DNA Diaries

I don't even care that the bills have been adjusted yet again. What bothers me is that those of us who drove to Lansing, sat patiently, and were told that if we came back for the next hearing, we would get the opportunity to speak first.

After a very long day yesterday I come home to a message on my machine from my daughter that the next session we have been waiting to hear has been scheduled for us to speak, was scheduled for this morning. the news didn't go out until after 2 pm yesterday.

It seems there is an acceptable 18 hour window of notification that allows those who don't want to hear what we had to say an opportunity to schedule in the middle of the week at the last minute so no one can make accommodations to attend.

A post on MiOBC this afternoon stated that there were closed door dealings, that no one was privy to except those involved in the closed door meetings, until they walked into the session.

 I am so disgusted right now I want to wish adoption on everyone of those committee members. Let them lie awake at night wondering if their grand child is OK, being fed, sitting in a dirty diaper, being molested. I wish they could understand how hard you have to try to go to sleep, with all that running through your head, that just won't shut off.

I would have gone if I could have found anything that stated it wasn't re-scheduled this morning. but I could find nothing.

They don't want to hear from us. They aren't the least bit concerned what happens to all those millions of people throughout generations with no civil rights. It's not them, that's all that matters.

 There was one committee member who was an adoptee light (adopted by his step father). I wonder if he has ever had to get a copy of his OBC? I had intended to ask him at the next session. The one that I was supposed to get to speak at. The one that was scheduled for today, in the middle of the week, with no advanced notice, so no one could attend.

I can only hope that one day he is in that position and when he is denied, he thinks of all those he heard testimony from, and al those he didn't,  because we there to protect him and his right to his own paperwork.

I think I'll look him up on the web page and ask him.

Although I ended up sick, my 6 month old grand son ended up with a stuffy runny nose, my one son only got to stay the weekend, and my daughter was so busy we barely had time for anything except running to the store, it was more like actual family than what we have experienced in the past.

Families do run to the store 20 times when getting together, there are always other things that need to be tended to, like work, parent teacher conferences, and play dates.

after 10 years our get togethers are finally starting to feel more like family. As opposed to a grand occasion that requires sitting next to one another so closely that we touch, checking each other out for similarities, not wanting to fall alseep because.... well just because.

It's a great feeling and I had a great time. Grand son was a hit, snot and all, and there was a lot of snot. My son got his first real taste of what being a full time parent was, sleepless nights, fussy baby, regular feedings, yeah it was great and he was great at it. He depended on him momma and sister a bit, but all in all he was a trooper.

His brother was a stitch on the way home. Baby was cranky, needed to be fed on the road, and had sneezed releasing those oh so not cute bubbles from his nose. Brother has realllllllly long hair, wind was blowing, and he was holding his nephew almost arms length away so as not to choke the kid when the wind swept his hair into baby's mouth, or so he says. You could see the cringe in his face when the thought of getting snot on his shirt and in his hair was mentioned. Too funny, but worth every memory.

I didn't cry this time when we had to leave. I didn't even feel that sad, I am getting used to being a family with my daughter. I don't know about her, I haven't asked. I did ask if she was going to be all right as we were leaving. She said yes, she would be good.  I hope she was.

Already thinking about next time.

This is totally off subject but I wanted to share.

For years now the wolves have been at my door. Everyone knows what that means. It means that financially I am one step ahead of the shut off notices, the collection agencies, and two steps behind on being in good standing with anyone who could improve my credit score. I have slowly been slipping into the darkness trying to get my last remaining child through high school in the town he has lived all his life. Well almost, we moved here when he started kindergarten.

It has been a huge struggle, I recently wrote but did not post a few paragraphs about where I stand in my dilemma. So many people to consider, so many affected, so much is starting to spiral out of control and a decision is coming soon, whether I make it or my mortgage company makes it for me.

It's winter here, and I tend to feed the neighborhood cats who have no homes any more. Several are very friendly which tells me they have been left behind by those who have already had to face the tough decisions that I am facing. Last night this poor orange and white tabby who is constantly bleeding from somewhere on his head, showed up at my door again. I put out a bowl of food. A large bowl of food.

I got up this morning, went to the back door and there was a fox eating out of the bowl. He?She, was beautiful and literally inches away from me. A semi truck down shifted right in front of my house and scared him/her off, but he/she came right back. I stood there for several minutes watching this fox eat dry cat food and it gave me hope. Why? Because I'm desperate. I'm desperate for a sign that the wolves have found another door and my luck is about to change.

My oldest son who is actually my middle child now that Rachael has come back into our lives, has gone off to college last fall. I admit he is fairly bright, competent, and slightly cockey. Okay he's a lot cockey, but he wears it well most of the time. I told him when he turned 17 that I had one year left to fill his head with useless information that will come in handy one day. He wanted no part of that and kept himself so busy that he was barely here till it was time to go off to college. I didn't say much, he was finding his own way in life and as long as it was in a forward direction it was okay with me. I knew there would be a day that he would realize that adulthood isn't as wonderful as he thought it would be and he would be back for all that useless information.

It started a few months after he moved. He asked me if adults are always feeling ency inside, this made me smile but I only answered "yes" Then he sent me a message stating that he needed ink for his printer. I am so glad he couldn't see my face and how badly I was vibrating from laughter when I replied, "so is there a store on campus". His response was "Oh.... yeah" to which I told him to go buy some, he would have it faster than if I went to get it and send it. Then he needed spiral notebooks. Again, chuckling inside I reminded him of the store. He decided that it would be cheaper for me to send some since he knew I had a box of them that I only paid 5 cents a piece for. He was going to have to pay WAY more than that for them on campus. Okay, I went to the post office with 4 spiral notebooks, pruchased an envelope big enough to fit them and paid the postage. Off they went. When he got them, I told him to look at the outside of the envelope to see how cheap it was for him not to go to the store. He was surprised. Sending packages isn't cheap.

Last week he wanted to send me some papers. He had to ask how to address the envelope. I didn't say anthing, but once again I am laughing at him from a far. How many times has he looked at envelopes and never paid attention. So I talk him through proper envelope addressing, saying nothing about postage. He mailed it, I got it with no problems. He decides to send me more stuff, I have no idea that and he puts money in the envelope. Lots of money,.... and doesn't tell me there's money in it. I left it lying in the mail box, on the table, didn't open it for days. When I did here is this money he wants me to do something with. Gently I remind him that sending cash is risky, and to at least let me know so I can tend to it properly. That's one I know I told him about but he must feel its a wives tale.

So unannounced again he sends me more stuff in the mail. He's mastered the postal system. I have no idea what it is but its not here. Its been days and he is wanting to know what happened to it. I start asking questions. How much stuff did you send? Did you put proper postage on it? How big was it? He's confused.
What difference would any of that make?

