I’ve struggled lately to put one cohesive theme into a post, anything more than a paragraph just isn’t working, I get off-track like I’ve done in this post, because, somehow, they are all inter-connected. And, I’ve come to the conclusion that even in my writing, I’m struggling with that old familiar feeling that waits in the shadow to pounce in a moment of weakness, or when you let your guard down for a minute, fear. Read the rest of this entry »
Tag Archives: Grief
Why is it such a shock that a mother (and father) who chose adoption would grieve for what they lost? I see posts about the birthmother is grieving, and the one I just read – not grieving appropriately, as if, for your comfort, she needs to grieve in a defined way, in a defined linear line, oh, and it can’t make you uncomfortable. Read the rest of this entry »
I was thinking last night about the position parents by birth are forced into by some in adoption, both adopting parents and professionals. The position doesn’t make any logical sense when we are talking about normal human emotions we all have, or capable of feeling in the same situation.
Either… Read the rest of this entry »
The other day I stapled my finger, it caused a momentary sting, I noticed it was bleeding, put a band-aid on and went back to what I was doing. Until I sat down to write this post, I didn’t think of it because the wound was so minor I’d forgotten it in a matter of days. If I do it again, it may trigger a vague memory that I’ve done this before, then it will be gone.
Of all the different aspects of the case about Veronica Brown – the one question I can’t find an answer for: Why would adoptive parents be willing to, or want to, adopt a child whose parent did not want that child adopted? Because that would be a forced adoption, not a voluntary adoption, and I thought we were past all that, at least, that is what everyone proudly proclaims. Read the rest of this entry »
When I started dating as a teen, I found that the very moment the boy started caring about me, my emotions turned to ice. We were done. There were more than a few relationships in my teens that started out fine, and ended with the guy completely confused, because all he had done was tell me that he cared. Read the rest of this entry »
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?