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.
Showing posts with label firstmom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label firstmom. Show all posts

Saturday, June 24, 2017

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

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

"We've Moved"

I’m sitting in the only car outside a local grocery store.

The vacant parking lot was a fore shadow of the ominous message on the darkened windows of the unlit store.

“We’ve Moved,” was painted in bold letters across the glass expanse.

Defying the obvious, I turn off the car engine, and walk up to the windows to peer inside.

Sure enough, they’ve moved.

I walk despondently back to my car. With my hand on the door handle, I slowly turn my head and look back at the closed store, and sigh.

They’ve moved to a BRAND NEW facility. It’s bigger! It’s better! It offers soo much more! These are signs of success and prosperity! It is good news, isn’t it? Then why do I feel so sad, so small, and so lonely?

I remember when this grocery store just opened. It was the first one from this chain brand to open on this side of the river. I remember when it was sparkling and brand new. I remember shopping here when I lived in my first apartment.

But the nostalgia is much deeper than that. I used to do my grocery shopping here when I was pregnant so long ago.

Since moving back to this part of “town” in 2006, I would often think of him as I walked down the aisles again. The squeaking wheel as I went along was a comforting sound. I could buy produce, cereals, and milk, all the while reminiscing the days when I would shop here for those same things with my son.

But another thing strikes me about all of this.
It is simply the words,
“We’ve Moved.”

That captures the plight of an original mother. The memories are stuck, like a gouged CD, at a certain place in the past, and life moves on, but we can’t keep up with it.

Sure, on the surface we seem to, but our mind, our heart, our very soul carries us back to the last time… the last time I held him, the last time I saw him, the last time I sat here eating ice cream before he was born, the last time he was with me...

A piece of my soul will be left wandering, like a hollow ghost, in the aisles of the closed grocery store. I can no longer walk those aisles and remember having been there with him so many years ago.

But that doesn't matter to them, because they've moved.

I think this is another allegory at the ugliness of adoption. Losing a child (losing an original parent) leaves a lonely darkness in the heart, like the emptiness and lonliness of a vacant store which was once full of life and vibrancy.

So, there I stood, feeling forlorn as I look back at the store.
The message painted on the window is only half of what is said. To me, it reads, “We’ve moved,
without you.”

We've
Moved
WITHOUT
you

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Positive Adoption Language / Respectful Adoption Language

Cheerio the student is going to do more digging, reading, and research.

Specific purpose for my next (short only 3 page) paper is going to be -"I will inform my reader about one of the tactics against expectant moms from adoption professionals’ use of positive words and phrases to undermine her self confidence."

As I am researching what people say about PAL/RAL (Positive Adoption Language/Respectful Adoption Language), I am stupified that this one thought shows up on so many websites... "When we use positive adoption language, we say that adoption is a way to build a family just as birth is. Both are important but one is not more important than the other. "

Wait, did I read that correctly? "Both are important, but one is not more important than the other." Yes, I DID read it correctly? Who comes up with these things?

Let's forget about emotions. Is that even logical???
How is it possible to have adoption without a birth?

Umm, I'm thinking it isn't.

So, if they start out their explanation of downplaying and disrespecting the importance of birth, do I really want to adhere to their idea(s) of what Respectful will be?

More posts are sure to come later on this PAL/RAL subject.
Still shaking my head as I signoff...
Positive?
Respectful?
adoption
language
???

Sunday, September 12, 2010

Healing Touch of Death

Today is Sunday, September 12, 2010. It has been a rainy day today, just as it was one year ago.

One year ago was the day God did not grant my husband the miracle that he prayd for, and our Little Flower Bud was gone with an irrevocable finality. After several hours in the ER, he drove us home.

Up the driveway we drove and before he shut off the engine, he turns to me.
While holding my hand, he looks me in the eye and says, “I love you and I know how hard all of this has been for you and I don’t expect you to try again, if you don’t want to.” An enormous weight lifted off my shoulders just to know this from him.

I am a very lucky woman, having such a wonderful husband who I know loves and cares for me. In the days, weeks, and months to follow my love for this man has deepened to a new level that I cannot find the words for. His showed a tenderness that I didn’t know could even exist. And while he usually oblivious to my emotional state, he would just know when I needed a hug. He would comfort me by just sitting with me in silence. He did not push me to ‘move on’ or ‘keep busy’ and he simply accepted my way of mourning. I have always treasured him, but this year I realize how rare and precious of a gem he truly is. This year I fell in love with him all over again.

Over the past year Cheerio has gone though one of those seasons of life that changes a person.
At no time did I question God, nor did it shake my faith in Him, in His love, or if He is Who and what He claims to be.

It did; however, cause me to question why His followers, who claim to show “the love and compassion of Christ,” can be such cowards and disappear during a person’s darkest hours.

It caused me to question friends and friendships. There are some people I’ve know for over 10 years who were among the "missing." I was disappointed and hurt to realize they’re apparently only surface friends and I grieved saying goodbye to the friendship that apparently died somewhere along the way.

While questioning friendships, I let go of some of the ones from the past. I also formed new friendships and there were some friends who were only on the fringes before who became very dear and special to me.

Sometimes it was a facebook message or chat “thinking of you’, or maybe it was a phone call to see how I was doing, and there were those who sent cards or flowers. Each of these events was like poking holes in the darkness that had covered my soul and allowed tiny rays of sunlight to shine in.

Each person who was brave enough to show even the smallest amount of concern has been fused forever to a special place on my heart.

One of the changes I’m not really happy about.
I’ve noticed that I just am not interested in sugar coating things anymore. I just don’t want to waste my time with ‘drama. I have lost my patience with it.

People need to grow up, stop being so self-centered, and take ownership and responsibility of their own actions.

Among all the angst, emotional and relationship turmoil, anger, and hurt, something unseen has happened as well. Death has brought about some healing. It was a gradual thing, the healing didn’t happen right away. In the weeks after our loss, I exhausted myself with physical work outdoors – moving dirt, shoveling tons of stone, moving rocks, and terracing the landscape.

My mind was numb, while my heart and days seemed empty.
The tears flowed for days and weeks, and months, and a smile was a rare thing indeed. I worked the soil until the ground was frozen. I then retreated to our mountain, walking through the woods in silence. I would sit on a log or a rock, or in a tree. I was in no hurry to be anywhere or go anyplace or do anything. I had no ear buds or ipod as any clanging noise was unwelcome. It was an unusual winter with the last few snowstorms we had.
With my aversion to the cold, I surprised myself with how frequently I was drawn into the woods and would take long slow walks in spite of the bitter cold and the falling snow.

