Silent Grief

Silent Grief: Miscarriage – Child Loss Finding Your Way through the Darkness 
by Clara Hinton
(http://www.silentgrief.com/store/silentgrief/)

The book is less than 200 pages long and it took me about three years to read it.  It will always be on the top of the pile for me because it was my first steps toward dealing with the loss of my son.

Although this book is not adoption related at all, it hit the very core of my experience.  

The reason I bought the book was because I remember the (biased) “counselor” at Bethany Christian Services (aka: Bethany NONChristian Disservices, or BS for short) made the comment along the lines that giving up a child is similar to losing a child to death.  At the time I was pregnant I did not know of anyone who had experienced such a thing and had no way of knowing what that experience was like. 

So, almost ten years into knowing what it was like living with adoption loss I purchased this book to find out if the “counselor” was right.  Was adoption loss similar to the loss of a child to death?  This was obviously before I found out personally what it is like to lose a child to death.

My analysis of the book is that it is very well written and I highly recommend it!

I was hesitant about it at first because it is written by a Christian woman and I anticipated her telling people that “all things work together for good” and for her to whitewash any pain and say how happy and full of joy we should be – as I’ve often heard in churches growing up.   

But I was completely wrong!  The author skillfully and sensitively talked about the struggles, the pain, and the emotions.  I have learned that there can be no healing unless one is willing to deal with the underlying pain.   

Dealing with the underlying pain, that is what the author did.

I purchased this book before I experienced my second child-loss (back stories can be found here Our Little Flower Bud, Our Babies,  Celebrate?, and Healing - Death). Having the information from this little book as a foundation when we lost our Little Flowerbud was very helpful in me dealing the aftermath of a miscarriage too.

One of the topics in her book had to do with other people.  It is sad, but true that at a time of such crushing loss and incredible pain, friends and family seem to withdraw.  It adds to the pain because a person finds themselves trying to navigate their new world of hurt alone.  Hinton addresses the reasons this often happens.  She is not excusing it, but it does help a little bit to understand “where the heck did everyone go?!?!” 

After our Little Flowerbud was gone, I personally, found it to be a time of sifting.  After all the dust settled I was able to see who my true and reliable friends were.  A year later, there were some people that dropped off the list.  Five years later it has even prompted me to begin searching for a different church.

From the book (and now through personal experience) the comparison between losing a child to adoption and losing a child to death are parallel.  There are only two areas I found to be opposites instead of parallel – hope and closure. 

With adoption, there is no closure.  The child has not died and there is no way to really grieve the incredible loss.  When a child dies there is closure which allows the parents to eventually go through all the grieving cycles.  That is not to say they ever reach a point where it never hurts again, but it eventually is not as crippling as in the beginning.

With death, there is no hope.  The child is gone, the relationship cannot continue and there is no hope to see them again, to talk to them again, or to watch them in any activity.  Death is permanent and final.  With adoption, there is hope.  Hope that perhaps there may be a reconnection with the lost child someday.

My final analysis in a nutshell – that “counselor” is right.  The gut-wrenching pain of living life without my son lost to adoption was so undeniably parallel to the tremendous loss of losing a child to death. 

Why on earth would any human being knowingly and intentionally put another person through such a horrendous experience unnecessarily????  It is one thing for a counselor to help a person recover from such a horrific thing as the death of a child – but to willfully and intentionally push a woman into such a chasm of despair is deplorable and inexcusable!

Silent Grief

Parallel

Pain

And

Suffering

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

???

Pregnancy & Infant Loss Remembrance

When I visited CafeMom today, this was the animation of their logo.

I couldn't help but just stare at it. Stare at that little flame flickering silently. It hurt too much to even get angry. How many other women were triggered unexpectedly today when she signed into CafeMom and saw this painful reminder and felt it piercing her heart?

Pregnancy Loss... yup, that's what happened last summer. It sure was a dark and difficult year for me.
Infant Loss ... yup, that's what happened 17 years ago.
October 13, 1994 my beautiful and perfect son was born. I held him for the 3 days that I was in the hospital with minor complications. Then on that third day, I hobbled my way into the nursery to give him a gift. It was a baby blanket I crocheted for him.

By the expression on her face, I caught the agency worker off guard. She was in the nursery too. She was there to take my son away from me. She was all smiles and bubbly and happy. How sweet of her. To be so joyful as she witnesses firsthand a family being torn apart. How loving and kind hearted of her that she offered to capture this Kodak moment for me.