Well my son mail is weighed and postage is paid accordingly. I asked if he put the correct zip code on it since that is how mail is first separated. How long ago did you send it? You have to allow at least 5 to 7 days for delivery, not that it takes that long but it can depending on the size of the post office in the big city and how much mail they have to sort on a daily basis. Not at all like the little two spit town you grew up in.

At this point I am totally enjoying his misfortune, mostly because I know it will probably get here soon enough, and that this is his first experience with the U.S. mail botching something. I can hardly contain myself when I get an email from him that simply said "well shit". He's speechless, his friends told him unless its a package one stamp will do. He never thought about the volume of mail that his new post office has to process, that mail is weighed, or its separated by zip codes.

I'm absolutely dying over here trying not to piss him off, so I send a message saying "all that useless information I tried to give you was for a reason". I got a reply stating that I never told him about the U.S. mail.

I waited a while before responding with, "you didn't want to know" "You think this is bad, wait till you open your first checking account" "it will be endless hours of entertainment (for me) frustrtion for you" I got no reply for quite a while, I sent another message asking if he's done talking ot me for now. He responded "YES" but I love you mom.

To which I sent my last response, "love you too" "and love love love watching you grow into an adult"

I know its mean, but it is so much fun watching him grow through this part of his life. Who knew that ink, envelopes, stamps, and mailing something was so involved?

I'm really not looking forward to balancing a check book over the phone or through chat. But I'll do it, and I'll enjoy every minute of his growth.

Love you T. Hang in there.

I just got home from my daughters house after a couple days together. I can not describe the feeling it gives me. Something deep inside feels centered, quiet, and yes at peace.



What I wanted to share is what transpired while I was there.



First I thought about backing out. My youngest son got violently ill the night before. He is old enough to care for himself, but I'm still a mom and I was going to be a few hundred miles away. Other than any excuse to get together, I was going so my older son could get some head shots done. This was planned well in advance, and even though it would have been acceptable to not go, a reschedule would have been difficult to pull off once he goes back to college.



There was another reason to go and this one was purely self serving. There were going to be several adoptee's that Rachael and I talk to on a regular basis in the Ohio area for a one night get together. Coined as the "Mid West Bastard Hook Up" and I was invited to tag along.



On top of all that my grand daughter was coming home for the first time in 2 months. She was given a two month stay at the prestigious Lenawee County Country Club (if you catch my drift)



So many things were planned, scheduled, worked around to make this happen and then my son got sick. I would have cancelled in a heart beat, but he wouldn't let me. That's the first sign of a family.



My oldest son and I packed up all the clothes we were going to need and headed out. The 3 to 5 inches we were expecting was already starting to fall and I still had to get my tires put on before I could leave town. Another reason I didn't want to go, if my sick son needed something from the store he would have to get it himself or wait hours upon hours for my husband to bring it home. I got what I could before I left, but there wasn't much opened that early in our tiny town. I was worried my son would try to get out, get stuck and then what? But I really needed these head shots, really wanted to go to the Bastard Hook Up and really wanted to be there for my grand daughter when she came home. We made it happen. Tires went on first thing in the morning, sick son fended for himself and lived, I got there in just enough time to drive to Ohio for the Hook up and the pictures were done the next day. All that was left was my grand daughter.



It was fun watching my son and daughter interact. It always is. Both boys love their sister and that couldn't make me any prouder. A fragmented family coming back together doesn't always work out, especially when there are so many years between them. She is 20 years older than my youngest and 19 years older than the oldest. Needless to say her surrender affected me.



so we get done with the shoot, eat at the table like a family (something that never happens at my house) and we settle in for the evening. Exhausted we all pretty much called it a day early.



Next morning, we lumbered around, talked about D coming home, and tried not to get too excited. Early afternoon, the transformation on her room started. Something that needed to be done before she got home. It needed to be transformed back into a bedroom from the almost pig sty that it was. My son in law could see that it was difficult for his wife to get the motivation necessary so he initiated the task and she joined him almost immediately. There were things that Rach knew she would find in D's room and there were a few surprises. When it was done, Rach went into the garage by herself and sat for a few minutes. I waited and then went to check on her. It wasn't long before my son was in there too. We talked about what was found, how her problems aren't necessarily her fault, that through reunion they were able to discover and make sense of my grand daughters as well as my daughters fondness for alcohol. My son sat and listened while Rachael talked through her tears about the things she didn't realize were going on with her daughter. She even said she didn't know where she went wrong. I had to chuckle at that because its every parents thought when their kids slide into weirdness. I looked at her and then at him and told them both that with all the information given from both Rachael and I, that if they allow this to happen to them it is no ones fault but their own.

My oldest son has a fondness for alcohol too. He has been warned most of his life that there is the potential for either him, his brother or both to have inherited this defective gene and they need to know about it. Most of the time he blows me off as just being a mom who doesn't want her kid to drink. But I have learned from past experiences with my kids that even though they blow me off, later on when its needed, to my surprise they display behavior that indicates they actually retained most of what I had said.

My daughter feeling defeated, anxious and afraid about "her" daughter coming home, couldn't help but shed tears over the situation. I saw my son ache "for' her. He reached out grabbed her and hugged her so tight. Then extended his hand to me. (Sign two of a family) What I have tried to do is "knowledge it out". I can't breed it out, it's bread in. I can however use the knowledge I have and make sure that my kids understand that its real and serious.

It was at this time that I knew I had made the right choice by keeping our plans. It was worth more than I can say to have my son experience this family moment, mostly because we don't have many. He is of legal age now and his own man. I have never told my son he can not drink. I told him he shouldn't, and if he does he needs to keep himself in check. I think he believes that now.

He went with Rachael to pick up D when it was time. The two stayed up long past the rest of us. I hope what she had to say, increased my sons knowledge of what kind of genetics we come from, how it can in fact sneak up on you and one day your life is out of control, and that any facility like the one she was in wasn't high on her list of repeats.

It's been ten years that Rachael and I have been slowly putting our fractured life back together. This is the first family situation that extended past my sons that has come into play. As much as I wish it hadn't happened, I'm glad my son and I were there. Its one of the few times I've felt like I have extended family. Like life exists beyond my two sons.

So as Fragile, Fragmented, and Fractured as we are, we have managed to put back together, a Family.

As the Holidays quickly approach I find myself sensative to the pressure that is over taking everyone around me. My family is no exception. It's difficult to watch as your children burn themselves out. My daughter Rachael is working almost as much overtime as a normally scheduled week's work. She's Christmas shopping, regular shopping, visiting relatives, getting kids wardrobes ready for school activities, looking for pictures to send off, trying to keep up with the bills collectors, and still find time for her husband. She's been sick, tired, sick and tired and functioning on little to no sleep.