Those times were my respite. I did not push myself to think, evaluate, or analyze. I think the snow and cold quieted and slowed things down.

Initially, I was worried that losing our Little Flower Bud would intensify my already searing pain regarding infants. But in the past few months I’ve noticed that the crippling reaction to infants has changed. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still not about to volunteer in the nursery or offer to hold someone’s newborn. But I don’t find myself crumbling inside when in the same room with an infant.

A year ago I couldn’t say that.
A year ago I was still edgy just to walk through the baby section of any store, but I’ve noticed that this too has changed. I have been able to walk through without the deafening sound of my heartbeat pounding loudly in my ears. My gut isn’t twisted into a jumble of knots when pregnancy is mentioned or discussed.

These may seem trivial to someone else. But for me, those 14 years after I lost my son to adoption were long and difficult when anything infant related came up, but I can now breathe a sigh of relief that it’s over.

But most importantly, when I think of my son, I feel free in this area.
I no longer feel nervous or fret over the thought of him asking about siblings. I no longer have to worry about it being a burden on him as if he is ‘the reason’ we didn’t have other children. It won’t hurt me or him anymore.

Death comes in a dark cloak to carry someone away. It leaves a trail of tears, sorrow, grief, and mourning. But from it’s passing, I have felt on the inside, a healing that was long overdue.

Healing Touch of Death

Saturday, August 28, 2010

dreams and 'The Dream'

The other morning I dreamt about my son. He will be 16 in October and I have not dreamed about him often – maybe 5 or 6 times all together. Most of the dreams I was not able to get near him, he was always at a distance, if I even saw him at all. There was the very first dream many years a go that I went to a weekend retreat which just happened to be at his aparents' house. I was frozen when I realized who the hosts were. But I did not see my son in that dream. Then there was the dream that once again, I was at his aparents' house. In that dream, I could see him outside in their yard, under a tree, but there was no way to get close to him or talk to him because his amom took me to other rooms away from him and out of sight. There was the dream I had maybe 3 or fewer years ago. I was at some sight seeing location, and I was up behind the building, looking down over a wall and could see the back of the building. When I peered over the wall, there was my son, down on ground level with the building. In this dream he looked up and saw me. I didn’t know if he recognized me or not, but I ducked behind the wall fearful of what he would think if he had. The dream after that I was at his aparents' house again. I was in the lower level – the staircase came down the center of the room. Just beyond the last step were two bedrooms. As I sat there, I looked at a clock and realized that it was after 3pm and schools have dismissed for the day. Sure enough my son and his brother came home from school and both of them ran down the stairs and straight into their bedrooms. As quickly as he was there he was out of sight again. In each of those dreams my hubby was with me. My hubby of 14 & 1/2 years now, is my son’s original father. After each of those dreams I woke up with my heart racing, and was wrapped in a deep sadness that clung to me. It was a sadness that I just could not shake off. But the dream I had recently was very different. For starters when I awoke from the dream, I felt good. I did not have a cloud of forboding and gloom. I was not fearful or afraid. In fact I hit the snooze button several times hoping I could go back to sleep and continue the dream. In this dream, my son was in our home. Not just a random house or random living room, but he was actually HERE in the living room of my current house. The sense from the dream was that it was his first time here and he was looking at stuff around the room. I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable or feel as though he was being watched like a hawk, so I sat down with a sewing project – measuring material. I heard some noise behind me and turned to see what was going on. My hubby doesn’t go to the gym anymore – he has his own set of weights and bench he uses regularly these days. He keeps it all in our living room.
When I turned around what I saw was my son, Nathan (his name given at birth) doing curls with his father’s dumbbells. It was amusing to listen to him making those funny grunting sounds guys often do when they’re lifting weights. As I watched him, I observed other things in the room. Nathan would have walked by the smaller picture of himself to get to where the weights were. In my dream my eyes got big as I noticed he was a mere arm’s reach away from the larger 8x10 picture of him. In my dream I wondered about him seeing those pictures of himself displayed in our home. I also thought about him being old enough to drive and about him being here by himself. That was my dream. It is now 'The Dream' for the future as well – for him to be here in our home, comfortable, relaxed and casual. I have not guarantees what our reunion will be like someday, but I pray that in time it would be as this dream.
Dreams & The Dream

Monday, August 2, 2010

ARDemonstrations 2009 & 2010

It is Monday evening, August 2nd, 2010 and I’ve been home from my trip to Louisville for a few days now. I want to share about that trip before I get dragged too deeply back into the ‘real world’ with work and daily responsibilities. I never did get around to posting about the march in Philadelphia last year. So with this first post about the event, I’ll try to compare the two events.

Adoptee Rights Day, July 21st 2009 – it was a rainy and drizzly morning as we gathered at People’s Plaza, Independence Park before our march down the streets of Philadelphia. There were people among our numbers which were not at the sign making party the night before, because Philly was local enough for them to drive in just for this demonstration.

There were several people filming and cameras everywhere. This was a huge step out into the plain exposing open for me. I’m an open book online, but in real life I was an in the closet original mom. It was a very overwhelming at times. I was very timid, nervous, and even afraid. All the “what if’s” bombarded my brain -- ”What if my picture ends up in a newspaper and people I work with see it? What if my name is printed? What if my son’s family sees an article about the demonstration – will they use it against me to try to cut off contact?”

I think the most vivid memory I will always have about that morning is when Scott Hancock asked me a few questions while his friend filmed our conversation. Scott asked me why I was there, then asked if I am adopted, to which I replied, “No, I’m a natural mom.” We had a brief conversation about the terminology and use of ‘birth mother’, then he continued his interview. Then came the part that is forever in my mind, he asked “Would you look into the camera, state your name, and tell us why you’re here.”

I froze on the inside. I didn’t want to state my name, I was still hiding (from myself), so I took the cowardly avenue and said, “I go by Cheerio and I believe that adoptees have a right to know their original identity and it is not right to try to keep secrets from them. Once they become adults they should have the same rights as every other American citizen.” While my focus was clear, by not stating my name I was definitely chickening out.

Just before we began the march, there was a point where M distributed folders with information sheets so we could hand them out as we talk to people on the streets. I immediately thought “Talk to People???!!! Is she crazy? I can’t TALK to people!!!” I very timidly slinked up to a different organizer and told her I didn’t want to talk to people and she graciously excused me and gave my folder of papers to someone else.

