The Life of One Adoptee: Building the Village

One of the interesting perks about being an adoptee is that we have the ability to adapt to various circumstances and groups of people. We have after all learned via trial by fire. Drop the child in with some strangers, and a new family to call mommy/daddy, (or mommy/mommy/ or daddy/daddy depending on the circumstances) and they learn to make the new family situation work even if it looks different from that of the majority. We do it and we become quite good at it. I have become quite adept at building meaningful relationships around myself even with the added challenge of being shy. In my earlier years I was so afraid of abandonment that I tended to put the needs of others above mine without reciprocation. When I changed that, I lost friends. I took such losses pretty hard but I learned from them. Over the last 6 years, I have been very intentional about rebuilding my village with a focus of including only those who cared about me as much as I cared about them. I sought out folks who would certainly call me if I dropped off the face of the earth, ask ME if I’m ok when I’m out of sorts or appear distant and correct me when I’m being a wanker. I chose some and some chose me. It has worked out fabulously. One of the most surprising places I’ve found my villagers has been the internet. I’ve made several friends chatting online about hair, adoption, food and music. I have “met” many of them and hung out on Google just to hear their voices and see their faces. Most recently I engaged in a face to face meet-up with one of my adoptee friends, Tracy. She and I met thru another adoptee in 2009 and became Facebook friends. We sometimes engaged via an online adoptee support chat group (I miss those). I remember the first time we found out that we shared the same birthday. That tickled me. We began calling ourselves birthday twins. We later found out that we shared a passion for music and liked many of the same artists (not the mainstream stuff). We both loved Prince and Mint Condition. One year Tracy went to Chicago and I told her I was jealous. She told me to come next time and I thought her offer was genuine. Occasionally I’d share some issue I was managing regarding my birth mother and she responded with a meaningful response and actual empathy. The empathy piece was most important because while many people can sympathize, they don't really get it. I knew that Tracy, without deep explanation, felt my pain. While I wouldn't have called our relationship close, I knew Tracy was someone I genuinely liked so I in boxed her to share that I was coming to Atlanta, in hopes that we could connect in person. Tracy was excited and said she would set up a dinner with some other adoptees. When I arrived, I found that everyone had bailed for one reason or another and it was almost like the universe had intervened. We sat across from each other with entirely too much food on the table and talked and laughed and shared stories. Tracy is short with a petite frame and an engaging smile. These are the kinds of things you find out when you meet in person for the first time! She’s just as beautiful in spirit and in person as she appears in her online pictures. She and I laughed about my mishap getting from the airport to the hotel, talked about parenthood and the struggles that can sometimes come with that. We found out we had even more similarities, having married the same year, our husbands have the same first names and our Zodiac attributes are nearly the same (Pisces twins). And get this- both of our birth mothers are named Joanne. Tracy and I talked only a little bit about adoption; mostly about how we found out and our respective birth parent encounters. We are both in a place of acceptance for what is and not ruling out possibilities. We both love our adoptive families. In the big scheme of things there is so much more to life than that part of us and yet it is the thing that caused us to bond in the first place. Most importantly, we became fast, old friends and for that I am grateful. Tracy is officially part of my village (yes, I have claimed you girl) and I am so happy to call her- friend. Until next we meet!

Happy New Year

Happy New Year! Followed by lots of X's and O's, then... her name. I've been having some difficulty lately in managing the non-existent yet lingering relationship with my birth mother. You see, we don't talk. When we do, it's via text. Usually these texts come in on holidays, are initiated by her and most certainly won't come again until the next major holiday. So, now that all the major holidays have passed I can next expect to hear from her on my birthday in March and then later on Mother's Day. Just a year ago, she visited Ohio to visit her uncle and made available a short time for me during her stay. Prior to that, I hadn't seen her except in passing at a Greyhound Station. All this to say, we don't talk much. Sometimes it hurts me. We've attempted more frequent communication in the past but many of those talks ended with her crying and me feeling angry. So, I continue to live with the texts although sometimes they make me angry. I often ignore them, or respond with an empty repeat of the words. I’ve considered changing my number but the permanence of that is something I don’t think I’m prepared to accept. So I respond, but never add x's or o's. Like a child throwing a tantrum, I deny her any sense of warmth or love much like I feel she denies me. I attempted to analyze my feelings on this over the last 24 hours. I mean, how harmful is "Happy New Year" followed by the symbols for hugs and kisses? On some days, it feels especially harmful and painful. I still yearn for a relationship with her. The yearning is particularly keen during the Christmas season. Perhaps it is because we met for the first time after my birth during this season, or maybe it's because sometimes I just want my mommy. I want the nourishing mother that goes shopping with me, buys me Christmas presents, makes sure and asks if I'm ok, actually listens and instinctively knows when I'm lying. All of this brings me to a bigger truth. As an adoptee, I've often found myself feeling like an outsider within my family dynamics. My adoptive mother and I had a decent relationship until my adulthood. However, searching for my biological family seemed to create a distance I did not anticipate. I prided myself on being open with my family when I made the decision to find and meet them. It was truly about finding my own identity. For them it seemed alien, so my search and finding my birth family (just like my being adopted), became something we just didn’t discuss. It has come to the point where weeks/months can go by without speaking to my mom unless I call her. That too has become a cycle. I look back and wonder if it's always been that way and think perhaps I just missed it. I was really close to my stepdad. He made sure that I was included and lacked nothing. His passing seemed to create a void in our entire family. Holidays just haven't been the same or family-centric since his death. I'm really grateful that I have managed to build my own version of a family over the years. I have a supportive husband and an awesome son who I love to the moon and back and friends who have become like sisters. My son will grow tired of me bugging him long after he moves out and on with his own family. But we are so close, that he will likely always come around for family time. That alone makes everything better. With them I feel loved. But sometimes... Sometimes, I feel like a motherless child who is still searching long after she has found. So, with every New Year’s Eve, I hope that the next year brings about a different mother/daughter relationship- a relationship that does not depend upon my phone dialing out or its ability to receive a text. Happy New Year indeed.

