What happened next, quoth the raven.
What happened next was I'm spending my life trying to figure out how to be a mother, how to parent, how to open up my heart.
I have a theory that due to the initial separation, adopted kids in some way spend the rest of their life ever so slightly blocked off, a little window in their soul painted black so to speak. Really, would that count as one of the biggest traumas? You are part of this woman, and then she is suddenly and forever gone. I often wonder if that is what caused me to be so cautious around people, that and the rest of my "interesting life" to nail that in. How can you trust anyone when the first person you ever meet disappears?
That's just a theory though.
My life continued on. I spend most days wondering if I can ever read enough parenting and psych books to replace the mothering models I have lost. I think of what I know of my birth mother, and I wonder, will there be little habits, expressions that come out in my children that I will never associate with her? I think of my real mother, watching me try to get the shampoo out of Vivian's hair. I always hated that part of the bath too.
I often wonder if my mother is proud of me, would be proud of me, despite the fact that I'm not, and never will be, the perfect little girl. I know that both of my mother's really wanted that little girl in pink to be theirs. I want to drive a tank, not learn how to apply eyeliner. I want more o ut of my life than to stay living in the town I grew up in, drinking a tthe same bar every single Friday for years.
It occured to me today that my birth mother likely had no choice but to give me up, given that she was 17, and her father the principal of the high school in their small town. No wonder she looked for me. I can't even fathom having your child, the creature you've created and nurtured and talked to (and swore at during bladder dances), this tiny helpless baby being taken from your arms, never to be yours again. That thought breaks my heart. That and the fact that it took 18 odd years for her to see me again. 18 years wondering if I'm happy, if I'm alive, if I'm blonde.
This might continue. I'm veering into some territory I haven't explored before, and it's interesting. Having children adds a new perpective to many things.
I have a theory that due to the initial separation, adopted kids in some way spend the rest of their life ever so slightly blocked off, a little window in their soul painted black so to speak. Really, would that count as one of the biggest traumas? You are part of this woman, and then she is suddenly and forever gone. I often wonder if that is what caused me to be so cautious around people, that and the rest of my "interesting life" to nail that in. How can you trust anyone when the first person you ever meet disappears?
That's just a theory though.
My life continued on. I spend most days wondering if I can ever read enough parenting and psych books to replace the mothering models I have lost. I think of what I know of my birth mother, and I wonder, will there be little habits, expressions that come out in my children that I will never associate with her? I think of my real mother, watching me try to get the shampoo out of Vivian's hair. I always hated that part of the bath too.
I often wonder if my mother is proud of me, would be proud of me, despite the fact that I'm not, and never will be, the perfect little girl. I know that both of my mother's really wanted that little girl in pink to be theirs. I want to drive a tank, not learn how to apply eyeliner. I want more o ut of my life than to stay living in the town I grew up in, drinking a tthe same bar every single Friday for years.
It occured to me today that my birth mother likely had no choice but to give me up, given that she was 17, and her father the principal of the high school in their small town. No wonder she looked for me. I can't even fathom having your child, the creature you've created and nurtured and talked to (and swore at during bladder dances), this tiny helpless baby being taken from your arms, never to be yours again. That thought breaks my heart. That and the fact that it took 18 odd years for her to see me again. 18 years wondering if I'm happy, if I'm alive, if I'm blonde.
This might continue. I'm veering into some territory I haven't explored before, and it's interesting. Having children adds a new perpective to many things.
???
Is your father your biological father, or adoptive? And your brother was adopted too? I'm guessing that he was not a baby, because you say he had a name already. Were you a baby too?
I can remember really far back in time, but I can hardly remember yesterday! I can remember when my parents told me I was adopted, and what that meant. I think they chose a perfect time to do this. I understood, and completely accepted this as a normal thing. I didn't really start thinking about it untill later (10 years old or so). The only thing my parents knew, (and get this!) was that my bio mother was a "dancer" and had too many kids already!!! My bio father was a "truck driver"!!!
????? Wha...??? And so it seems I have alot of brothers or sisters running loose somewhere!!! There should be some sort of "public service announcement" to warn people about this!! Hahahaha!!!
Posted by
Anonymous |
1:32 p.m.
ah....another lovely ADDism-neglecting to explain what seems obvious..
both of my parents adopted me as an infant-my brother is adopted as well, but for some reason, his info included his birth name. Mine was non-identifying, and so while it stated what my mother named me, it only gave an initial as the last name. My brother had the entire name.
I don't remember being told-I always knew, and my parents always made me feel special, which is only right, since any idiot can get pregnant (case in point-moi) but to adopt, you REALLY want kids. That's kinda cool...
a trucker and a dancer huh? Now THAT's a movie...
Out of curiosity-you've never wanted to meet your bio-parents? Why?
Posted by
thordora |
8:36 p.m.
Oop's,
What I meant was "at this point in time", I am not going to pursue it. In the past, I have requested, and filled out, but never sent in the paperwork that would put my name on a list. I think this is what you did? Anyway, I got that far twice! But something stopped me from mailing the envelope. When I was young both my parents told me that they would help me any way they could if I ever wanted to find my birth mother. There was nothing much they could really do about it though. I know they were being sincere about it, but there was something I could sense, something I could see behind their faces. I can't really put my finger on it, but it seemed to me that they would somehow be hurt by this. Like they would feel some kind of rejection by me. I don't know if this was for real, but that is the best way I can describe it. I love the hell out of my parents, and would never want to do anything to hurt them. I think this is more powerful even than my curiosity, or my need for any kind of.....reconcilliation?
I think that makes sense!!
Posted by
Anonymous |
1:26 a.m.
This is too deep for me. I'm a selfish single girl right now.
Posted by
Anonymous |
3:30 a.m.
I started searching for my birth mother after I had my son. Here was one person that looked like me, and I wanted to see more. It took awhile, but I did find her. That was 12 years ago. My parents were totally supportive and even went with me the first time we met. We've had our ups and downs over the years, but have settled into a fairly normal funk. I have 2 great families now. But I'll always call my mom, mom and I will probably never call her mom. It's just one of those things.
Posted by
Anonymous |
10:10 p.m.
the whole "what to call them" thing was really weird for me-Mom was odd, her name was odd, I never did find a comfort level with it...
I'm glad it worked for you drama mama....I'm glad it has for someone..!Thanks for the comment!
Posted by
thordora |
10:42 a.m.