I admire her dedication to her family. I worry about her lack of dedication to herself. I see for the first time what people have been saying to me for years. There needs to be more time for just you. I know she comes by it honestly, family is the most important thing to both of us. I never felt I was abusing myself, but I'm worried about my daughter doing the same thing I have been guilty of.

I can remember not having time to be sick. Sounds silly but it's actually possible. You just keep going because you feel you have to. You know everyone is depending on you and you don't want to let anyone down. You just keep pushing yourself to get that next thing done, knowing that a time will come when things will settle down and you can breath again. You'll be able to sleep in a little, sip coffee slowly and enjoy the morning. You keep that thought and a pretty picture tucked neatly away where you can get to it when things start to become overwhelming. You go there for just a minute or two because that's all the time you have is a minute or two. You tell yourself to hang in there, that the time is coming when this will be more than just a picture in your mind. But today is not that day and to be honest tomorrow doesn't look likely either.

In order to spread yourself so thin with all the extra things that need to be done at this time of year, it is inevitable that other things have to be let go. Things like the morning coffee sipped slowly, the ritual shaving of the legs, the extra minutes spent on makeup and hair for the day, and phone calls. Phone calls to people you don't necessarily need to talk to but you like to talk to and do as often as you can.

I was in a chat session this evening talking to a few adoptee's I know. They asked what was going on with me. I responded by saying I missed my daughter fearcely. She is spending way too much time working and not spending enough time on the phone with me. I sounded like a spoiled child. I know she's busy, spread thin and exhausted. I was light heartedly kidding but at the same time telling the truth. I do miss her. I miss our 40 minute phone calls about absloutley nothing at all. Okay 60 minutes but its worth it just to hear her voice.

After 10 years of reunion I still feel like I have missed so much. That we still need to make up for that lost time. Lingering on the phone searching for something to say so we don't have to say good bye. Unknowingly giving these two women reason to be envious. I forget about others at times and don't think before opening my mouth. I got the response "I wish you were my mother" Something that I have heard often, warms my heart, but also deeply saddens me for those who say it. It makes me grateful for my relationship with my daughter. It also makes me want to smack some women up side the head with a basball bat for being so uncaring.

So as much as I miss you Rach, I do understand. You're busy, you're over loaded, you're taking care of your family. I know the day will come that we will have those long non important conversations again. That compared to others I have no right to complain about how long its been since we talked. For us it has been days, for some of them years, and for others a life time. But I can't help it, I find myself missing you.

In a recent conversation with a friend, I found myself suggesting she let go of her daughter. Not to adoption, but rather to life itself. This child is 18 and smart, but for some unknown reason, she clings to excuses rather than the fact that she needs to get out there and make a life for herself.

It is so hard for me to say those words without feeling the pain of surrender. The mother is afraid that her daughter will never forgive her, she will leave and never come back, she will blame the mother for throwing her out instead of standing by her. I understand the mothers feelings, I really do. All too loud and clear comes back the feelings of "she will hate me", "she won't want anything to do with me", "she will never look for me", and it hurts. But there comes a time in every child's life that they need to go. They need to step outside the realm of the family unit, and find out who they are as an individual. Especially if that child's actions or lack of action is causing problems within the family unit.

To listen to her talk on the phone, cry, say she can't live without her daughter in her life, is so familiar, that it almost haunts me. The thought of never seeing her daughter again is what keeps her from taking any kind of real action toward helping her daughter find out who she is and what she's capable of. The fact that the mother herself is an adoptee, complicates the situation even further. Because she was abandoned by her own mother, because she felt alienated herself growing up, she struggles with where to draw the line in regard to her own daughter. I do not disagree with her on this, but feel sometimes the best thing you can do is let go. This child is not an infant, she's by no means helpless. She is "quite" capable of not only functioning on her own, but very possibly becoming an extremely influential member of society, she just needs direction and a chance to spread her wings. She needs to fine tune her passion a bit but who didn't at her age. Passion is what creates influence. If you are not passionate about something, you will never convince anyone of your position on it, and this girl has passion, about a lot of things.

I don't have a crystal ball to prove that the relationship between these two women will survive, but I do have faith that as close as they are to one another, nothing, will stand between them in the long run. I base my opinion on my own relationship with my daughter. We had many obstacles, and still, still, were able to defy all the odds, all the naysayers, all the road blocks and put together a relationship. We did what we needed to do, no matter how painful, and it was painful, but we succeeded, we conquered, and we built a decent life for the two of us.

I know its completely different, as mine and my daughters life started with letting go. I can't help but believe that there comes a time in every parent child relationship that going, and letting go, is the very thing that keeps us together. Some baby birds fly out of the nest, others need a gentle shove, most find their wings. This young lady is so ready to fly, so ready to leave her mark on the world, her fear is of the unknown, and it is stifling her, eating up precious time, robbing her of her place in the universe, and causing very possibly irreparable damage to her family unit.

My problem is finding words that don't sound like an old pro at walking away from your kids. I heard it myself in our conversation, I felt it in the quiet moments when nothing was being said. It rang in my ears, "it was easier for you, you did it at birth". It wasn't easier for me. Nor will it be easy for her. But I can't help but feel that the focus in this situation is on the wrong aspect of it. It feels like the focus in on abandonment instead of succeeding, on being resented instead of helping a child find their way, on giving up on a child instead of that child finding out just how resourceful she really is, on letting go out of love and respect. Not to be confused with "your mother loved you so much she let you go", but rather I have every confidence in you that you will not only succeed, but kick some serious ass in this world, you just need to get out there and do it.

I also felt in those quiet moments on the phone, a new found respect for women who surrendered their children. This is cutting so deep on this mother, that she feels emotions very similar to those of us who never knew how our children were doing. I heard the unasked questions, "is this what your life was like?" "how did you live through this?" We didn't address those issues because this conversation was not about me. But the lines of similarity were there, and it was killing me to relive them again through her.

I will continue to express that the focus should not be abandonment or betrayal, but a normal aspect of life, and hope something hits a cord, that something brings my words into focus. I do fear it coming at the expense of my relationship with this woman. That would be devastating, because she means so very much to me. She is in every sense of the word, like a daughter.

In reading and communicating with several adoptee's, it seems that for some totally surprising reason, I am more accepted as a first mother than I ever thought possible. I root for the underdog, because I am an underdog most of the time. One of the little people who gets stuck on the bottom of some unknown shoe, size 900EEEE in the grand scheme of life and government.
But for some reason I am accepted in this small yet growing circle of never seen friends.