Yes, I have a picture of the last time I saw my son. It was the time I last held him. I was not given any privacy to even say good-bye. I guess that would not have mattered because I had been crying so hard I could not speak anyway. There were no audible words; however, my heart was screaming.

Lovely of this woman to be beaming as I begin collapsing on the inside.

I will never forget that day.

I will NEVER forget that day.

It was the day that the gate to hell was opened and evil attached itself to me as all it's pain and fury poured into my soul. I was sobbing. I was crushed. It felt as if my lungs were in a vice and it literally hurt to breathe. Every breath was painful and difficult. It felt like I was breathing in daggers and and shards of broken glass.

I should have run back into that nursery and snatched my son from her and held him tightly to my chest, where he belonged. I should have held onto him and never let him go. I should have said, "Let's go home" - not "goodbye."

But I didn't. I didn't because "this" was supposed to be better for him. It was 'better' because I would surely ruin his life and shackle him and keep him from reaching his full potential.

My (at the time) boyfriend helped me from the hospital to the car. When I asked why we were doing "this?" he played the role he was supposed to. He regergitated all the lies that we had been fed over the past few months. Basically he 'reminded' me that this was what was best for our son.

If you are pregnant and considering adoption my only word of advice is ... don't.

Listen to the screaming of your heart. Stop smothering it's cries with a pillow. The birth of your child WILL change you whether you parent or not. Embrace that change, don't turn in into a trauma.

Adoption is not "the answer." No, it is only piling on another problem and your life will become encased in thinly veiled layers of bondage. Unless you're violent toward children - your child deserves for you to take him/her home with you, so you can continue nurturing the bond that the two of you started 9 months earlier.

He/She already loves you. Please don't break his/her heart - Don't damage yours.

LOSS

Pregnancy

Loss

Infant

Loss

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

7 Weeks and 5 Days (or so they say)

Thursday, 8/27/2009 Today I had my first OB appointment. It was not a visit with the doctor, just an appointment with the in take nurse. I am so glad my hubby went with me, because I was very anxious. As we sat in the waiting room, I was wringing my hands the entire time. This is now how it's SUPPOSED to be. I'm supposed to be all smiles and overjoyed that I'm going to have a baby. But the teeter totter inside won't let that happen. Some friends (other original moms) say it's just my body's way of trying to protect itself from what happened before. They called my name, and we headed down the hallways. The nurse steers me to the potty for a 'sample,' then leads my hubby on to the exam room to wait. I was so uptight that I just couldn't go. All the while, my mind starts kicking into overdrive and I feel my chest and throat tightening up. My face muscles start to feel drawn and a lump forms in my throat. "No, I can't start crying now...not here ... not now..." I kept repeating that to myself over and over. It felt like I was in there for house as I fought to maintain 'normalcy' until I was finally able to provide a sample. I washed my hands and splashed water on my face. As I looked in the mirror, I thought that my face didn't look too splotchy & maybe no one would be able to tell that I was fighting to hold back the tears. I finally opened the restroom door and there was the nurse standing just outside. She lead me to the room where my hubby was waiting. Then she left to test the sample (ewwww). So, once again, I'm sitting and waiting. It almost feels like I'm waiting for a sentencing and an 'inevitable doom'. My hubby can easily see me struggling and rests his hand on my knee to reassure and comfort me. The nurse walks in and closes the door. Everyone here has been pleasant so far, and she is no exception. She had a big white smile as she sat down and spread out her stack of papers. She put her hand on a 3 ring binder as she moved it into it's place. Immediately my entire body tensed, tears welled up in my eyes, my heart began to race, my fists clenched, and I started feeling shaky; all from just seeing this binder. "Your Baby's Birth," it was labeled, and had a picture of an infant on it. The picture of an infant is what triggered everything I'd been trying to hold in. Here it was 16 years later, and I still cannot see an infant, not even a picture of an infant, without feeling panicky. It was very apparent I was distraught, so the nurse stopped her spiel and said, "What's wrong? Talk to me." My throat was constricted and I could not even utter a sound, nothing would come out. My sweet hubby helped out by saying, "She's very anxious about everything." Then the nurse waited patiently (no pun intended) until I could at least talk again. With a very choppy and quiet voice, I squeaked out in broken words, "This is not my first pregnancy." Then the dam broke and all the tears I was struggling to hold back spilled out over the edges and streamed down my cheeks. People who have not lost a child to adoption ridicule the 'second time infertility' topic. They forget that the mind and body work together or against each other; however you want to look at it. Those insensitive narrow minded know it all rosy adoption pain pushers don't care to acknowledge how very real this is for us. Adoption IS a TRAUMA to both the mother and the child. It is NOT a "gift" (well, maybe a gift of scorpions and rattlesnakes) and it is NOT a "win/win solution." After I mopped the tears from my face and could speak again, I explained to her that 16 years ago, I did not know the truth of adoption, and when my son was only 3 days old I lost him to adoption. I wanted to make sure that I expressed the idea that 'untruth' was involved, and that it was not happiness to lose him. The nurses' response was "Just remember, you made the best decision you could at the time based on the information you had available to you." Then she rearranged the order of how she usually does things. She was really sensitive and kind, she was wonderful. When we left, I was still edgy, but I had calmed down quite a bit. When I got home, I put the 3 ring binder on the kitchen bar. I got out a sharp paring knife and made a slice along the top of the binder and removed their picture. Someday I'll be OK with pictures of infants, but right now, I'll leave this space blank for the pic of my own little Flower Bud when she/he arrives.