I was like a frightened sheep as we began the march, and I made sure to be in the middle of the crowd, so no one would notice me. I didn’t want to stand too close to the Itty Bitty Big Mouth as she led the chants along our way. “You’ve Got Yours! We want ours!”

The demonstration was on a Tuesday and there were people everywhere! We marched a few blocks, and those few blocks were life changing to me. As we marched along, there were a few occasions that people in the crowd walking the same way would ask questions. There was one young man in particular I remember talking with as we walked along. That brief chat with a complete stranger gave me courage to converse with other pedestrians as we were marching back and forth in front of the convention center.


I learned two very important things that day.

  1.   The first thing I learned was that society in general has no idea about this discrimination. 
  2.   This leads to the other important thing I learned, they are on the Adoptee’s side! They also feel it is wrong and believe too that adult adooptees have a right to their own original birth certificates.


So, that’s my short summary from the Philadelphia - Adoptee Rights Day 2009.

Fast forward to ARD 2010. I didn’t think I’d be able to go to the ARD this year, but was delighted when my husband said he did not mind if I went solo. Talk about a change in just one year. I don’t know if I could have done it on my own last year, and this year I was going solo for a whole week!
So, that little bit of courage from talking to a stranger on the street last year lasted longer than just the next few hours t hat day. It has grown in the course of the year, and now I have grown and am stronger.

Last year when I told people, “I go by Cheerio,” it was because I was still afraid to giving out my ‘real name.’ This year people still called me Cheerio – but it was not because I was afraid, ashamed or hiding. Some people in real life call me Cheerio too. I even made a Cheerio Button that had a picture of my monkey avatar.

The day of the Demonstration had some noticeable differences from last year. The first noticeable difference was the weather - it was not rainy, and the weather forecast was for 99 degrees, again. There was no relief from the heat in site. But the heat did not wear me down!

The other difference was the volume of foot traffic was notably less, much less. Now, I’m not from Louisville, therefore can’t gauge what normal pedestrian traffic is like on a weekday vs a weekend. But there were not a lot of other pedestrians to mingle with. As we marched back and forth in front of the convention center, there were not a lot of people streaming in or out of the building.
I talked with only two folks, one was a young man on a cell phone who said he agreed and supported us. I asked if he wanted to join our protest? I handed him my sign and took his picture. I’m not sure if he actually talked with anyone else in our group or not, but it makes for a good picture.

The other fellow I spoke with, I pulled in The Authority to help answer his question. Basically his question had to do with Father’s Rights. His example was a woman has a baby and does not list a father. Some time down the road the mother wants child support so she goes after the father for child support. This man’s question to us was “shouldn’t that father have a right to have his name on the birth certificate if he’s going to pay child support?” I agreed with him, that he should have that right.

The Authority explained that unfortunately the one who ‘wins’ the battle is often the one with the most money. She continued on by stating that Father’s Rights are systematically trampled with the adoption process. She encouraged him to find a Father’s Rights group to join.

When people talk about pro-life or pro-choice, I’m neither, I’m pro-family. We need to support families and help them. That includes daddies and Father’s Rights too.

The rest of the time I talked with other marcher’s (but that I believe is another blog post).


Last year I was tired for our entire stay in Philadelphia. Some time after returning home we find out why I was so tired.

This year I was my usual self, chock full of energy. Although it was hot hot hot out there, I was just pumped and bursting with energy. I felt like I could run around the entire convention center a few times. I WANTED to march out on the side of the building in the full sun. I challenged a few people to a race, but no one took me up on it.

Thank you Panera Bread for the free iced water!!!

About 2pm our leaders decided to call it a day. I was proud of them to make a decision that was based out of concern for everyone’s welfare. They could have said “we planned to march until 3pm, and we have just one hour to go!” But that wasn’t the case. People were hot, tired, weary, and worn out – and they cared about that.

This is without a doubt a group of very caring, thoughtful, and loving people. I am honored to be able to stand with any one of them, to walk hand in hand or side by side (especially when some folks were very very sweaty). It truly is a beautiful experience, and I wouldn’t trade it for any exotic vacation anywhere else in the world!

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

His picture

Since we moved to our little house on the mountain, we've had an annual cookout on the 4th of July starting in 2007.

So for the past few weeks I've been getting things ready.

I have my lists of things to do, must do, have hubby do, to buy, to clean, to throw away, and to make.

I've shocked myself that I actually made and mailed out invitations this year. They turned out very nice, if I must say so myself (yes, Cheerio, they look very patriotic!).

Tonight I'm tidying up the room where I'll have the drink station and food table setup -- the Family Room, as I call it. The plan is to work on this room next, now that THE WALL project is complete.

This room is just a concrete slab (because we had to rip out the flea infested carpet when we moved in). We originally planed to put in new carpet, but then found out how dirty coal and wood is. So now our plan is to put in a hardwood floor to match the kitchen flooring.

This is also the room we installed a coal stove - the 2nd love of my life!!!
 Hubby's Dad and my Dad put in the slate hearth. Then I helped mix the mortar for them to build the brick wall behind the stove and stovepipe. So that area has a lot of memories I'll cherish.

In this room we reinforced the sagging roof. Put up drywall on one wall near the wide panoramic windows. This created a wide windowsill which I originally envisioned our kitty will love to sit and watch the birds.

Just so you know, Cheerio STINKS at interior decorating!!! (It took me over a year here to put up a clock!) I am also very lame with putting up pictures.

 But after we found our two lost nephews last year, I have pics of them up. So I felt like I'd better put out pics of Hubby's neice and nephew. Well, I have a group family pic of my mom and sister and her family. So, I found a pic of Hubby's mom and dad to put out. I am going put all these pics (even though the frames don't match this year) on display on the wide windowsill.

So, right now, this very moment,
I am saving a school pic of my son to my jump drive,
 so I can print it.

Then I will put it in a decorative metal frame I like.
Then I will put his pic on the windowsill with the rest of our family.

Friday, June 25, 2010

Rich and Poor,both in the same heart

No 'agenda' behind this thread.... it's just that, well, I miss him. Today while at work, I was thinking about him and glanced at my bookmark. It is a card my husband gave me last year on our 13th wedding anniversary.

"Rich is not how much you have, It's who you have beside you."