It's no secret that I chose adoption for my daughter 36 years ago. If you are unfamiliar with why I chose, you will have to go through old posts here to find out. I don't have the strength or the time to write it out again.

I have had my share of strangers judge me on my deed and not my reasoning for so long that I have accepted who I am in their eyes. I don't agree with their opinions of me or how they came about forming them, but I have accepted it none the less. They know less than half the story and it is not my responsibility to share every detail of my life with them in an attempt to gain recognition or acceptance. You don't like me, okay move on, next......

So to find that the very thing that got me my label as "one of those women" is now a source of recognition and respect, is quite surprising to me. You see, the envy I have felt toward the women who were indeed completely coerced into surrendering their children was overwhelming at times. I so wanted to be able to say that this had happened to me. I wanted it to be someone else's fault. I didn't want to be responsible for my daughter ending up being an adoptee. But I was responsible. It was my idea, stupid as it was, no one put those thoughts in my head but me.

Oh to be able to say I was duped by the system, I was taken advantage of, I didn't know any better. Which was half true, I didn't know any better, but I still didn't have to make that choice. I chose to send my daughter away to live with strangers, and it sucks. I have never found anything but sorrow in my decision.

So for me to find faceless friends who seem to think its respect worthy that I own up to being the boob who suggested my daughter become a statistic, is puzzling to say the least. I wanted to be like everybody else. I wanted to be duped and blameless. I wanted the same story as others who had no choice. Why did I have to be the only one who chose this?

But this is what I have learned, my daughter was the one who had no choice, I did, and I made my choice based on my reasons that I still to this day feel were sound reasons. Since I made that choice of my own free will, and admit to it, I have gone from "one of those women" to a woman of substance, but only in certain circles. I'm still a crack whore to some and always will be.

Without letting it go to my head, I have to admit it feels good to have the respect of a handful of people who understand first hand. Most of the opinions made about me in the past came from people who's only link to adoption WAS their opinion. So to say I am honored might be a bit much, but the opinions of a handful of people I have never met, have excommunicated a lot of the negative portrayals of me (at least in my own head) and given me a new look at my self. Maybe even a bit more back bone. Who knew that telling the truth, no matter how much I wished it wasn't the truth, being the one who didn't have, no matter how much she wished she did, anyone to blame but herself, would end up winning me respect in the end.

You know those stupid emails that say pass it along and something really cook will happen to you by....? Yeah, this is way cool.

Recently on a popular board that my daughter and I frequent, there was a comment made about surrendering mothers that sparked a private conversation between myself and another surrendering mother. It started off simple enough, she felt the sting of bad jokes made at our expense. I understood that feeling, I myself felt like she did for many years. Somewhere along the line I just got tired. I got tired of feeling bad on command. Some one would take a shot at me for surrendering my daughter and I would immediately feel bad, just like they wanted me to. I would love to say I don't know how it happened or when but that would be a lie. I know exactly how it happened and when. Like Pinocchio I got rid of my strings.



One day as my older brother, (I'm being covert here, I have two older brothers and in case you know me, you still don't know which brother it is) and I got into a heated discussion about how screwed up I really am, because I wasn't acting the way he wanted me to, I wasn't giving in the way I usually do, and he once again threw in my face that I needed a fucking psychiatrist. Before he could finish that sentence I had spun around and for the first time in my life I screamed in his face (spit included) "How did I get that way". It was the last conversation I remember having with my brother. So I know how. I remember almost every detail of the day I set myself free from other peoples power.



So this woman who is offended is trying to get recognition for her feelings and as much as I sympathized with her, I'm not there anymore. I don't let those comments bother me any more. Do they sting? A little, but not enough to ruin my day, not enough to make me want revenge, or even an apology. Besides the context of the comment was said in a group that I knew didn't include me, and probably not her either. It was an in general statement said in fun, bad taste maybe but hey, I'm just as guilty at times. Bad jokes and dark humor are the only things that get me through some times.



So this conversation goes on and starts to take a different twist. We went from bad joke, to being grouped together, to being re-abused by our children, to preparing for reunion. Well the grouped together stuff didn't get much attention from me either. People are going to group other people together from now till eternity. It's just the way we're wired. Blacks, whites, Asians. Christians, gays, "you people", hell I'm a crack whore at 53 because the current stereotype for surrendering mothers is skinny as hell (I wish) and all methed out. CRACK WASN'T EVEN INVENTED when I was pregnant, but that's okay, I'm a crack-whore.

The abuse part got a lot of attention from me but it wasn't what she was looking for, obviously. She wants to be prepared, she wants the details from other peoples experiences as to how they handled their situations to store in the back of her brain as reserve in case it happens to her. I don't understand this at all. My mind reels with questions, "how are you going to know that its abuse and not just reunion garbage that needs to be gotten out and dealt with then put to rest"? We talked about drawing a line in the sand. My question was " How can you draw your line of enough based on other peoples experiences"? "How are you going to know when you have had enough based on the stories of others"? "Why are you so sure this is going to happen"? The concept of boundaries is all fine and well, but why run imaginary scenarios through your head like war strategies?


So when we get to the part about preparing for reunion, I envision two people standing facing each other. Each has a handbook, maybe labeled reunion for dummies or something. A sentence is said by one person, then the other person flips through their hand book for an appropriate response, that person responds and it's now the first persons turn to flip through their handbook and see what it is they are supposed to say in return to the comment made by the other person. This to me is where reunion has been taken too far. Without posting exactly what this other mother said, I will say that if you feel the need to study for this, you're going to fail.



There are books,TONS of books, there are web sites, hang outs, blogs, forums, places you can go and discuss reunion, adoption, what it feels like, what it "was" like for someone else, but in the end no two reunions are alike. Having resources stored in your head isn't going to do you any good because they were someone else's experiences. Besides, as I tried to point out to her, in my oh so eloquent manner, it takes up valuable space.



I understand not being able to shut this shit off, I lived it for 28 years. I drank to make it go away, (smooth move on my part, I ended up with a drinking problem) that's what bothers me about this whole conversation. Instead of working on herself, instead of forgiving herself, and understanding that on her child's part there is simply more wait time required, HE'S NOT READY, she wants to continue to beat herself up, hold herself down, and read other peoples reunion stories, in order to prepare for her own.



If you want to know how this "might" pan out for you, it cost me many relationships, a few weeks in the hospital, a lot of money, therapy, jobs and friends, and I didn't even do the strategy thing. Sound like something you aspire to? keep it up, you'll get there.



