Vardan.
He is walking with Azihad through their community.
The people watch with sideways glances and avoid eye contact with him.

Eragon comments, “They’re afraid of me?”

Azihad replies, “Why wouldn’t they be?  There is no retreat from here, nowhere else to hide.  The suspicion has kept us alive all these years.  When word spread of a new dragon rider, we were expecting someone who was … more … what?  ”

“More than me” Eragon finishes.


That scene keeps replaying in my head.

In particular this phrase “They’re afraid of me…”    

“They’re afraid of me…”
Azihad’s response was basically “Of course they are!” 

I translate this to my son …
Last week I sent his birthday letter directly to his house with my full name and contact information.  He has not responded (yet).

“He’s afraid of me…”
“Why wouldn’t he be?  Until now you weren’t real.  You were ‘superstition,’ a speculation, a fantasy perhaps.  You were only imaginary.  Where can he go from here?  There is no where else to hide and this may destroy the image of you he’s already created.” 

"He's afraid of me..."

He's

afraid

of

me

...

When stuff isn't "just stuff"

This weekend there was a fire in our area.

Headlines read,

Couple's home destroyed by fire

 

By the time the fire departments arrived, the house was completely engulfed in flames.  “It appears the home is a total loss. The couple who lived there got out safely.”

 It made me think of a conversation from a few years ago. A group of us went out for lunch and were sitting around the tables catching up. One woman was describing some of her struggles since their house caught on fire earlier in the year. It was traumatic even though everyone got out safely.

  I mostly listened as she shared different aspects of her experience. Their house was damaged, but not completely destroyed. She summarized by saying that she is thankful no one was hurt or killed, and that is the most important thing, “everything else is just stuff and can be replaced.”

 

 “But what about pictures?” I interjected.

 Her response was that pictures are only mementos from events. She still has the memories of the events and the time shared with people.

 

 Oh, right.  That is what pictures are to most people – they are mere reminders of the experience – a snapshot of the time when …..

 

 But at the time that wasn’t the case with me. I have completely missed all the events, moments, and celebrations with my son – all those things that actually make the memory didn’t happen. 

 

 Since holding him for the last time at three days old, there were no more memories, no experiences, and no moments that we shared together. 

 

 The ONLY thing I had left of my son was the pictures.

 

 So, to me those pictures of him were

. . . .priceless,

              . . . .precious,

                                   . . . .irreplaceable!

 His adoptive parents have not always sent pictures, and even now they don't send pictures as they agreed to.  But when they did send pictures, I copied them, scanned them, even saved them to a CD and put it in our fireproof safe.

 

 Pictures of him were not “just stuff”– they were my sanity.

 

Pictures of him

were not

“just stuff”

    –   

they were

my sanity