Rich - "who you have beside you." I AM RICH with the treasure of the man who is beside me. Rich Indeed! But it begs to ask, if Rich is who you have beside you, then what is it when someone who should be beside you, but isn't there? My guess? That would be Poor. My life is Rich with my wonderful husband beside me, yet at the same time, without my son, life is poor - it is definately underpriviledged and deprived what it could be (for all of us - him, his father, for me). . . . sigh . . . I just miss him. I want to look into his eyes. I want to hear his voice (for the first time). I want to give him a big warm hug. I hope for warm hug in return. I want to watch him walk across a room, to just see him in motion. my heart aches the tears well up in my eyes and threaten to spill over just thinking about him ohhh... how I miss him ...
Rich
&
Poor

Sunday, April 18, 2010

Sight of the Unsightly Redbud Tree

The week of my original due date was very hard emotionally.

Just two days before she was due, I took yet another hike in the mountain. This time, though I was scouting for redbuds. It is a beautiful native tree here in PA, and early April was when they started to blossom. One of the characteristics of redbuds is that they have big heart shaped leaves.

That day and each time I walk through these woods, I am just amazed at how much work my husband has put into restoring the land. When we first bought this property, it was an unsightly sea of green overgrowth. It was not a good or healthy green at all.

In the sunny areas mile-a-minute (devils tail) had taken over and literally climbed up and grown overtop all the vegetation. It climbed the wildflowers, shrubs, bramble bushes, and was even growing in the trees. When walking, our footsteps were precariously balanced on vegetation, not touching solid ground.

The woods were in just as bad shape. The trees were choked and being strangled by white clematis, wild grapevines and worse -- the foreign invasive Oriental Bittersweet vine. You could not look through the woods and see trees or shrubs. Instead everything was entwined with some kind of vine and/or vines.

Here is a brief synopsis on the growth habit and damage caused from Oriental Bittersweet vine. True to a vine’s nature, the vines grow encircling the branches as they spiral their way up. Over time the vines themselves get thicker while the tree is also trying to grow. The vines constrict the branches and reduce nourishment to the leaves. This constriction deforms the branches and stunts growth. The greatest danger; however, is how quickly the vine races for the tops of the tree and there in the sunlight it becomes very dense with leaves and fills the treetop with it’s ever encircling vine. The bittersweet vine reduces the amount of sunlight to the leaves, thereby weakening the tree. As the bittersweet vine thrives, the weakened tree gets to the point where in several years it can no longer bear the weight of the vine with being weakened and top heavy, the tree breaks and collapses.

Oriental Bittersweet vine is not a native plant. It is foreign plant introduced here. It was not part of the original landscape thereby disturbing the natural balance. It is invasive because it crowds out and kills native vegetation, which in turn affects wildlife – flower, trees, birds, butterflies, and more.

So as I journey on my hike, there is an amazing feeling to be walking on a path, and be able to see through the woods, down to our house. This was not possible three years ago. I was strolling up a path my husband cleared just last spring. I was walking slowly, enjoying nature and breathing in the fresh air. I saw purple ahead of me and anticipated seeing a beautiful stately redbud in full bloom.

As I got closer, I was confused by what I saw. I was trying to make sense of it as I noticed the redbud branches and blossoms were low to the ground, which is not normal for this type of tree. It looked like an older dead tree must have fallen over on top of the redbud.

The confusion changed to puzzlement as I got closer. Is this broken tree I see a redbud? Those blossoms near the ground, are they evidence of survival?
Can this ugly brokenness I see at the top be the same tree as the purple buds branching from it?


I leave the path and walk down to investigate.

Sure enough, the brokenness and blossoms were from the same tree.

I walked around the base of the tree and noticed remainders of Oriental Bittersweet vines hanging from it. This must have been one of the trees my husband has freed from the strangling vine. When he found her, she was weighed down, crushed, and broken. If he had not intervened, surely this tree would have simply collapsed and died, killed by an invasive foreign vine (Oriental Bittersweet) that was never part of the original design.

As I’m standing there in amazement at this tree, it was as if God spoke to me. It was as if He was pointing out that right now in my life I’ve been feeling broken. Not only from the lost of our unborn little flower bud, but also and even more so from the adoption pain of the son I have not seen for over 15 years. And it was as if He was letting me know that even though I am broken in ways, that it does not have to utterly destroy me. Instead there can be some beauty from my life, despite the brokenness. As I was sharing with a friend this bit of encouragement from my hike, she says to me, “But how do you know you are broken? How do you know you’re not what God intended you to be?” No wise person would look at this tree and say it's meeting its full potential. This tree is obviously broken. It is bent over and will NEVER be in the straight upright position that a lovely redbud tree is designed to be.

No matter how many years pass, the gaping holes in its trunk will never grow closed. No amount of time will erase the scars of brokenness and years of damage done to this redbud tree. This is what adoption has done to me. Just as the Oriental Bittersweet vine was a foreign plant invading our hillside, so adoption is a foreign blight in our world. It was never God’s design to break women’s hearts, lives, and motherhood. It was never His design to bring about crushing brokenness to families.

Even though some claim it to be “ordained” by Him or they claim superior knowledge that adoption is “His Will,” they are misguided. Just as it is with the Oriental Bittersweet vine, it is so with adoption. The people who want to keep it alive are the ones who benefit from it. Crafters view Oriental Bittersweet as a wonderful thing of beauty because they can use the bright orange berries. But they totally ignore the damage the vine does.

So it is with adoption. The ones who view it as a wonderful and beautiful thing are not the ones living under the crushing weight, the strangling pain of losing a child, or losing an original parent.

Another irony I see in this story is that the bright orange berries are more highly revered than the natural heart shaped leaves of the redbud. Could it be mere coincidence that this vine was choking out the ‘heart’ of the forest?

I have been strangled, weakened, and choked from pain caused by adoption. I have collapsed at the weight of it upon my soul. My heart is broken and pieces of it have splintered beyond repair. I will never be what I was originally designed to be. I will never stand in the forest straight, tall, and strong.

When people look at my life, they will not see beauty BECAUSE OF adoption. No, adoption has caused the grotesquesness. But when peole look at my life, if they see beauty, it will be IN SPITE OF THE permanent damage caused by adoption loss.
Beauty Despite Brokenness

Friday, April 2, 2010

Are you gonna celebrate?

Wednesday mornings we have a team meeting at 9am. Those who are in the office are expected to join in person, rather than just dial in on the conference line.