A Drop of History

Standing and looking over the cliff of empty nester life, I find myself surrounded by friends who are newlyweds and parents. These friends are just starting or growing their young families. I enjoy their company, listening to their stories, laughing with them and sometimes meting out advice. Every now and then, I feel a twinge of short-lived jealousy thinking I’m open to raising another child. However, I like better the idea of borrowing one of theirs and giving it back. After returning said child, I know I can reclaim my new life of responsibility for me, myself and I. I've earned this bit of selfishness after 18 years! Self reflection is a huge part of witnessing the experiences. I relate, having once been a new mom/parent also. I listen to their stories and remember my own experience of giving birth. If I shared that part of my life, you would hear all the excitement, fears and joy I felt when my son joined the universe. I know that just like me, my friends will share their stories with their children and they will claim and love it. My son loves hearing that part of his story. It is one drop amongst many others in the history of his life.

As an adoptee, that part of my own story has been fleeting. Before I learned I was adopted, I tried to imagine my mom pregnant with me in her stomach. She was always Foxy-Cleopatra-Brown-fine in her bell-bottoms, snug blouses, wigs and make up. I couldn't imagine her with a big belly, let alone birthing the four of us. She always spoke gently about our birth stories. There was rarely detail; especially with me. When I learned to do math, I figured out that she was 27 years older than me. That age seemed pretty old to be having babies in my young mind but there were too many of us to deny some birthing had in fact happened.

Always fond of the camera and pictures, even as a kid I loved browsing family photos in search of me and my siblings and other relatives. It was much later in life that I realized the tragedy of mom responding that a baby photo was one of my siblings while indicating that perhaps this or that unmarked chubby, brown bambino was me. It just didn't hit me then. Nor did it hit me when I learned I was adopted at age 10. It began to hit me when I realized that everything I thought I knew about how I came to exist was a lie. Perhaps a lie intended for protection, but a lie just the same. It hits me now when I listen to the stories of my friends and understand that I will never hear the joy my parents felt when I entered the world. I will never know if it was a difficult or easy birth. Or if my mom cried when she first laid eyes upon me, as I did when I saw my son. I will never hear about my dad pacing or fainting in the delivery room. I know now that in fact, he wasn't there. I will never see pictures of my baby room. I will never know if I stayed up all night but slept all day, if I was colicky or cried a lot. Lost further in the archives of foster parent life are stories of when I first smiled or got my first tooth. As an adoptee, it is not uncommon to learn that certain facts about your existence are lost to you. You learn to live with them. Can’t miss what you never had- right?

All in all, I'm thankful for my memories and the numerous photos I took of my son. As long as they exist, I can share them with him and his children should I have the opportunity. I tell him stories about his life now without him asking because I understand the importance. I smile at the stories of my friends and even those shared by my husband’s family of his life beginnings. I tell my friends to record and document everything. While I’ll never know parts of my own story, I try to weave parts of it together with the bits of history I picked up via my reunion. I live vicariously through my experiences and those of my friends and family. I smile with them at pictures and laugh at the funny incidents that occur when I'm present. I accept that our collective experiences may be the only opportunity and insight I receive to fill in the blanks of my personal history. Every drop counts. But sometimes that reality and acceptance makes me cry and lament over the drops that I can never regain.

The Question

I feel like an inquisitive 3 yr old
Asking questions not easily answered
Unless you just happen to know
Or recall
From too log ago science classes
why is the sky blue
Why do birds have wings
But in this case
There is extra,
Anvil-heavy emphasis...

On the WHY
My tongue
is weighed down by it
It feels loaded
Burdened,

just like my heart
Which is acting
As the go-between
The middle man
On behalf of this woman
And it is Whoa
Like- Stop the presses
Then- woe like
Woe is me
The standard feeling
For both of us
Every time the question
Is asked
And left unanswered
And every time it is...
Answered
Every time it is answered
but It sounds like...nothing
words spill from lips
Not quite venom
Not quite antidote
But the question is too big
It makes itself bigger
Implodes in the atmosphere
Dwarfing nearly any answer
That could possibly come forth
It is black hole
Or my ears have surely shrunken
Unable to hear
Any sound
Any rhyme or reason
Within reason
Or earshot
Every word suddenly unreasonable
Making this simple equation
Unsolvable
Wrong
Leaving the why
Stuck on lips
Swirling and spinning
In the pools of
my watery eyes
as they ask yet again-
And again, once more
Why?