Birthmother's Day... Is Nothing to Celebrate

Today I will not be celebrating "Birthmother's Day".  I have never celebrated the fact that I am a birthmother.  (I also don't care for that title, but that's an entire post in itself.)

I have been working on this post for days.  I have written and re-written and erased more paragraphs than I can remember. 

Instead I'm just going to link to others who have written what I want to say, but can't find the words.

Cassie again speaks the words of my heart and soul when it comes to adoption loss.  If you haven't already read her post "Here We Go Again", you should go read it.  Be sure to read the comments too, they are as important as the post.  They are proof of the deep seated lies in societies beliefs about adoption.  They are proof that the adoption industry has been successful in their multi-million dollar research on how to turn a tragedy (a mother and child, a family, being separated) into something that is viewed as a "loving" action.

Lorraine has two posts about this.  The comments on the first post lead to the second post. 

Amanda writes about Birthmother's Day from an adoptees perspective.

My favorite post declares "Screw Birthmother's Day!".  And Claud is doing that in high style ~ with all three of her children being together for the day. 

I should leave this post on the high note of Claud's post.  However, this last link shows the true pain of adoption loss and the belief by many that because a mother has given a child up for adoption she is no longer a mother.  The adoption industry and this so-called day of celebration kills the heart and soul of many mothers.  Those who believe that it takes more than biology to make a mother are responsible for this young woman's heartache.  My heart breaks for Candace.  I pray that she will one day be able to say that even though she is not parenting her beloved son, she is still one of his mothers.  She is his first mother.  Without her, he would not be. 

To everyone living without a child because of adoption ~

You are a part of your child

Your child is a part of you

Your child is OF you

Happy Mother's Day

I'm Beginning To Fear The Birth Of My Grandson

My son and his wife are going to be welcoming their son into the world sometime in the next couple of weeks.  Last week we thought perhaps he was going to make an early appearance, but he seems to be settling in for the long haul now. 

They want to be alone in the delivery room, without any extended family.  They seemed to think that I would be offended, but I am not in the least.  I am so happy for them, so happy for this new little family that is being born.  It is a special moment for them, one that should be sacred and honored.  (I, of course, will be as close to the door as possible, so when we get the word to come meet Baby Boy I will be right there!)

My DIL was telling me about the latest discussion she had with her doctor regarding the delivery.  He believes that the baby needs immediate skin-to-skin contact with momma, for as long as possible.  He will lay Baby Boy on her chest immediately after delivery, so the new family can all say their hellos.  Apgar scores will be done as required, but as far as bathing, weighing and measuring, that will all wait. 

I am so very excited for the birth of this new grandson.  Of our six grandchildren from my raised kids, only the oldest is a boy ~ the next 5 are girls.  We are long past due for another boy!  Grandson #1 is now 12, so he could be a babysitter to # already.  I cannot wait to meet him, kiss his baby cheeks, get a big whiff of his "fountain of youth" baby scalp. 

These last few days though, I have realized I am also beginning to have some fear about the birth of this grandson.  It will be the first time since reunion that a grandchild has been born.  And he's a boy.  Who will be welcomed into the world wrapped in love, with immediate bonding with his mom and dad. 

Since reunion, since coming out of the fog, one of my biggest regrets (other than having to choose adoption in the first place), is that I did not know that I WAS my son's mom.  I had every right to see him after birth.  Instead, he was taken from me immediately after birth.  I don't even remember if I heard his first cry. 

It haunts me.  The thought of my son, an innocent newborn.  Suffering through birth, and immediately taken from his mother.  Forever.  Did anyone comfort him?  Or did they leave him to cry?  Was he loved by anyone in his first days while in the hospital? 

I still have been unable to really cry and grieve the loss of my son.  My heart skips a beat at the thought of the moment my new grandson will be placed in my arms.  While next to me will be his mother and father who welcomed him into the world in such a loving way.  The loving welcome that my firstborn son did not get. 

I'm scared that this will be too much, that it will finally be my breaking point.  I'm scared that instead of being a complete moment of joy for my new grandson, it will be just as much a moment of extreme grief for my firstborn son.  For that innocent baby who was denied a loving birth...

Some Great Things I Have Learned In Blog-Land

I decided to add a couple of pages to my blog.

One page is a place to record some of the great blog posts I have read.  When I was first "coming out of the fog", I found much comfort and learned a lot from the words of other mothers and of adoptees.  I wanted to make a list of the posts that I think will help someone wanting to learn about living with adoption loss.

The other page I have added is for a review of the books I have read about adoption.  It is a short list right now, as I haven't really been reading any books lately.  I used to read all the time, but now my attention span isn't long enough to concentrate on a book.