During the past few months there have been a few weeks I’ve skipped the personal appearance. Instead I dialed in while I sat in my office with the door closed. I felt like I was doing the rest of the team a favor. I figured that no one really wants to sit across the table from someone with puffy eyes, a red nose, and face all blotchy -- obviously from crying.

The drive into work in the mornings is still a time of struggle for me. When I first started back to work last October, I was crying every morning during the 20 minute drive. Now it’s down to crying most mornings, which I guess is an improvement?

Wednesday of this week, during the drive I teetered. I felt the overwhelming sadness the hurt. It was incredibly intense (again and yes, still). My chest and throat tightened and the tears welled up, but somehow I was able to keep them from spilling over. I sat in my car a few minutes to gain my composure before gathering my stuff to head into the building.

The big hand edged closer to the 9 and I reluctantly gathered my stuff to head off to our status meeting. I felt very uncomfortable when Cottonmouth sat directly across from me (background on him is found in this prior post). I know that I need to address the unresolved issues there, but I am just not ready yet. I am not as violently angry at him as I felt a few months ago. So I know the time will soon come, but until then I will try to manage.

The meeting was the usual stuff, nothing out of the norm. At the end of the meetings they usually mention any company anniversaries or team members with a birthday. Thursday, April 1st is my birthday, and I knew it would be mentioned. Which I’m ok with, I like to celebrate birthdays. It’s a great opportunity to stop and take the time to let someone know what they mean to me personally.

So, of course my birthday was mentioned and there was a little chatter around the table. I mean, there could not have been a more fitting day for me to enter this world. I love to make people laugh and pulling pranks is a gift handed down thru the generations. Yes, I’m an April Fools baby, and it fits me to a T.

But this year is different. This year it’s hard.
This year early April was supposed to be our Little Flower bud’s birthday too.

This year I should have had a baby shower, not a birthday party. I should be doing the finishing touches on a nursery, and making sure my ‘hospital bag’ was packed. My birthday this year was supposed to be about the best gift in the world due to arrive any day.
I wanted so much to look into those eyes, to embrace her little body close to mine. I wanted to see the peacefulness on her face as she slept. I wanted the tiny little fist to wrap her tiny little fingers around my thumb.

But she is gone as are the hopes, wishes, and dreams I had for her, for us.
All the happiness I had thinking about my hubby finally getting to be a Dad. What I have instead is a cold stone to memorialize what will never be. It has no birth date engraved. It only symbolizes the death. How can someone die before they were even born?

So, as the comments of my own birthday were made around the table, my mind immediately went to her, and all the thoughts I already grappled with on my way into work. When a co-worker asked if I was “going to celebrate” I could barely hold it in anymore and I hid my face as I meekly answered “yes.” I was saying ‘yes’ just so the subject could pass quickly. But another person commented “Of course she’ll celebrate!” While another person said, “it beats the alternative.”

“…the alternative” is what I am already facing and I couldn’t hold it in anymore and I started to cry. The room quickly grew quiet and the meeting was dismissed. I was embarrassed as I gathered my stuff and quickly slipped away to my office without making eye contact with anyone. I closed the door and cried for the next two hours.

With her due date being only one week away, I don’t want to celebrate. I don’t want to clink glasses together and make a toast. I don’t want to laugh carelessly and pretend that life is grand and beautiful and wonderful and perfect.

Not right now.
Not today.
Maybe that time will come again. But for now I just want to get the tears out. I have another hole in my heart It needs to heal and mend some.

I am sure that I will always be sad to an extent. But at least I will have closure, unlike the ongoing and growing torment I feel about my son. With her I won’t have to look in the mirror and wonder (as I already do about him) where is she? -Or what she looks like? -Or if she is truly happy? -Or if she hates me for abandoning her? -Or if I’ll ever see her again? -Or if she’ll forgive me? -Or if she is being loved and cared for as I hoped? -Or if her parents are aware and are helping her deal with her adoption issues? -Or if she’ll include me/us in her life as an adult?

So, for now I need to grieve, to mourn, and to be sad before I can move on.
Are you gonna celebrate?
No. I’m gonna cry.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Man, This is CAKE!


The edges of my eyelids are dry and irritated, while my eyelids are still puffy from all the crying. Earlier I went through a handful of Puff’s Plus. Although I’ve since stopped crying, my pillow is still wet from the tears. Sleep is not as near as my weary body would like it to be.

Tonight as I was driving home from work, is when I started losing my grip. It wasn’t even a bad day, really. But by the time I got into my truck and just a few miles down the road, I could feel it slipping through my hands. I was holding on as tight as I could, but I could tell that I wasn’t far from the end of my rope.

By the time I got to the second red light I didn’t have the strength to hold it all in anymore, and I started unraveling emotionally. Try as I might, I could not keep the muscles in my face relaxed. They were all tightening up. I tried to cover up the pained expression on my face, but I could do nothing to restrain the tears as they began to fall.

As I described to my counselor, I can usually tell if the emotional distress is from losing my unborn baby, or if it is related to the losing my son to adoption. The grief from losing the baby last fall is generally easy to tell. It brings sadness, a lot of tears, and sometimes heaviness too. Compared to the adoption distress, it’s relatively calm.

The adoption distress, it’s like throwing paint on the wall. It’s complex, it’s sudden, it’s unpredictable, it’s everywhere all at once. And that’s where I was tonight, everywhere all at once.

I don’t know if I can adequately describe it to someone. For me it’s like a thrashing inside, literally. Sometimes I rock myself to calm down. Sometimes I find myself shaking my head, as if I can shake it off. It feels like my heart beats harder. The crying is not a silent with a few tears. No, it’s sobbing – audible sobbing, while gasping to catch my breath. I often find that I just stop breathing, or am holding my breath. When I breathe in again, it hurts.

By the time I got home, I couldn’t stop crying like this. At the bottom of our driveway, I sat in my truck a few moments hoping it would stop. It did not, so I got out of my truck and walked to get the mail from the mailbox with tears running down my face. When I drive up to the house, I turned off the engine and just sat there.

The crying obviously was not going away, so I gather my stuff and go inside. I put down my lunchbox and laptop bag and head upstairs. Although I’m not tired, I retreat to the bedroom and lay on the bed. The sobbing takes over and I just cry. My sinuses are jammed from all the ‘extra draining.’ My body curls up from how tense I am.