My daughter and I read NONE of the books on the market about adoption, self discovery, reunion, or the effects of secrets and lies. Mostly because neither of us knew they existed. We talked to each other. We got to know each other slowly, we creeped into one an other's lives. It took time, it took understanding, it took not getting offended, or angry. It took having little to no expectations, and a lot of patience. It took doing it anyway even though we were both afraid. That's what worked for us. I'm not saying its the golden rule of reunion, I'm saying it took US, working at it, taking it in little chunks, quiting when it gets too overwhelming, picking back up when we both felt like we could do it again. But the main ingredient was US. Not some book, not someone else's memoirs, not a guide based on past reunions, just us.

"Be ready for anything" is a statement used in regard to reunion. It means you may be rejected again, it may not be how you expected it to go, you may be over whelmed with emotion, you may even feel like vomiting. It doesn't mean, study hard, have all the answers, be mentally prepared for any question. Reading is fine, talking to others and listening to their stories is okay, but trying to prepare for reunion based on others experiences, having your response to anything that may come up ready and waiting to be used is setting yourself up for failure. This isn't a battle ground, or a game show.

Reunion is fragile yet liberating. It requires honesty, respect and lots of space.
I'd hate to see anyone lose out in reunion because they didn't have the sense to be themselves, to give of themselves, and to allow the other person the space they need to make it work.

So in conclusion of this conversation. I wrote a short piece about how I'm not trying to disrespect her feelings, but instead trying to point out that she can reach a point of self respect that affords her the room to let a few bad jokes pass without taking them straight to heart and ruining her day. This was after she said that maybe that particular forum was not for her, that maybe it was time for her to move on. All I can think is that she wants to surround herself with people who feel the same pain, even though she strategizes against it. I probably shouldn't have but I told her that there is no way in hell I would base my reunion on incerpts from books, or let people who have spit on me my whole life stop me from having a relationship with my daughter just because they don't think I deserve one, and I reserve the right to draw my own line in the sand. I'll decide what is enough. Its been two days and there has been no response to the message I left.

No two reunions are a like, I hope she realizes that and finds what works for her.

For those who have not been following, Rachael and I have had several discussions lately about reunion, what makes some successful and what sabotages others. Most people know that we belong to a forum that allows opened discussion. Rachael posted a question about trying to regain that family bond early in reunion as opposed to starting off at ground zero as friends. Again most know that Rachael and I have chosen the friends path. I am her mother but not her mom. Our thoughts on that can be read in other posts on our blog. Come to think of it maybe I should use that as a topic and let it have its own paragraph or two. Something to ponder. Pffft, maybe I already have.

In reading some old emails I came across something that I thought might be helpful to others in reunion. It is something that Rachael had to do for me to get me to stop being so afraid of reunion.

Yes I was afraid of reunion. I wanted it more than anything, I was willing to do almost anything for it, yet I was afraid of rejection after she soothed her curiosity about who her first mother was. I wasn't sure I could handle that so I held myself in reserve.

To keep other comments I have made still in clear view, I feel it necessary to address some of the things I have said in the past that may give the impression I'm back peddling, but try to understand that reunion and surrender is emotion filled and extremes are not uncommon.

I have stated in the past that I was willing to let my daughter beat the crap out of me if she felt it was necessary upon reunion. I was willing to accept that in exchange for even a glimpse of her. I have also stated that after a few years in reunion that if I was to continue to be her personal punching bag, to be used when ever she felt it necessary to feel better about the issues she was left with because of my decision to surrender her, that I would probably walk away myself. I have had a long hard road accepting my decision, and no one could beat me up more than I could myself, and I took full advantage of punishing myself over my decision. Although very different extremes, I still mean what I said. I was willing to let her physically hurt me, but not for the rest of my life.

So this brings me to what I read in an old email. That she was in it for the long haul.

I was afraid of losing her again and I had grown so attached that I held parts of me back. She knew it, she could see it, she could tell that I struggled with responses at times because I was afraid of what she might think if I were to just be myself. After a few short weeks, (JOKING, it took years,) of her telling me that she was in it for the long haul, I started to believe it. I gave my true responses to questions, opinions, situations and tried to have faith that she would really accept me for who I am. Not only is she still around, but she actually likes me most of the time. I find it hard to believe than anyone could like me all of the time, but that's human nature. We have found that we have the same slightly ummm, okay we have the same "really" twisted sense of humor. And we are both very devoted to one another, fiercely at times, which is both scary and really cool.

So to get to my point, (oh yeah we're both fairly looong winded too) we would like nothing more than to find things that would help people in reunion. Every reunion is different, but Rachael and I are trying to find any thread of similarities that may help. She has already posted about a few and will continue to do so as they come up. By no means are we trying to state that if you "do this", you will have a successful reunion, but if we can find even one thing that could make the difference between successful and unsuccessful it would be worth it.

Do you think that telling the other person that you are in it for the long haul would put your mind at ease? Would it take away even a little of the fear of being rejected again as an adoptee or being rejected after soothed curiosity as a first parent? I honestly believe it helped me to forgive myself. If she could forgive me, accept me, and stay for the long haul, if she could give me that commitment, and that's what it is, a commitment, then I had no excuse to not forgive myself, begin to heal, and commit to my daughter for the time we had left.

Although it seems like a million years ago now, I have something that might give you a taste of what it was like to be me, pregnant at the age of 16. I pulled this question off of yahoo answers just a minute ago. I have to admit that there are a lot of people who no longer feel this way toward first mothers, but that has come from the sweat of some very brave peoples backs. It is not easy standing in front of a crowd with this mentality and trying to get them to humanize the producer of their most precious commodity, their child.

I feel that this is a direct result of industry language. You know, what adoption workers use to make adoptive parents feel superior. But they can not be held unaccountable. They are responsible for their actions just as I was held accountable for mine.

My disclaimer: To those of you who have adopted and realized that your child had another set of parents before you and that those parents should be treated with as much respect as any other parent, I applaud you, and this post most certainly does not apply to you.

Here it is. It's short, but depicts exactly what it is meant to, hatred.

Enjoy


Open Question
Why do you think peeps think that all bm's are victims?
on here all birth peeps have an excuse am i the only one that sees


Nope, I'm with you man. I am sick and tired of their martyr syndrome. Keep your kids and raise them like the rest of us do, they don't deserve to play the victim role for ducking out of their responsibilities. Then they say the are looked down upon by society....WELL DUH...how precisely do you expect to be treated?Don't get me started with this crap!By the way...bm also stands for bowel movement, ya know like sh!t...sounds like a pretty good representation to me.Natural mother??? What is natural about birthing a child and abandoning it?
Source(s):
Birthmother HATER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Amidst all the meetings, greetings, how have you been's, something else happened. Something that had been said in the past but I thought was out of sheer politeness.