Visit Claud and Comment to Oprah

Claud has a great post today, a letter to Oprah Winfrey.  Claud tells us at the end of her post  "I invite every reader, lurker or visitor of this post to add a comment addressed to Oprah asking for her help and explaining why."

 I think this is a wonderful idea, so I thought I would spread the word.  Claud is a wonderful writer, if you don't know about her yet, you should browse her blog for a while.  On the right side of the page, about half way down, she has a link to her most popular posts.

I know I haven't posted for a while.  I've actually been working on a page to add to this blog.  It will be a page with links to some of my favorite blog posts, some great research pages, and adoption related videos.  Great resources for mothers considering adoption, for first moms coming out of the fog, anyone wanting to learn about the effects of adoption on those of us who actually live with it.  When I was first reunited, I thought I was losing my mind.  I had so many thoughts and feelings that contradicted everything I had been told, everything I had believed to be the truth.  Finding some of these bloggers truly saved my sanity.  They let me know I was not crazy ~ everything I was feeling was the truth, was "normal" for my not-so-normal life.  Hopefully in the next few days I will have enough info to get the page added.

Another reason I haven't been writing much is because I've finally been back in my sewing room!  I finally finished the quilt I started making my daughter over a year ago, but hadn't worked on for about 9 months.  I also have a new grandson who will be born in about four weeks, and now a beautiful quilt is almost ready for him!  I will have to post some photos here one day.  I do have a life outside of all this "adoption" stuff you know!

Happy February everyone!  Only 48 days until spring!

Thank God that November is Over!

This month has been a tough one. 

I started out the month thinking I would post every day for the Adoption BeAwareness Month.  It was too draining to try to get the words out of my head every day. 

A month of inescapable stories about the wonders of adoption.  The stories that began to feel like stabs straight to the heart.  Adoption ~ the loving option.  Yeah.  Loving.  That's EXACTLY what has been brought into my life because of adoption.  Adoption brought anything but love into my life.  Loss of my son, grief, denial, self-doubt, self-hatred.  Those are just a few of the things adoption brought into my life.

I have come to hate November.  The fact that Thanksgiving is in the month makes it even worse.  Thanksgiving used to be one of my favorite holidays.  But thankful and adoption do not belong in the same sentence, much less month.  Don't get me wrong, I am so very thankful for the blessings my son has had with his adoptive family, I am thankful we have been reunited.  But there is nothing thankful about the fact that adoption is a part of my life 

Neurotic Worries..

I really get nervous that somehow my son will find this blog.

I try to not write anything about his life, as it is not my place to tell his story, so that's not what I worry about.  What I worry about is him taking any of my garbage onto himself.  Or him thinking that I am in reality a "bitter birthmom" that he wants nothing to do with.  I already think that a lot of what he says/doesn't say is just because he is really a nice guy & doesn't want to hurt me. 

I am so much more than a first mom.  This blog is just my place to vent about that part of my life.  My place to try to come to terms with all of it.  I started this blog to speak out my truth.  To "cancel out" one of the happy-happy-birthmom blogs that I see more and more of out here in blog-land. 

I just can't help but worry that if Christopher finds this blog, it will scare him away.  Because the neurotic 15 year-old in me worries about that often. 

When Others Want You To Stay In The Closet

  From a blog post I read recently:

Additionally, and slightly more profound for me, is that I actually married a man that kept me closeted as well. I was not conscious of this of course but it became painfully obvious when I started to tip toe out of the birthmother closet and he rushed to put me back in. This too was my own doing. I did not want to deal openly with my own horrors so I sought loved ones who helped me keep the door closed.

That's me.  Exactly.  I didn't even know it until I read these words.  

When I read the above blog post comment, it was a HUGE ah-ha moment for me.  I am scared to death to fully come out of that closet in real life.  I am scared about my relationships that are built on the lies of denial.  Scared to open my heart, only to be hurt.  I am allowing the people in my life who are not comfortable with my coming out of the closet to keep me there. 

For the last year or so, I have been slowly creeping back into that closet.  Slowly closing my heart off again.  Scared to completely open up my heart to my son because I worry that he doesn't want or need it.  Scared to open up to my family (specifically my husband and in-laws ~ who are more like parents to me than my own) because I fear that they won't understand it, or worse ~ that they don't care to understand. 

When my son and I first reunited 20 months ago, I wanted to stand on the highest hills and scream to the world that my son was alive and well.  That I had four, not three children.  It felt so freeing to be able to talk about him, to acknowledge my true identity, not the lies I had been living for almost 30  years.  

Then I started getting the mixed reactions from people.  People that said they were happy for me, yet uncomfortable talking about my son.  The people that told me what a wonderful thing I had done.  The people that responded to my deep desire to meet Christopher in person by telling me that I had to remember that I gave him up, that I had to honor that.  The people that were confused by me calling him my son, since I didn't raise him.  