with the wind blowing ...

Aug 11, 2009 – Tuesday There was a nice breeze as I was leaving for work this morning. It was already humid, so I decided to pin all my hair back and drive to work with the convertible top down. I don’t usually enjoy the drive into work, but today it was nice. It was warm, the sun was shining, the sky was a beautiful blue color (like my Hubby's eyes), with a few puffy white clouds floating lazily along. I had another chat with my Little Flower Bud. I was just rambling about the important things in life, and how it’s what is on the inside that counts. I’m afraid this poor little thing will be subject to a lot of these chats while I’m driving. I am concerned about how the relationship will be with my hubby once the baby is born and I go back to work. We won’t be using day-care; instead we’ll do split shifts during the work days. This means we’ll be like passing ships in the night, and only get to spend time together on the weekends. What is life going to be like without spending time with the man I so dearly love? It’s an uncomfortable thought. But then I’m intrigued to think that while he’s working I’ll be spending my time with some one else that I’ll love. Who knows, is it even possible for me to love anyone as much as I love my husband? While on the thoughts of love, my mind wandered back to 16yrs ago. I thought of love and of my first baby. I loved him, and I have never stopped loving him. In fact, it's a mystery to me, but it seems that this love for him has grown instead. He is no longer a baby, but is a teenage youth now. I remembered how the adoption industry made me feel; if I loved my baby, then I would not even consider subjecting him to growing up with all the disadvantages I would surely handicap him with. I was so absolutely convinced that I would ruin his life. Slowly my thoughts then turned to what I’ve learned from my support group on CafeMom. It is now what I tell every Expectant Mom I run into who might be considering adoption – that her baby already loves her. I didn't know this 16 years ago when I was pregnant the first time. At that time I believed the old adoption myth --that babies are blank slates, and it doesn't matter who parents them, as long as they are loved. And now you know what I was thinking as I drove down the highway with the wind tugging gently at tiny wisps of hair, that this Little Flower Bud already loves me… ? ! ? He/she will have my blood running through their veins and they will fit right into our wacky family. In fact, I smiled to think that they will not only fit, but that will have their own unique flair of weirdness to add and enhanced that level of wacky. I’d gotten off the highway, and was driving on a country road for a few miles. I told my Little Flower Bud (yes, I’ll need a new nickname if this is a boy- but for now Flower Bud it is) - I told him/her that I just cannot wait to see their precious little face. I cried as I told him/her that I can’t wait to hold their tiny little hand in my palm, and let his/her little fingers curl around mine. I can’t wait till I can hold him/her knowing I won’t have to let go. I can’t wait to feed and nurture him/her – which I did not get to do with my son 16 years ago. As my Dad often says, “I can’t change the past, but I can change the future.”

with the wind blowing . . .

the Load O Fear

Sunday, August 9, 2009 at 12:27pm
 

Copied this from a note on FB I'm using this note feature on FB, so I can have a place to journal without my family or co-workers finding out (yet).

I'm still waiting for blood test to confirm if I'm pregnant, but I know that I am. There is not a doubt in my mind.

It's only been a week since I took the HPT, and those first few days were really rough emotionally.