When we were in the bar waiting for Jim to show up, Greg, Jim's sister's husband, who's house we invaded when Rach met Jim, his mother and one of his sisters for the first time, grabbed my arm and told me that I was being silly. I told him I was trying to put some space between myself and Rach's reunion. He insisted that I was already told that no matter what, I was now family and so were my boys. It made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I went from little to no contact with my own family, to trying to invision a get together that would include Jim, (who I adore) his tribe, (because there are a lot of them) my husband, his daughter, my boys, their father, (who is one of my dearest friends) and Rach's parents, sister, and all associated with them. I have no idea if it's possible to get all those people together, but it's fun trying to imagine it. At least I have faces to play with, and it's all made possible through the "other people" in my illigitimate children's lives. "My family" may want little to do with me, but my family has grown exponentially through the other people in my childrens lives. Rachael says I have every right to thumb my nose, as it was my illigitimate children, my insistance that we would meet again, and my relationships with their fathers, that set me apart from those who were supposed to love me unconditionally.

If it never happens it will be okay. It's enough to know that I am accepted and included.

I have needed time to process all of the things that happened during my first ever sleep over type visit with my daughter. There wasn't one piece of it that I would have traded for anything in the world. We spent our first new years together. No big gushy hugs or kisses, mostly watching the younger kids throw crap all over the house. You call it confetti, I call it a mess that needs to be cleaned. Don't get me wrong, I'm a slob. My house could be way cleaner. But the amount of confetti that was being thrown and the places it was getting into just made me shake my head. I did enjoy the fact that Rachael didn't bat an eye over it. She just let them fly and when it was over the broom came out and it was cleaned up. One of the many conveniences of hard wood floors.

The older kids came home shit faced. I thought that was pretty funny. They were only gone for 3 hours and two of them could barely walk. They did the right thing though, they called and Rach went and got them. The buckets and towels arranged strategical next to the sleeping arrangements with a wet wash cloth hung on the side was a sight to behold. Rach put her brother down on the couch and tied his long tresses back to make it easier for him to utilize the bucket. I started to get up off the couch to take over since it was my responsibility to tend my drunken son, and I immediately sat back down. I figured it was nothing less than a pleasure for her to tend her baby bro after all these years. She got his settled and I arranged the towel with the bucket and wash rag. After a good vomit there is nothing like a cool rag to either wipe the mouth or the forehead.

My grand daughter was being tended to by her boyfriend up stairs. No worries there, he is a fine young man very capable of handling my sometimes over bearing grand daughter and that in it self was a treat to see. Two down two to go.

We went into the kitchen with the remaining two who were still on their feet. the fun never stops with intoxicated teens around. I learned so much that night. My other son's aversion to the room spinning is to spin himself. So on his toes (which is natural for him, he lives on his toes) he spins like a ballerina or his mother on the dance floor in her younger and drunken years. I was very afraid he was going to land on his face. We already have one kid with a permanent bonded tooth, no need for them both to have one. When he finally wound down and got ready for the other couch where his bucket, towel and wash cloth await, he had the sense to pull his own hair back and pony tail it. Not long after being in the horizontal position, he started to utilize his bucket. Instead of leaning over the edge of the couch like his brother who couldn't move if he wanted to, this one gets off the couch, on his hands and knees and actually starts spinning in circles from the waist up around the top of the bucket. Too bad we didn't have the sense to film it as he denied it the next day. All in all it was an awesome time. Family at it's finest. Sharing and caring for one another in a way that only people who really love you will. The next day was less fun but still good entertainment. Watching a hang over is much better than feeling a hang over. At least it was for me. It took most of the day for the really wasted two to get up and moving. Poor T, hung over as he was, there was still no escaping the throws of being an uncle. He was hung on, tugged at, hair pulled, loud in your face children everywhere and it was probably killing him. D got the dogs. He went to bed with them, and spent most of the day with them as they too would not leave him alone. Too much entertainment for me. I was loving every bit of it.

The grand daughter awakes, looking like someone who was shot at and missed, shit at and hit. My heart over flows with excitement. I can't wait to watch her struggle through the day. Needless to say it was a slow moving, less than quite, aspirin filled afternoon and evening. The dead awake after 5pm.

When we got home, I had little time to reflect, there were things to do around the house, things to take care of with friends, pictures to select for an audition, and colleges to finish up applying for. As wonderful as it was, the visit with Rachael's sister, her parents, the seeing where she was for so many years and how safe she was, the finally laying eyes upon the people who took my daughter in as their own. I still felt something was missing. I actually felt guilty about it.

A week had passed and not a word about how her parents felt after the meeting. Nothing from her sister passed on through Rach about how it made her feel to sit in the same room with the mystery woman who was 13, on drugs, a run away, and clueless as to who she had slept with all those years ago, compliments of the agency we used. I don't know why I expected more, I just did. It was so monumental for me. I was hoping the feeling was the same for them, but it seemed that it was exciting at the time and now it's over. No fan fair, no big revelations, nothing. I was expecting more and trying to tell myself not to be disappointed. Maybe it was that they needed to keep their distance. Maybe I was still capable of taking something from them and they needed to keep some of their guard up. Maybe I just didn't want it to end and it had.

Then it came. Rach called me last night and had finally gotten a hold of her sister and her parents. Her parents called to thank her for "allowing them" to be a part of her reunion. There it was, the thing I had been expecting and thought wasn't going to happen. The thing I thought I was the only one feeling. It had affected them. They feel the same thing I do, a connection, a link, an answer to the mystery of why their (our) daughter thinks and acts the way she does. The inner working of what makes her tick. They saw it, and it made sense, for the first time in 36 years. Just like I saw where she resided, how farming was a big part of who she was. How could I understand that? I have no connection to farming what so ever (growing pot maybe). But in her family, farming is everything. It is the profession that makes all other professions possible. It is the pride of who they are as a whole.

Her sister told her that Rachael seems more at peace than ever before. It was visibly noticeable. Rach agreed. No more secrets, imagination putting faces to that which we had not known, trying to piece together stories without actual puzzle pieces. And best of all no more silent panic attacks. No one has to worry any more. We met face to face and no one died.

Now the evolution of phone numbers. Rach's sister talked to her parents and agreed that it is important that they have my phone number. In all actuality it makes sense. They will know long before I, if something were to happen to Rach. I know Rach's husband would let me know as soon as possible, but what if; what if something happened to both of them. Funny how that happens. Her whole life thus far has gone by with never a thought of me being on the roster of contacts, and now after one meeting my name and number are being requested. That's something I never expected or even thought about to be honest. I had once hoped that we would one day meet. I gave up. I wanted it, but felt that it would not be a realization. Now I'm on the roster.

How unbelievable awesome is that?