Finally a moment of rest as the sobbing subsides. But the mind does not give me rest, the emotions inside do not give me a rest either. As another wave comes, my fists clench and my chest tightens up. It is pointless to resist the tears or the crying. I can’t really control it – all my muscles start shaking and the sobbing starts again. All the while it feels like a gigantic super ball is bashing into the walls inside of me, back and forth, right then left, up then down, side to side just crashing into everything and out of control.

It’s the iron will to fight with the want to give up at the same time. It’s the want to fight on and an overcoming weariness to even go on. It’s the hope and afraid to hope.

My heart, it just hurts. I long, desperately long to see my son, but I know that whatever relationship we might have in the future … it will NEVER be what it was originally intended to be. It will always be less, and it will be inferior, it will be secondary.

 This adoption journey, it’s maddening. There are just so many emotions, guilt, rage, anger, grief, loneliness, sadness, hope, hate, hurt, and pain. Its like being on a merry-go-round in the dark, with an over full stomach, with strobe lights and a disco ball. It’s a mental slide show of all the pain of losing a child… my child… a child that should be here with me…that could be here with me…but isn’t.

My child?
I don’t even know where he is – what music and food he likes, what his voice sounds like.

It was never meant to be this way.
 It was NEVER MEANT TO BE THIS WAY.

Sometimes in life we get a second chance, but other times there are no do-overs. With adoption, it’s not a do-over, it’s a run-over…. like with a 5 mile long train of double-stack cars. There is no escape, and the person from before is gone, and only pieces of her remain…and she’s left to figure out how to put those mangled pieces together again and somehow go on in spite of it all.

There is no peace in adoption – unless a person chooses denial.

There can be enduring, there can be surviving, there can be fighting, there can be reforming, there can be exposing, there can be coping - but there is
no peace

I’m not downplaying the pain of losing an unborn baby. But, Man! So far for me it’s cake compared to dealing with the adoption loss.
This is
C
A
K
E

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

our "little flower bud"

our "little flower bud"

Thursday, September 10, 2009 at 6:40pm
today was another dr's appointment
i was not as uptight as last one and was looking forward to finding out if there was more than just one little flower bud in there i didn't have any reason to believe there would be
- except that my Grandma had a Twin Brother --
just another thing to mentally check off my list

so the gal who takes the weight, blood pressure, etc (i don't know if she's a nurse's aid or what her official title is?!?) asked a few questions then described the Doppler process

was relieved I didn't have to put on one of those flimsy hospital gowns

she couldn't find a heartbeat, which didn't freak me out, I've been doing my reading and they say it can still be hard to hear to at 10 weeks so the nurse practitioner came in and she couldn't find a heartbeat either, so they decide to try other methods, and took us to the ultrasound room...

the nurse practitioner called in the dr, and they talked a few moments she turned the screen my way and pointed to stuff as she talked I still was not freaking out, so far, it's all normal

"...either the pregnancy is much earlier than we thought, or the [baby] has stopped growing "

the words "stopped growing" stuck in my heart - this was not the norm I tried to stay calm all the while thinking, I cannot Lose Another one...not ANOTHER one! and with that very thought the tears started to fall

they sent me to the hospital for a 'better' ultrasound, and after a long time it only confirmed what the dr's office saw

our Little Flower Bud has faded, and will not grow into a mature flower that will become a vibrant blossom

I thank Every Single One of you for your Love for your Support for your Encouragement and Congratulations through this unscripted journey

Everything you ALL have said or written has meant so very much to me and my hubby and we just thank you from the depths of our heart for EVERYthing!!!

***I am trying to catch up copying over the earlier posts I wrote on FB, the date and time stamps at the beginning of this post are accurate,I came home from the dr's appointment and wrote this***
our little flower bud

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Down with the movie, “UP”

August 27, 2009 Occasionally on my blog I mention my youngest nephew. I call him My Buddy. He is an absolute joy to our family. He has an infectious smile, alert dark eyes, and a memory that surprises us. Sometimes he will bring up an even that took place over a year or more ago, even though he had not even commented about it at all just after it happened. He remembers with great detail, even when we think he it’s having no impact or that he’s not even paying attention. He’ll be 9 years old this December, and they really do grow up too fast. I am afraid that I don’t spend enough time with him to make lasting memories, or for him to realize just how much I love him and how special he is to me. One weekend this fall I picked him at his house. He sat in the truck in the seat next to me as we drove. I suggested we could stop to pick up a movie at Red Box on the way to my house. He talked about the movie, “Up.” He wanted to see “Up.” Since I don’t have a tv, I had not heard anything at all about “Up” and figured that if it just came out, it wouldn’t be at the Red Box yet. Unfortunately I was right. There was no “Up” movie. We ended up with a Sponge Bob instead. But I didn’t forget that My Buddy wanted to see “Up.” The next day I searched on-line to find out more about it. Then I looked for theater listings. I noticed that it was schedule for showing at the $2.00 theater in just a few weeks. But this $2.00 Theater is special. It is a quaint old theater in a small town across the river. It has a very good sound system and they’ve kept up the building, and it still has that ‘olde time’ feel to it. My Buddy hasn’t been to this theater before. So I planned to take him there to see “Up.” I copied some of the pictures from the on line advertisements and pasted them into a word document to created a special invitation. To: My Buddy to go see the movie, “Up” – From: Aunt Cheerio. And that is what we did. The day of our movie date, my Hubby wanted to along too. It is so cute to see my Hubby and My Buddy together. You can see the love they have for each other. I sent those two ahead to pick out the seats while I stood in line to buy popcorn and the rope of Nerds that My Buddy spotted when we walked in. I made my purchases and set out to find the boys. The theater was fairly dark, but I was able to spot them in the middle of the theater. I tried to joke with My Buddy that they were all out of the Nerds, but he didn’t believe me. We sat there chattering and eating popcorn (My Buddy is a king of chatter, keeping him quiet is the hard task). We looked all around at the décor of the old theater while we waited. As the movie began it felt good to be there with My Buddy sitting between us. So often I feel like the world’s most boring Aunt, and I was glad to finally find something I knew he wanted to do. In case you haven’t heard abut the movie either, it’s an animated comedy. All the trailers and promotions for it show a chubby little Boy Scout and an old fellow who ties a bunch of balloons to his house and they float all away. But none of the trailers show anything prior to this scene. The ‘old fellow’ was just a nerdy kid at the start of the movie. They showed him and how his other nerdy friend met. They fell in love, and you know the progression. They did a good job in the movie of implying the progression without actual dialogue. They skillfully showed them growing up from kids, to teens, to a wedding, to thinking about having children, to decorating a room to be the nursery. Then she lost the baby. It showed her sitting in the Doctor’s office with face in her hands, while the husband stood outside the room. The tears just started to flow down my face, and my entire body tensed as I cried. The scene moved on to her sitting outside in the yard on a swing, as the husband stood inside watching her through the window. I don’t really know if My Buddy was following along with what all was going on or not. But he did notice me crying. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him several times looking up at me. When he asked me this past spring if I was ever pregnant, it was the same reaction – tears. Through the tears I told him that I was pregnant a long time ago, and suggested that maybe we could talk about it another day. We haven’t talked about it yet, but the tears, these tears and pain, they are all from the same place. They come from any reminder of the child I lost so very long ago. It can be a subtle reminder like seeing a blonde haired boy, or it could be a poignant reminder like in this movie of losing a child. Those reminders point to and make me look at the hole and empty spot in my heart. The scene of the wife sitting in the chair sobbing-- that is a picture of me to this day. Losing my son is something I will never get over. My heart is stuck there like a scratched record. It plays the same sad notes over and over again. Nothing has erased the pain of losing my son. Not even now as I sit here with my Nephew, who doesn’t know that I’m pregnant (again) and planning for our new little Flower Bud’s arrival. I still cried for quite awhile after those two scenes. I did not have the courage to look back at My Buddy until after I stopped crying. The movie went on, and there were plenty of funny spots once the Boy Scout appears on the scene. My Buddy enjoyed the movie and I was glad that I could take him. I wish it were as happy as a memory as I originally planned. I took him to see a comedy, but it pierced my heart. Now anytime I hear about the movie, my mind goes right to those scenes. It was a good movie, but I won’t watch it again.
Down with the movie “Up”