When I was pregnant 16 yrs ago I didn't realize that all emoms deal with fear. Surprisingly, I've learned that just a few years ago from my on-line support group.

But what I felt during these early days this week was not just the normal ‘OMGosh, what now?’ typical fear. Instead it was all the fear, all the emotions, all the thoughts and everything from 16 years ago all came back.

They came with the pressure of 16 yrs worth of being bottled up. The fear and feeling of judgment also returned. Everything from 16 years ago feeling so ashamed and condemned. Remembering how I felt walking in any public place, obviously very pregnant and feeling like everyone noticed I had no ring on my finger. Not that they did, but is how I felt back then.

And all those haunting feelings and imagined taunting voices and whispering filled my head and my heart.

On top of it was the fear of how will this affect my lost son? how will this affect his new sibling?

Will my son reject his new little brother/sister? I cannot expect him to understand “why”. There is no way for him to understand why I abandoned him, yet kept my next child. Even I can’t understand it.

But it’s a mute point now.

I was sitting in the bathroom with my head in my hands crying. I was so afraid and feeling panic. My breathing was rapid and shallow, I felt like I could throw up. My mind was reeling. I didn’t intend for my hubby to hear it, but I know he overheard through the door when I was saying “this was just such a bad idea.”

I did not mean to hurt him or blame him. But there was definitely a war going on inside of me. It was like a dump truck had backed up and unloaded everything on top of me.

It was a H U G E heaviness!!!

It was nearly overwhelming, partially immobilizing, and totally consumed me. Even the memories and comparison of pregnancies began.

I remembered vividly (as I do every 4th of July) exactly where I was on July 4th, 1994. I was about 7 months along. I went w/ my (at the time) boyfriend’s aunt’s family. Her twin daughters were in a beauty pageant. The twins won first and second place.

The event was held at a public park. There were little tea lights that filled the stream as it meandered thru the park. I remember the glow from the lit tea lights. We sat on a blanket on the grassy hillside, and watched fireworks.

I felt so incredibly out of place. Because I already had my mind set on adoption – obviously I was a horrible person, because no good mother would ever give her baby away. So there I sat in the middle of their fairy tale perfect family. And my family, well, was no fairy tale.

I remember crying a lot that night as we sat there, but it was dark out, and no one really noticed.

fear fear fear fear LOAD o FEAR

Fuzzy Flannel Shirt

Saturday, August 1, 2009
As I was getting ready to pack for our trip to the ARD I was scanning thru the closet to find something long-sleeved.  I was rummaging to the far right and saw a white flannel shirt.

I had the sleeves unbuttoned and rolled up one time. It had pink and blue teddy bears all over it.

I paused and touched it. Rolling the fabric between my fingers, I remembered back to how long ago I wore this shirt.

It was 16 years ago, when I was expecting my first child, my son lost to adoption.
Although I'm waiting for the blood test to confirm it, I know I'm pregnant again.

I know I'm 'supposed' to be happy, jumping up and down and beaming with joy. I WANT to be happy. I think that is what my husband is expecting.

But all the lies, and fears, and feelings from 16 years ago are staring me in the face. I feel like I'm THERE again.

While I was sitting in the dr's office I remembered that blood work was done on a Friday way back then too. I keep thinking, how do I tell my son??? And it makes me cry every time - just like now.

I am so afraid so ashamed so remorseful over the loss of my oldest child how do I tell him about his full brother/sister, which would be labeled "the kept child"

I'm supposed to be happy and I'm sure that as the baby grows, I will, but right now I'm so torn so very very torn.  Somber is the word my husband uses.

As I sat there wringing the life out of a newspaper, my Dr kept reassuring me that it's going to be okay. It was obvious I was "anxious" was the word she used.

I found myself yesterday trying to cover or hide my belly (like with a sweatshirt or something). I still associate being pregnant with being punished, and feel ashamed. I know that's not the truth...but it has been my truth for the past 16 years...and you don't just get over that in the snap of the fingers, do you?

I am sitting here with the tears freely running down my face. I should stop, I think you get the picture... I am so afraid

Fuzzy Flannel Shirt

Cheerios World Back Ordered

I don’t know what you expect when you visit this little blog.
I tell people that [here] I am an open book.
You may have noticed and maybe even wondered why there have been very few posts from Cheerio since the ARD in July.

