Perspective

 



 (Originally written September 1, 2009)

I work for an amazing network of parents raising kids with extra needs.

 

We support new Mom's and families who are experiencing a high-risk pregnancy, have a baby in the intensive-care unit, or whose child has just received a diagnosis of some type of health issue, disability or delay.

 It is the perfect way to "give back" a tiny bit of the support others gave me when my son was born very early.

It seems amazing, though, how everything is interlinked and interwoven in my journey.

I recently visited a young Mom on bed rest in the same hospital that my son was born and hospitalized four years ago.
It was surreal to walk those long halls and enter the familiar room where my son and I literally fought for our lives.

I remember hearing women giving birth at all hours, while I lay hooked up to monitors and magnesium sulfate praying to live; listening to them push and cry out in joy when they held their babies.

So when I entered the room today and saw her laying there, my heart broke.
Showing her the birth picture of my one pound son and watching her face react in surprise and HOPE that he made it (and so can her baby);
it was empowering and healing.

The strange part of this experience was the exchange I had at the "check-in" desk for visitors, before I could go back to visit her.

Waiting in line, I over-heard an adoption agency "mentor" asking questions regarding the "protocol" for when she brings her "mentee" in for a scheduled c-section.  She was concerned about where the "adoptive parents" would "wait" to see the baby.

As the older lady asked these questions, I noticed the pregnant Mom playing quietly with her other young child, who was with them. The little girl was so sweet and cute, and as she walked by we made eye contact.
I looked into her innocent eyes and wondered how she will someday deal with the reality that her Mother "placed" her sibling for adoption. 
 When will this young mother REALIZE the huge life-altering decision she is making? And why aren't there more resources available for mother's like this to receive support, without encouraging her to surrender her baby?

I happened to KNOW this "mentor." 
 When she turned around, I re-introduced myself and we talked.
She is the wife of a former state senator, whose district I happened to live in a few years ago, and we also attend the same church.
I went to one of their open houses and enjoyed talking to her about adoption and the IMPORTANCE of adoptee access issues.
She shared with me her passion for "orphans" and how she someday would like to be involved in helping more than she was able to while her husband was busy with politics.

I guess her "someday" has come.
We are both at a place in our lives with roles of "helping" but with completely different perspectives.

 

As an adult adopted person, my idea of "helping" a young mother does not involve "encouraging" her to be a hero by "gifting" her own flesh and blood, simply because others are married, or have more money, or badly want a child.

The gravity of separation between a mother and her child ~ whether to miscarriage, prematurity, or adoption ~ is profound.

Adoption should never be "encouraged" to provide a child for another,
even if they have waited and hoped for a long time.

Support (in my mind) would involve equipping young mothers with the knowledge and tools to embrace the miracle of Motherhood.

I WISH there were more resources available to pregnant mothers, that did not involve the "option" of surrendering their babies.
When this "option" is included in pregnancy "counseling" it seems to be ripe with conflict of interest and serves only to plants seeds of doubt and low self-esteem in an already vulnerable mother and baby. 

Stranger still is this all occurred not only in the hospital my son was born, but also the same hospital I was born and lost my Mother in, in 1968.
My records (that I have had to fight for) mention "prolonged crying" in the new-born nursery the day I was discharged to the attorney.

Maybe I already knew.

The day I gave up hope of being "me" with the Mother and family God originally ordained me to be. The day that would start the journey of life-long search & necessary healing.

As I experienced this day, I found myself empathizing with the feelings of so many ~ the way my first Mother must have felt (like the pregnant mother awaiting the birth of the child she would turn right around and relinquish to others); the loss her small daughter will feel someday as she realizes the minutes, days, and years she lived without her sibling; and the fear I saw in the eyes of the other expectant Mother, 26 weeks pregnant and praying for one more day, one more month of carrying her precious infant close.
Having to surrender her child to metal beds, loud noises, sharp sticks, and bright lights in the NICU ~ so many emotions.

 

All interwoven and all involving the most primal, important, and profound relationship of all ~ Mother & baby.

My son (born 3 months early) STILL doesn't have a strong sense of self.
His use of pronouns ("I", "me", "you") are all mixed up, especially when it comes to conversations involving me (his Mom) and him.
We are ONE (still) in his little mind, because his development is so delayed from being born premature and being separated from me so early.
Not to mention his anxiety, attachment, and trust issues.
It breaks my heart and reinforces the profound importance of the early mother/baby bond that is lost with premature birth AND adoption.

No matter how many "professionals" (making their living from this 'business') want to gloss it over or completely deny it ~ it affects every aspect of an adoptee's development and life-long perspective. EVERY ASPECT.

If organization skills are really a picture of our inner-life, no wonder it has been so hard to live by the rule I grew up with ~ "everything in it's place". 
 Some things may never find "it's place." 

 This adopted woman's life was forever blessed,
the day I became a Mother. 

 Yet I profoundly felt my son's pain of being separated from me. 

 My hormones screamed for him while the primal inner child in me wept; 
 knowing his cries were for his Mother, and yet not able to hold him in the place we both longed for. 

 My womb. My arms. 

 I shudder with memories of walking away from that incubator each evening feeling intensely broken.

It's taken me 2 hours to write this. 
 I've been blessed to hear a little voice yelling "Mommy" every few minutes ~ my son wakes from napping and realizes I'm not beside him.

Thank you, God, for that voice. Thank you...