I hate the lies adoption is based on.  I hate that I am 47 years old, yet in so many ways I am still that stupid 15 year old.  I hate that I am scared to do what I know I must do in order to claim my sanity.  In order to heal from all that adoption has brought into my life.  From all that adoption has taken from my life. 

Tornadoes of Thoughts

So many things about adoption and reunion cause tornadoes of thoughts for me.  I often find myself with contradicting thoughts swirling through my head.

One of them is regret.  On the one hand, I deeply regret giving my son up for adoption.  Oh, how I would love to go back and be able to raise Christopher.  What I wouldn't give to be able to do that.  But then, would I be denying him the life he has had?  Does my wishing I had raised him say that I would deny him the family he grew up with & loves?

Another thing I often wish is that he felt something for me, or maybe something more.  I don't want to speak for him, but I don't think he feels much for me because he has no desire to meet in person.  On the one hand it hurts to know that he does not feel a desire to "know" me.  But then the swirling begins and I think that it's a good thing that he doesn't.  I'm glad that he did not live his life feeling a huge void because of me.  It would be so hard to know that he grew up hurting because of me ~ I never wanted to hurt him.

Then there's my mom.  I wish that she was still alive so she could know about my reunion with Christopher.  On the other hand, I'm glad that I don't have to work through all of my reunion stuff with her too.  I don't think I could tell her the truth about why I really gave him up.  How do you tell your mother that she was a huge part in you losing your child??  No matter how ugly things were, she was my mom & I love her ~ I would never want to hurt her.

Sometimes I feel like Dorothy ~

First Family and Forever Family?

I read a blog post today written by an adoptive mother, about adoption loss.  Her seven year old daughter is starting to realize the contradicting reasons given for her adoption, and is experiencing deep grief for her loss.  She doesn't understand why she can't be with her first family, as the reasons given to her don't make sense.  (This family has a completely open adoption.)  This adoptive mother goes on to tell of a recent experience, and tells of the great sadness she has for everyone because of their adoption loss.

If adoption is truly for the best interest of the child, wouldn't it be in her best interest to end this grief and loss that the daughter knows is unnecessary?  If this first family is now in a "better" place to raise a child, doesn't that make sense?  Why does the first mom & especially the child have to live forever with such deep loss and grief?  

Yes, it would be hard for the adoptive mom, but isn't it supposed to be what's best for the child??  The loss is acceptable if it's the first mom experiencing it, what's different if it's the adoptive mom?  If the adoptive mother was still able to be a part of the child's life, if it was a "reverse" open adoption of sorts...  

This little girl could grow up in her family of origin, she could grow up knowing her ancestry, she wouldn't have to live with the feelings of abandonment, the questions of why she wasn't good enough to "keep", etc. 

Just wondering...

Since adoption is supposed to be about the child...

Happy Adoption Story?

You could say, if you had to label it, that my adoption story is a good one, maybe even great.  After my son was born, I did go on to have a great life.  I went back to my high school & old job the fall after I had my son, resumed my life as a typical teenager.  It was only eight months after I had Christopher that I met my husband, who I have now been married to for over 27 years.  We have three children, and 6 (soon to be 7!) grandchildren.  I get to see my kids & grandkids almost every day, as our grown children both chose to live close to us.  I have more friends than one could hope for, a job that I love, a beautiful home, more blessings than I could ever deserve.

(I don't mean to speak for my son, but the following are things he has said regarding his life.)  Christopher was adopted by wonderful parents, he had a big sister (also adopted) who doted on him also.  He lived a small town life ~ full of extended family that loved him too.  He wanted for nothing, says he had a "Leave It To Beaver" childhood.  He participated in sports and other extra curricular activities, he was taught to work hard, was raised in a Christian church, enjoyed the family cabin on the lake every summer, was sent to college.  He received everything that I ever dreamed for him, and so much more.  He got married to the love of his life after graduating from college, and they are now parents to a son & a daughter. 

Our lives however, are not the makings of a fairy tale.  Even though our lives could be portrayed by some as a positive, happy, adoption-is-wonderful, story.  Adoption is built on loss.  I lost a child, grandchildren, a life of loving on them.  Christopher lost his natural parents, his geneology, his ancestry. 

If I had not been dealing with such a tremendous loss, would I have been a better student?  A better employee?  A better friend, wife, mother to my raised children, better to myself?

If Christopher had been raised by me, would his life really have been that much different?  He may not have had a father in his life at first, but I believe that I still would have met & fallen in love with my husband.  He would have been a great father to Christopher.  Perhaps if I had raised him, he would have brought some happiness and love into our house ~ my parents became excellent grandparents just 2 1/2 years later when my daughter was born.  They are far better grandparents than they ever were parents.  Christopher may not have had a vacation home on a lake, but he would have had his entire natural family, his history.  He would have had his 3 siblings in his life, his nephew & nieces...