Since Rachael can't have another copy of her original birth certificate, (yes she had one and of all things it was stolen) and I lied about her fathers name on her original, AND she would need BOTH sets of parents permission to receive a new copy, would a blood test proving her father is in fact her father suffice in a court of law so that we parents (all 4 of us) could give our permission for her to have a new birth certificate?

Would it be possible to have her fathers real name inserted where the slightly altered name off of a cigarette pack is? I wonder? It will be impossible to get one even with every one's permission since her father is not the name listed on the original. A blood test would be the only way to clear that. But if we did clear that would it be possible to get her an original birth certificate with her mother and father's real name on it?

Any thoughts?

I opened 4 e-mails this morning that brought tears to my eyes. One I have yet to finish because I have work to do on the phone and I can not be sobbing during business. The two in the middle were stories with some what of a happy ending. All four touched me in my one and only vulnerable spot, suffering. Be it human or animal I can't stand to see or hear of suffering. The last of the four e-mails simply said "I go to sign my papers today."

The ache resurrected from within resembles a hollow feeling. Like there is nothing inside me at all. I think of the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz. It was sad that the lion didn't have any courage, or the scare crow didn't have a brain, but the Tin Man was the one who had nothing, nothing inside but an echo. The heaviness that lays on my chest with the words in that e-mail will linger with me for weeks.

Someone is celebrating today, their life has been forever changed by the legalization of something they have no doubt waited for for so long. To someone else, this day who's date will be ingrained in their memory forever as well, is not the joyous occasion shared by others. It is the beginning of something equally as legal and permanent, yet has a hollow echoed feeling to it like the Tin Man.

I have not been in church for months now. I have made every excuse possible, why I do not know. I like it there. I like being accepted by the parishioners. I like how i feel about myself when I leave there. But for some reason I have not gone.

I think in part is has to do with all the adoption I see. I live in a town of adoption and it very alive and well here. Since my last hour in a pew I noticed that our little church has gained several new families. That's a good thing. We needed it. Something else I noticed and just couldn't get it out of my head was a little girl I recognized with a cast on her arm, and two little boys with two black eyes each. They were together with a woman I had not noticed before, I assume they were brothers.

Now having a crash kid of my own, I understand how it is. I have one who seemed to have stitches in the weirdest places and can see why it would raise an eyebrow from time to time.

I asked about the little girl since I sort of knew her parents. Her arm was not broken but fractured enough that at her age they thought it best to have it casted. But the boys are still bothering me. Lumped up foreheads and both eyes blackened. It could have been a car accident, it could have been anything but my mine saw something different. I immediately thought that these boys had been removed from their home and placed with whom ever this woman was. I did not see much interaction between the woman and the children so I could not see if they acted like mother and child. But it is still bothering me. I want to know what happened to those boys. I want to know if they have been removed from their home because of those bruises.

It is hard for me to go to church sometimes. There are all those people with other peoples children. They honestly think in their hearts that what they are doing is in the best interest of the child, and maybe it is. One little girl and her brother have recently been adopted by a family from my church and I have to admit they are shown so much love. I feel bad for the parents because these children were abducted at birth. No matter how many children their mother has she will have them taken from her at birth. I don't know the story behind it, but the adoptive mother is finished with DHS and being a foster parent. She does not blame it on the kids but the system itself.

I would really like to talk to her one day about her reasoning for that, but I am hesitant to in fear that it will come back on me and hurt my relationship with the church. I tried to talk to another woman once about something similar and she kept giving me her rendition of how wonderful everything is. I never did get my actual question answered.

So basically I went to church, felt good about it, and yet came home feeling depressed about the fate of the children again. Man this is hard.

In the past few months I have been feeling more confident about my position in adoption land. I am finally finding a voice, a passion, a stand. I have offered my ear or my email to women who are thinking of surrendering their children. I have offered my email to women who have recently surrendered and are having the proverbial hard time getting through each and every day with out a melt down.

Does this mean I have turned into the sweetest most compassionate person on the planet? Hardly. In fact it means a bit of the opposite. I've been getting a bit rowdier, more vocal. I have been stating my position with confidence. Something I could not do before. I couldn't do it because I wasn't sure where I stood. I certainly didn't want to rock the boat. I didn't want to do or say something that would jeopardize my relationship with my daughter or turn her parents against me in any way. But I think I have found my common ground.

I have read more in this past year than I have my entire life, and my waist line is definite proof that I tell the truth. I have been making friends and acquaintances with some perspective adoptive parents. Ones who have been turned off by the rantings of the unhappy, ungrateful adoptees. I have opened up my email to those who dare take the bait and I have actually been able to point out a few things to those who reside on the winning side of adoption. Mostly in the areas of myth busting. Myth being that all adoptees are legally available for adoption. Myth being that signing papers takes away feelings of the heart. Myth being that a relationship between a first mother and daughter negates the position of an adoptive mother.

My daughters parents are her mom and dad. I am her mother. I have a relationship with her. I have been accepted as her mother by her mom. I have been invited to their home, which I never thought would happen. I have shared my story and deepest pain with women I do not know. I have passed along information in an attempt to open the eyes of women on the other side of adoption. I have thought, pondered and blogged about the pain an infertile woman must feel and how it differs only slightly from the pain of a surrendering mother. Bottom line it is the pain of empty arms. Something women from both sides can relate to and come together on if they try.

Now I have decided to try and bring women together from both sides of a child. That's what it is basically. One side is surrender the other is infertility and for some reason it pits them against each other. Something I honestly believe was started by the all too uncaring agencies. Something I see as being completely and totally unnecessary and I am out to prove it.

In order for this to work I think I need to put myself out there, vulnerably. So here's your chance. What ever you write I will post unless it is descriptive of me naked. That's a visual no one needs and it means your probably my neighbor in which your opinion doesn't count.

I'm looking for women to tell me what they think.

Am I on the right track?

Am I wrong?

Do I live in a fantasy world?

Is my reunion a farce?

Are all these stories of abused adoptees, baby brokers, baby farms, human trafficking, surrendering mothers pain, a fabrication?

What do you think is in the best interest of an adopted child? Why?

Would an adoptees relationship with two sets of parents be a good thing, a bad thing, impossible? Why?

Are you afraid of International Adoption ending? Why? What does it mean to you?

Do you think the system is broken? Why?

If I can accept and acknowledge your pain can you accept and acknowledge mine?

Am I missing something? What?

Can we become responsible for changing adoption together in the name of what is best for the children AND for us?

Now for the DISCLAIMER: I'm looking for honest opinions on ways to bring women together. I am not discarding men. I am focusing on women. If men want to put in their comments they are more than welcome to do so. I welcome ANY male perspectives. I want real stuff though, if you have a strong opinion one way or another, THAT'S what I want to hear. If you think I'm an idiot okay, say so and move on, don't give me 40 paragraphs on why I'm an idiot.