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Cheerio gets help ?

August 2009 If you’ve read the prior post, then I think you’ll easily understand why several people suggested that I “talk to someone” – meaning counseling. I’ve tried counseling before, and didn’t really benefit in the times I tried. Here is an abbreviated history on ‘ Cheerio gets help.’ ( TRIED to keep it brief, really I did!!!) Before I do that timeline, please remember that I’ve said countless times that I was in denial, and I mean complete denial for several years after losing my son to adoption. So complete was the denial that I never referred to him as “my son.” I felt like I was not ‘allowed’ to. After all, I was not the one parenting him, I was not he one tucking him in bed at night, I was not the one taking care of him when he was sick. You know, it’s all those things people say about why the aparents are the “REAL” parents. Yup, those are the things I believed. Part of the denial was that I believed he was ‘their’ son. Was that because I did not want him or not love him? No, that was not it at all! Him being ‘their’ son meant he could not be my son also. In adoption there is a great divide. There is a definite “us vs them” mentality. This great divide is also what is generally accepted and promoted by society. People forget (I forgot) that children are not possessions. Relationships are not inanimate objects. “Mom” is just a title, just a label for description, just as “Aunt” or “Cousin” is. People don’t freak out that a child would have more than one Aunt, or more than one Cousin. Yet in regards to adoption, there is a skewed thought, that a child can have only one Mother. This thought is not generated from love, but possessiveness and fear. There is much that could be said on that subject, but that would be going a completely direction from where we’re headed. My point in bringing this out was that SINCE I did not acknowledge him as my son, I did not recognize the adoption as a loss. At least not right away. It was not until the aparents stopped sending pictures that I was not able to keep a lid on all the feelings that kept surfacing. I literally felt like I was going to go crazy sometimes, and I finally decided to get help. At this point in my journey I was still very pro-adoption. And even though the aparents closed the door, I was still supporting the adoption agency, Bethany Christian Services. (what I know now, I do not view their ethics or practices as ‘Christian’, so I drop that from their name, leaving Bethany Services. I found that I could use just their initials, and from here on out refer to them as BS…a reference they rightly deserve.) #1 – I desperately needed help. I met with the BirthParentCounselor and the Branch Director admitting I needed help dealing. Whatever the aparents were going through was not really my concern at that time; I just needed help for me. That meeting is a movie burned into my memory. I recall sitting there with the director across from me. He was oh, so sincere and seemed caring. But his response was that he didn’t know how he could help. I asked if they had a list of counselors/psychologists/therapists that they could refer someone for me to see (and pay for it myself.) The answer was no, they didn’t know of any counselors they could refer me to. Recognizing my NEED for some kind of help, I threw out the question “Well, can you at least give me the title of a book, so I could at least try to help myself?” The director again slowly shakes his head from side to side and he says, “Gee, I can’t think of any.” That was very painful and depressed me even further. That meant there was no help, and I would have to live with this turmoil forever? #2 – My second attempt at counseling involved help from my pastor. There was a time when BS wanted to host a service at our church. The ONE person in our church that knew about my adoption experience made me tell my pastor about BS and about my adoption. He recognized right away that, yes, I NEEDED help. He vowed to help me find a Christian Counselor who had experience with adoption related issues. My pastor was frustrated when he came back to me empty-handed. He even went to the “crisis pregnancy center” that our church supported and asked if they could refer any counselors. That in itself is a great question, after all, this center promotes adoption – so they should in some way be able to provide someone with post-adoption help. But they could not. #3 – While my pastor was searching, I was also searching on the internet. I found a ‘counselor’ that was about an hour away. The first time I saw her, she gave me some little workbook pamphlet. That first visit, she was very very surprised by the responses I got from BS. She said she was ‘concerned’ because she referred many people to them on a very regular basis. (Hindsight recognizes now that her business is based on promoting adoption.) Visit#2 – she was a no show. Nice a two plus hour drive round trip – for nothing. Visit #3. I don’t know why I remember this, but one of the questions in the pamphlet she gave me asked the question, “What have you learned from your experience?” And my answer was “To trust NO ONE.” But that visit got under my skin for a different reason. She asked how many other children I had. Which of course, I did not have other children. Then she asked why I didn’t have other children? I gave her all the reasons of why I ‘thought’ I didn’t have other children. I was not yet out of denial enough to realize the real reasons. Her eyes lit up, and she says very emphatically to me, “There’s your problem. Don’t you see it?” And she proceeded to tell me that “MY PROBLEM” was that I did not have other children, and this made the aparents afraid that I never accepted my adoption and moved on. This is evident by not having other children. They were withdrawing from me because I haven’t moved on yet. At that point in my journey, I didn’t even realize the “move on” part, because I thought that was what I was supposed to do. I thought moving on was ‘normal’ part of the process & I that was why I was so frustrated by and didn’t understand all these feelings and pain that was constantly surfacing. But that was not the red flag to me. The red flag that infuriated me was her transferring the responsibility of the aparents onto me. If the AParents were withdrawing because they were afraid, that was not “My Problem.” It was “their problem,” and they had no right to punish me for their problem. It was Their Responsibility to deal with their own issues. So, as you probably imagined already, when I left her office that day riled up – I never returned. I later had another confrontation with the BS Director. He mentioned this counselor and I could tell by what he was saying is what I had told her. So this counselor also broke confidence and talked to the Director about me. Now, I understand that if someone shows signs of harming themselves or others, that confidence can/should be broken. But if it is a very real threat, you would go to authorities. Lovely, huh? #4 – Instead of a three hour tour, it was a three hour drive to and