This post is a jumbled mess of thoughts, really going nowhere.  The point I want to make is that even though ours is a "good" story, it is in spite of adoption entering our lives, not because of it.  I did not go on to have a better life because I wasn't "burdened" with a child.  Christopher may well have had just as great, maybe even better life, if he had never been given away.  That is one thing we will never know.

So, even though I have gone on to have so many blessings in my life.  Even though my son seems to have had a wonderful life with his adoptive parents.  Even so, I would not wish my life as a first mom on anybody ~ even my worst enemy.  Adoption was a permanent solution to my temporary problem. 

Little did I know that adoption would become a much bigger permanent problem in the end. 

The Hospital

I don't really remember being in labor.  I remember being alone in a tiny room that was no bigger than a closet.  A bed against the wall, room to walk alongside the bed & that's it.  Alone.  I do not remember going into the delivery room, the birth of my son, or recovery after the birth of my son.  I don't remember the days, weeks, or months following my son's birth.  I remember bits & pieces, but not everything.  I don't think I really want to remember what my brain has chosen to forget in order to stay sane.

The few bits & pieces of my time in the hospital that I do remember are in the two days following his birth.  I remember the nurse that snuck into my room to give me a little piece of paper with my son's foot prints on it, with her written notes of the date, time, height & weight of Christopher at birth.  I wish I knew her name to tell her thank you.  To tell her that she was my one saving grace while in the hospital.  The one person that treated me with any respect, that treated me as the mother to my child. 

I remember carefully filling out the form for the birth certificate.  How I carefully printed the name I gave my son, the one and only thing I could truly give him.  When I received court papers regarding the relinquishment of Christopher, his name is Baby Boy.  I don't know if they even put my name on the birth certificate.  The one thing I had to give him ~ did they take it away??

I remember walking down to the nursery, praying to get a glimpse of my son.  I think I found him on the second day.  I remember standing in the window, for what seemed like hours.  It may have been.  But it may have also been only 5 minutes.  I really don't know.

I remember the day I was going to go home.  I walked down to the nursery hoping to get one last glimpse of my son.  I didn't find him.  On the way back to my room, I passed a small room, no bigger than a closet.  There was a changing table in the middle of the room.  There was a lady, dressing a newborn.  I wondered if it was my son.  When the lady looked up & saw me, she got a horrified look on her face & quickly walked over to the door & shut it.  That was my answer.  It was my son.  Who was not my son.  Who was being dressed to leave the hospital without me.  I will never forget that moment.  I will never forget the look on her face.  Like I was a monster of some sort, that might take the baby and run.  I will never forget the door being closed.  It was like a door was closing on a part of my soul.  Closing on my heart.

The doors stayed closed for a long time after that.  It took me almost 30 years to realize that the doors had been closed as tightly as they were.  It took reunion for me to realize how I had kept my heart closed since that day.  I had to keep it closed ~ from fear that I would fall into the gaping hole & disappear forever.

Queen of Denial

I worry that one day my son may find this blog.  I don't want to hurt him, and some of my story could very well do that.  I don't want to burden him with my garbage.  I worry that some of what I want to say, when read by him (or any adoptee for that matter), could seem heartless.  I am sickened myself by some of the things I felt & did.  It was hard to forgive myself, but I realize that the way I dealt with the loss of my son, I did out of self preservation.  I was so young, coping with something an adult would find difficult, all by myself.  My choice for adoption was truly to save my son.  To save him from the life I was living.  I knew that the choice for adoption was not the right choice for me, I was making the choice for him.  What I believed at the time was the only choice ~ and nobody bothered to tell me any different.

I knew, as soon as I found out I was pregnant, that I would have to give my baby up.  I knew I would never be his mother.  So, I never allowed myself to think of myself as his mom, as I was not going to be parenting him.  I was only an egg donor & incubator.  I don't think I even fully thought of him as my son, even though he was created & grown safely and healthy in me.  He was the baby I gave up.


I still remember the horror I felt when I recently realized that I disassociated myself from my son while I was pregnant.  I kinda realized it at the time, but I thought it was something I was doing only to myself.  I didn't know I was doing it to my son.  Now that I do, it about kills me.  That I was denying myself to truly love my child, to fully know and share the strongest love & bond there is ~ of mother & child.  I knew that if I thought of him as my child, I would not be able to give him up.  I knew that if I allowed myself to fully feel the love I had for my child, I could not stand him to be raised by another.  It never entered my mind that I could be harming Christopher because of this.  It truly sickens me that I did that ~ to him & to me.  I was so horrified & adamant that my son not be raised in a hateful home as I was.  In that, I denied him the most precious home he already had ~ in his mother's heart.