Those of you who are friends of mine on facebook know I’m getting to the stage of life where memories of times past seem important to remember. Whether it’s my age, because I love genealogy that has stories to create whispers of who that person was, what they stood for, so who they were wasn’t lost in a sea of time, or just a personality quirk that’s always been there – I’m now officially that person who muses on the past.
Perhaps it’s just wanting to remember the good times now that most of my closest family have passed. I enjoy the musing sparked by events of the day, or just random thoughts that appear out of nowhere when I’m doing mundane chores.
Whatever it is, it’s part of who I am now.
There’s a downside though that I discovered yesterday. The adopted side of me reared itself to remind me that for all the wonderful warm memories I’ve accumulated over the years of my family, the memories of life-long friends, that I have no memories of my mother. That if she was still alive I could walk right past her and not know her despite having a few pictures of her. That if she called out my name, I wouldn’t recognise her voice. That I never knew her, never will know her.
That despite all the good, I still lost, and the loss never truly ends.
That is adoption.
The adopted ones blog 
sheryl
August 1, 2018 at 6:15 pm
I’m so sorry to hear this. I bet she would have been overjoyed to know how much you think of her and longed for her. I know I was when my son told me.
You’re absolutely right, the loss never truly ends. I have my son back now and I’m very grateful, but I missed the first 25 years of his life. I’m not the momma he went to when he was a little boy. And that still breaks my heart because I should have been.
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TAO
August 1, 2018 at 7:13 pm
(on the other post I can’t figure out which is the first and with replies if I delete one the replies will probably delete so – I’m just going to leave it instead of making it worse – eek)
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juliemcgue
August 1, 2018 at 6:22 pm
I share your perspective. I am an adult adoptee from the Baby Scoop Era. While I do know my mother, I have never met my father. He died suddenly right before Father’s Day. I regret that he did not change his mind about meeting me. The lack of control adoptees have about relationships is the most enduring frustration.
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beth62
August 1, 2018 at 7:38 pm
I’m sorry TAO. I wish you could have seen her face, held her hand, heard her voice, saw her smile and much more.
You’re right, I agree. That is Adoption. Too.
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TAO
August 1, 2018 at 9:30 pm
Thanks my good friend…
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legitimatebastard
August 1, 2018 at 8:55 pm
Agree. With one difference. Even if my father kept me , I wouldn’t know my mother. Her death at my age of three months haunts me daily. The sound of her voice, her calling my name, did she sing? Then thoughts of my father, what would it have been like to be his raised daughter? The part that hurts me the most is the childhood I could have had with my siblings. My full blood siblings. Adoption stole that from me. And yes, I remember joys and sorrows. Friends. They are dying off now.
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TAO
August 1, 2018 at 9:29 pm
I’m sorry.
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legitimatebastard
August 2, 2018 at 1:34 pm
Thank you, TAO.
Yes, I am aware that many adoptees are told that “your parents died in a car crash” or a plane crash, and later find out this is not true. It is true for me, though. Cancer took my mother’s life at her age of 30. When I first met my father in 1974, he gave me a copy of my mother’s death certificate and death notice in the newspaper. No amount of wishing will bring her back to life. There are times that I think this is all some kind of nightmare, that I’ll wake up to see her and hear her calling my name. Then I think, if that happened, I’d be shocked – I really don’t know the sound of her voice. Then I get very sad. Mom would be 92 now, had she lived.
Adoption compounded that loss. I lived the first 18 years of my life not knowing where my mother was buried. Yes, my adoptive parents told me she died. But did not take me to her grave. Because then I;’d know my mother’s name. And then I’d ask questions about my father. My adoptive parents knew where the grave is, knew where my father was, and they knew I had sisters and a brother. But they never wanted me to know the truth. The truth came calling me on the phone in 1974 when my eldest sister called me and told me everything. That was the moment I lost all respect for my adoptive parents. Their love for me was conditional – as long as I didn’t know the truth, I was their daughter. But once I knew the truth, decades of lies began to unravel. Tensions exploded. I became the angry adoptee who was betrayed by the most trusted and loved people in my young life – my adoptive parents. Everyone knew but me. And I’m not supposed to be angry? To be hurt? To die inside?
Let this be a lesson to all adoptive parents: tell the truth! Do not lie! Those details of your adoptee’s life that you keep to yourself belong to the child you adopted, not to you, for that child will one day grow into adulthood. If you do not provide the truth, along with your love and your trust, then it will backfire on you. All adoptees are human beings with worth and dignity separate and distinct from you. Love can be destroyed in one instant that betrayal is discovered. It may never be able to be put back together.
Oh, I could have run away at age 18. I was still in high school, with no where to go. If I had left, life would have been hard, but then I would have sent the message that what they all did was wrong. Instead, I chose to stay, to try to be the person who shares two families. I wanted all of us to get along. I wanted peace. But they all wanted to fight with me, to tell me I was wrong.
All four of my parents are now deceased. I’ve eliminated all the abusive relatives from my life.
Thanks, adoption, for making my life very difficult.
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Lori Lavender Luzl
August 2, 2018 at 6:45 pm
I’m sorry for your loss. And that it’s such an ongoing loss.
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