If you have suggestions, I want to hear them. What do you think needs to happen before women can come together and make adoption a functioning system that is in all actuality a win win win situation.

All I ask is that you be "at least" from one side of adoption. This includes extended family. Grandparents especially, but also Aunts Uncles, siblings. If you have something to say that is within the broad and very laxed guidelines, I want to hear it.

FYI: I want people to understand that finding my voice came directly from the people some seem to think are the root of the problem. "The Ungrateful Bastards" If they had not been so patient with me over the past months (I'm sure out of respect for my daughter) I would not know what I do today. I surely did not know all this a few months ago. Do I have the utmost respect for them? YES. Should this be a problem here? NO.

I AM NOT NECESSARILY LOOKING FOR ANSWERS TO THESE SPECIFIC QUESTIONS, JUST PUT THEM OUT THERE AS A STARTER. SAY WHAT EVER YO FEEL IS RELEVENT.

I read a question on one of the popular places to go on the Internet today. The poster asked how so many can try to persuade her into keeping her child when we don't know her at all and she thinks she isn't the best thing for the child. She was irritated that so many are trying to "force" her into keeping her child. She seems to think we have no right. I usually do not boast the keep your baby scenario. I try to stay neutral to a mothers situation. I know how I felt when it was my turn to step up to the big girl plate and make my decision. I try to give the same respect but at the same time try to make sure that they ARE making an informed decision.

I have had a few women through invitation by me, email me just to talk about what it's like, how do I get through from day to day, did I make a mistake, when does the day come that my every thought isn't consumed with the ache of my empty arms? It is heart wrenching to hear the pain in their words. It is all too familiar.

There were several surrendering mothers who genuinely tried to explain what can not be explained. I have already said this but it is something you have to go through to understand and that alone is not good enough for these women considering adoption for their child. I don't want to point out the dark side, my daughter got a good home. Bottom line my daughter and I both got lucky. A luck that took 28 years for me to realize. But that's not my point.

I wanted to add to what had already been said but so much had been explained already I wasn't sure I could add anything. So I pointed out that those who dismiss adoption stories as only the doom and gloomers version and only once in a while fluke situations were not the women who had lived being a surrendering mother. That the women who had actually worn her shoes were looking out for HER. Most had already stated that it takes wearing those shoes to know how it feels. One even posted questions from that site that had already been asked by other mothers who were suffering because of their decision. I was at a loss for words so I asked her if she could live with the stories of another adopted child found dead or abused? If she was aware that not all children get the pony and the pool? That later on she may find out that her child might have actually been better off with her rather than without. Again I asked her if she could live with that?

I hope one of us got through to her that not all adoptive parents are necessarily better than a mother who has low self esteem issues. And that we are actually looking out for her.

DISCLAIMER: By no stretch of the imagination am I intending to disrespect good adoptive parents who love, care for, and try to understand what is important to their child. I am trying to find the words to express how it feels to be me.

Rachael and I have both been so busy lately. Rachael is always busy, I have spurts. But none the less it is by no means rare form for either of us to miss the first two days of blogging in the month long quest to bring awareness to adoption.

Come to think of it she probably doesn't even know I signed us up for this. She will find out when she reads this post. I have wanted to take the time to post my views on infertility and I have been afraid to take the time. Why? Because I understand the pain and I haven't wanted to take the time to find just the right words.

Words are everything. Language is everything to adoption. I understand this, but most of my emotions, in depth feelings, and compassion, struggle to come out in proper words. It's like trying to describe how it feels to be kicked in the gut really hard. Something that has to be felt to understand. This is how I feel about my side of adoption, the surrendering mother side. If I could find the right words I'm sure anyone who ever read them would never surrender a child. It has to be the same feeling to find out that a person is infertile.

There has to be that indescribable feeling of inadequacy. The feeling of being cheated, left out, passed by in the line of particular body parts. I understand this. I can't pretend to know exactly how it feels, but I can through my own experience understand that there are no words that can describe the emptiness. I would imagine it would create a feeling of empty arms similar to what I felt as a woman who was fertile, suffered the nine months, and went home from a long, nightmarish ordeal of a delivery with nothing to show for my fight. A three day long fight that left me physically scarred from a C section.

I also understand the anger felt toward women who feel that their or their mates infertility entitles them to a child from other means. I understand why adoptees see these woman as selfish. Their medical circumstances has blinded them to certain aspects of adoption. The human factor seems to have gone out the window and the must have desire in them seems to have taken over.

I do not profess that all infertile women posses this quality. In fact it seems that things are slowly changing. More openness and respect on behalf of the adoptee has seemed to bring more infertile women to a point of listening at the very least. Some still resist, but it seems to me that more and more each day are reading the things that adoptees and surrendering mothers have to say. It seems that adoptees have in fact found their voice. They have found the words to express what it feels like to be adopted. I on the other hand still struggle with the words. It brings me back to the kick in the gut. Something you just have to experience to understand.

My hope is that if I can express in some small way that I understand your pain, maybe you will give me the benefit of the doubt and try to understand mine. To never be able to conceive, carry, feel the movement of a child growing inside you must be a devastating blow. To never have the back aches, heart burn, swelling from head to toe, lack of comfortable sleep, huge leaking breasts, raging hormones, and the physical PAIN of delivery that compares to no other, is truly something you are missing out on and my heart aches for you.

Try if you can, after several months of bonding with, forming love for, and parenting your child brought to you through adoption, to imagine what it must be like to go through all the things you will never experience and go home without the child you yourself have grown to love. It doesn't matter what a woman was, abusive, neglectful, addicted, abandoned or alone, the feeling is still the same for most. Her social status, bad choices, dealt cards mean nothing. Whether she surrendered freely or had help from her peers, society, church, the feeling is still the same. Whether she deserves the child or not, the feeling is still the same.

Why did I post this? In an attempt to bring mothers together. To show mutual respect for one another's misfortunes in life. To try an stop the madness that has become our modern day adoption which pits mother against mother through lies, deceipt, and money, and does nothing for the innocent, struggling child.

Was I wrong to try?

I have her permission to copy this here. I wanted others to see more than my opinion on what it feel like to be who I am. The one aspect of adoption that has not changed is the surrendering part.

Melissa writes;

In 2007 this girl I knew graduated high school with honors. She received a full ride to college. She was going to study business, travel, maybe get married, have children in her mid 20s and build a huge house in North Carolina or Georgia. She had everything planned down to the floors, Brazilian cherry by the way. That Melissa is no longer. I feel crushed and I can't forgive myself. I'm the skipped CD that refuses to move forward. I waste my time reflecting on events and decisions that can't be changed.


Thank you Melissa for sharing your words with me and the rest of blog world.