I hesitate to write this post because it gets more personal than I prefer, because at heart I am pretty private about my deepest emotions. Yesterday, a tweet from the NCFA @adoptioncouncil triggered me. The tweet was about the #Hopechallenge and linked to a video which I watched about the benefits of adoption for mothers and how they succeed with schooling and life. This post is what I thought laying in bed last night not able to sleep and still with me this morning.
Most of you know I had/have really good parents and I can’t imagine any better. I have so many wonderful warm memories of my life growing up but nothing they did, or could have done, could have prevented the following.
The memories of going to my secret place over and over again throughout my childhood and teen years. I would sit there on the floor with my back against the wall, my knees up against my chest, and my head down, resting on my knees. I would sit there sobbing silently, tears streaming, hurting, grieving, wanting my family, my mother. To know why I wasn’t good enough to be with them. To know why they didn’t care. Those memories haunt me all these years later.
It didn’t matter that I understood why I had been surrendered and adopted. Words would not have helped. I never told mom or dad when I was sad, or that I had a secret place I would go to. They had nothing to do with why I was sad, and they could not have made it better because they weren’t what I needed. Mom and dad never saw me sad – I would return from my secret place and be the happy, shy, smart child they loved, and knew me to be.
Years later, after my son died, I felt the same deep wrenching grief. Grief that no words can make a difference for. Grief that you just have to live through. Grief that a mother feels when she loses her child. Something broke inside of me that day, and the years that followed hardly made a dent in my grief, but I continued on. I put on the brave face to those around me and was the happy, yet shy, person everyone knew me to be, and expected me to be.
Losing my son was my awakening to the full reality of the loss I was for my mother. Something broke inside of her that day that changed her according to those closest to her. Like me, she continued on but never was the same as before.
The tweet that triggered me:
Why are they fundraising to create more birth mothers? Why aren’t they fundraising to give hope for the future to those who are pregnant and scared and need a hand up? Why aren’t they fundraising to give these new vulnerable mothers a chance to get an education and provide their child with a good life?
Why is adoption the solution?
Why aren’t they fundraising to keep families together?