It was because I did not have the physical strength. I noticed the lack of energy seemed to start at the ARD (Adoptee Rights Demonstration at Philadelphia in July). Several weeks leading up to the ARD I was under extreme pressure at work, but in the past when I went away on vacation and was able to relax, I would be up before the sun, and just bursting with energy. 

This did not happen at the ARD. I was confused and frustrated with myself at the ARD, because I was tired and slept a lot, much more than I usually would.

My Hubby chalked it up to it just being emotional for me, and therefore; he concluded, I was just emotionally drained. When I got back from the ARD, the pressure at work had not subsided. I was so extremely tense. I don’t think I had ever felt this unbelievably tense at any of my other jobs before.  

One night while I was driving home, I had a thought… What if I’m pregnant? What if I’m pregnant and the stress hurts my baby? I would hate them forever if anything happens to my baby from all this stress.

This nagging thought kept coming back until I finally decided I would take a HPT (home pregnancy test) just to be sure. If I was pregnant, I would have to find a way to not let the pressure and stress get to me.

There are a few more posts about the ARD event, including the ARD March itself, which I plan to write. However, before I continue with those posts, I am going to post some of the journal notes I wrote after the ARD and taking that HPT. 

I was not able to post them at the actual times - so I will note the actual journal date.

Cheerios World Back Ordered

have you ever been ...

Today was a beautiful day. It was hot, just the way I like it; although, most normal people don’t. We were doing a little outdoor project for my Mom. My sister organized the project day to happen while Mom was at work. My hubby and I were helping my sis and her boyfriend. My nephew, whom I call him my buddy a lot, was there also. He helped by making sure that Sponge Bob episodes were not discontinued. At about 1:30 the others were not ready for lunch, but my buddy was hungry. I went inside to make him some lunch and decided that I’d have a sandwich with him. There was no way I was waiting another hour to eat. I made him a stacker sandwich. Two slices of Seltzer’s Sweet Lebanon Bologna, a slice of cheese, three slices of ham, and another slice of cheese on dry bread – no mayonnaise, no ketchup, no mustard, no butter, just plain old dry bread. Oh, and he had a handful of baby carrots to go with that. He ate all the carrots and I was beginning to wonder if he would eat the sandwich or not. At first he pulled off all the mean and cheese sticking out of the edges. But he eventually did tear into it. I was impressed; he actually ate the whole thing! I was already done with my sandwich and was just sitting with him while he was finishing his. The little black kitten was sitting on the chair with me. Out of the blue my buddy asks “Hey, Aunt Cheerio. Have you ever been pregnant?” It was not a question I was expecting at all. It seemed to be out of the blue. I couldn’t hide it. I could feel the muscles of my face pull as I tried to not cry. My eyes welled up with tears, and with an obvious pained look on my face I said to him, “Yes, I have.” I could not say another word. With just those few words my voice had cracked. I can still hear the sound of his response. “Ooh.” He sounded surprised. Which of course he would have been. He does not know about that dark part of my heart. He doesn’t know that somewhere out there he has another cousin. I hurriedly carried my plate over to the sink. By now a few tears slipped over the edge. My voice was still strained and broken, as I said to him, “Maybe we can talk about it another time.” My buddy finished his sandwich and brought his plate over to the sink. I gave him a hug and told him (as I do all the time), “Aunt Cheerio loves you buddy.” And I swear he hugged me tighter than he usually does. I wasn’t ready for this. What do I tell him? I can’t lie to him. I don’t want to lie to him. But how do I explain to an 8 year old boy, whom I cherish and love very much, that I didn’t keep my own baby? I actually talked to my sister last summer about my buddy knowing. If you follow my blog, you know that my sister has her own tragic story with her two oldest sons who were missing for 10 years. Here are two prior posts if you're new here ... Dec 18th, 2008 & 3 candles, 3 weeks, 3 days later At the time I talked to her, we had not found her two oldest sons. I was afraid that it would be too frightening for my buddy to know that his oldest brothers were missing, AND my son was missing. I was afraid that he would be frightened that someone would take him too. When I went back outside, I’m glad I had a hat on as I was working. I hoped it hid my face and tears. He’s always known about his brothers who were missing. I think he realizes that it was not my sister’s choice. He’s always known that she was searching and trying to find them. How could my buddy understand that my son was missing because I gave him away? There is no way to explain. I kept thinking that if I even tried to explain – my buddy would question my love for him too. Would he think that I would give him away too?

have you ever been . . .

pregnant ?