from the office of the next counselor I tried. It was very difficult driving over an hour crying all the way, crying an hour in her office, and crying all the way home and the rest of the night. She was a nice lady, but I didn’t know that what I needed was a counselor who had experience with Adoption Loss issues. I stopped going, because we never talked about the adoption. We talked about my family, about my husband, about my missing nephews, etc. But we didn’t deal with what I wanted most to deal with and it didn’t make sense to keep giving her money so we could talk about what SHE wanted to talk about. #5 – Last year, 2008, I finally got up the nerve to call the EAP (Employee Assistance Program) to try counseling again. This time I was aware that I needed to find a counselor that was experienced in adoption issues. It was mentally and emotionally draining. It was daunting to sit there with a list of ‘approved counselors’ and then pick up the phone to call and ask questions. I was not just questions about scheduling, but each time someone answered my call, I was opening the door in my heart where the adoption was ‘hidden’, and I had to look at it. I had to talk about it to a non-interested stranger. It was very difficult to do this, not just once, but repeatedly. It took me several days to finally make enough phone calls that I found a counselor who said she was “qualified.” Our first Session I found out that her “qualification” relied on her having a sister who adopted two children. I don’t remember much else about the session. I wasn’t convinced she’d be much help. She talked about getting on with my life. How adoption is a good thing, not bad. Before our second Session had even ended, I mentally checked out. I was tense and all my body language clearly indicated that I had closed. What did it? It was her complete lack of understanding of an adopted person’s struggles – from the adoptee’s point of view. Her adopted niece and nephew were both “well adjusted” and “happy adoptees.” She went on to say that the niece decided to search for her original family, but the nephew doesn’t need to. And she believed that façade, that mask, that “grateful mentality” that was projected onto those kids. The thing that caused me to close down was not her talk of her adopted family; but rather her comments about my son, whom she does not know. You see, the reason I went for counseling was that I was considering the possibility of having another child. This was a stormy sea I was trying to navigate. I was trying to undo the brainwashing of who I really am versus who I though I was – based off of the adoption. I shut down when she said to me, “He will never consider you his mother. You will always just be a stranger to him. He will never consider any of your other children as his brother or his sister. They are your children, but he will never consider them his family.” And that did it. I decided this lady smokes the adoption mushrooms, and I mentally pitied the other clients she tried to help with their adoption issues. She was no help. She would only muddy the waters more and make things worse. #6 – And so, August 2009 – here I am pregnant (not unplanned), and very distraught and struggling with all the emotions, fears, and feelings from 16 years ago, in addition to the new influx of pregnancy hormones. There was no denying that I should seek counseling to help me deal with the issues from 16 years ago, so that I won’t be a complete basket case when my next baby is born. And so I call the EAP and get another fresh list of counselors. I broke the list into sections and determined to call 10-15 counselors each day. This time, the question I asked was if the counselor was qualified to deal with the grief of losing a child to adoption? I talked to some receptionists who had to ask the counselor and get back to me, and some places I left a voice mail message. There were two counselors who returned my call. One said she has not worked with anyone who lost a child to adoption, and did not feel that she would be qualified to help. The other counselor who called me back surprised me. It surprised me that she called back herself, kind of late in the evening (and pathetically enough I was still at work), instead of having her receptionist do it. But what really surprised me is that she TALKED with me! – for 10 minutes or more??!!??. She said she felt like she could help me deal with the adoption trauma. She described that she has worked with numerous women who have lost a child to death. She suggested that I probably needed to work through some grief as well. When I hung up the phone with her, I sat in my chair and just stared at the phone. She recognized I was hurting. Unlike everyone else who associates adoption with celebration, it sounded as though she saw the adoption as a tragedy instead. I was encouraged that maybe she really could help. In my first session with her she thinks that what I need to deal with more than the grief is the trauma. Then she goes on to talk about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. “PTSD” . . . “PTSD” ? ? ? “PTSD” . . . “PTSD” ! ! ! “PTSD” rolls around in my head like 16 lb cannon balls. I’ve heard so many references to original moms being diagnosed with PTSD from the adoption. I just can’t believe that maybe that is what the ‘real’ problem is with me too? 16 years of walking around with this “thing” affecting every aspect of my life, and it’s gone totally “un-noticed”? After talking with her, I did additional investigating on the internet and questions on forums, etc. And it all makes total sense to me know. Her simplified description of PTSD is that the body gets ‘stuck’ at the place where the past trauma occurred. Whenever triggers or other things that happen in the future that bring back reminders of the trauma, the body, by reflex, reacts in the same way as if the trauma were happening now, in the present. I think this explains all the descriptions in my prior post … when I saw an infant or an infant of a picture, my body immediately responded with the tense muscles, the increased heart rate, the change in breathing. That description was not at all limited to my OB visit. It was the reality of what happened every time I saw an infant. It would happen anytime I would walk by infant clothes at a store. It would happen whenever I would hear someone talk about pregnancy. So, here I am at counselor #6, over the past 4 years (2005 – 2009). For the first time, I am hopeful, that maybe she can “get my body to recognize the trauma as an event from the past” so that I do not continue experiencing the same physical reactions whenever there is a trigger. I know it won’t take the pain away. I know it will not undo the past decisions. My hope right now is to just do what I can to be emotionally healthy, for the sake of this new little Flower Bud. If I can be healthy for her/him, then when I reunite with my son, hopefully I will be healthy enough and strong enough to be there for him too. I don’t want him to feel like he is alone as he navigates the deep dark waters of the chilling Adoption Ocean.
Cheerio and Counseling