Oh, The Places You'll Go

My first introduction to "adoption poetry" was a framed version of an old classic,
"Chosen Child".

It hung on my Mother's bedroom wall right next to an ever-growing collage of my school pictures as I grew up. I never understood why I hated that wall. It felt as if when I entered that room I needed to avoid eye-contact with that wall, those pictures, and that poem. But I couldn't understand why.

I thought I hated myself and my pictures, but now I realize it was the poem.

The poem had alot of contradictory statements which is confusing to an adopted child.

The first stance says "I had to tell you, Dearest Heart, that you are not my own" ~ it goes on to explain how much she wanted and desired a baby and how we were brought together through adoption ~ then the last stance of the poem states that I am "her's, and her's alone".

 

Now how can that be?

How can I not be her own, and also hers alone? It didn't make sense.

Yet that is just one example of many "double-messages" adoptees grapple with in a life-time.

Think about it ~ according to the adoption industry, in order to increase the number of available children for adoption (the commodity) we (adoptees) get mixed-messages. 
We are "unwanted", "crisis'", "abandoned", "orphans"; yet "chosen", "special", "lucky", "gifts".

Our mother's are told they are "incapable", yet "heroic".

Our very identities are "amended" in order to fulfill a role, and we're expected to cut ourselves off completely (the message of "sealed records") from our very identity, heritage, and family-line.  

Adoption is a legal contract that tries to do the impossible ~ "as if born to" can never replace the reality of profound loss for an adoptee, yet we are asked to live a life-time of splitting ourselves off from our very core.

 We become masters at people-pleasing and compliance because we receive the message that adoption has made us "worthy".
 It cleansed us of being a "bastard" or "orphan" (even if only on paper).

Our original identities are "sealed", and therefore, somehow defines us in shame.

So we work extremely hard to earn our place in a world where everything about us had to be "amended" in order to be accepted.

 

 What a heavy burden for any child, any human.

As a young child I was the master home-made card maker. I would make elaborate cards for my Mom proclaiming she was the BEST Mother in the world.

I think it was my way of trying desperately to ease the insecurity in both of us.

With the words of "The Chosen Child" poem always looming, I can now understand that insecurity.

Years after my reunion with my first family, I went to an art class which turned out to be a life-defining experience. We were asked to read the Dr. Seuss book, "Oh, the Places You'll Go" and then compose a poem, and create a companion pastel drawing.

I had never taken art before and felt like because I had no talent that my pastel would be embarrassing at the least, but decided to try...

A few hours later, feeling like time was literally standing still, I brought myself back into the real world a different person.

 

A person who had finally given myself permission to grieve and shed tears over my adoption.

 

I had always heard that art was good for the soul; that it somehow unlocked the right (more feeling) side of the brain, and by the time I pulled myself away from this project I was a true believer.

I vowed to take more art classes, set up a studio, and dive into this new found passion.

Several years later here I sit without going one step further into that dream...

I'm just thankful for the amazing experience of that class, that teacher, and the healing that flowed through it.

"Oh, The Places You'll Go"
by Baby Girl Lowe living life as Samantha Franklin

You'll wake up one day and find yourself floating
on rivers of Golden Tears....
In deep scars of black and purple, too
Flowing from your hidden view
Amidst eyes of blue.

Encircling your heart is crimson red...
Blood of the fathers you never knew.
Enshrined....
Finally you'll find the real 'you'

Deeply hidden in the sea of blue
Your only chance now is to ride the hues
Grief unlocks the colors of life....
You'll find your "purple" deep inside...
after the ride.

So close your eyes, and feel the depth
You'll find you're not alone...
Surrounded by the throng, the unseen tears...
Hold on.

We must visit the eyes of our forefathers...
The pain of our unknown
Connect with the blood with whom we found life
Love through the tears of our own.

Independence for Adoptees?

My natural Mother, Norma Carol, was a social activist and author who wrote articles for a local newspaper. One of my treasured possessions is an article she wrote about Alice Paul, a women's activist who fought for the right of women to vote in the early 1900's.

If my Mother were alive today we'd be standing arm-in-arm speaking out about the closed record system in adoption.
She could have been one of the brave women interviewed by Ann Fessler in "The Girls Who Went Away".

She registered on the ALMA Registry, and told her family never to forget that I would someday come looking. All the while, she searched for a "son" because the hospital and attorneys told her that she had given birth to a boy by c-section, when truth was, I was a daughter. That saddens me.
In 1968 it was almost impossible for a young, unmarried mother to keep her child. In 2015 it is very possible, but the same adoption issues that were prevalent in 1968 are still in force today.

Sealed records, secrecy, lies, coercion, and unethical practices permeate the adoption system.  When will our society realize and acknowledge the researched and proven fact that separating mother and child brings life-long consequences, and should never be done simply to build another family for those willing to pay. 

A humane society would never legalize "marketing" strategies to encourage the increase of children and babies "available" for adoption ~ yet here we are.  Sealed records benefit no one except those who profit from this unethical and unregulated system in the transfer and stripping of human identities.  Our nation will never have a truly honest discussion about adoption ethics unless money is removed from the adoption system (even in the form of federal adoption "incentives") and the inhumane practice of "amending" and "sealing" birth certificates is ended.   

One of my favorite movies is called "Iron-Jawed Angels", about the women's suffragist movement at the beginning of the 20th century ~ the story of Alice Paul and Susan B. Anthony. They fought for women's right to vote, even though many, including politicians and other women, thought they were "radical" and even "angry". Thanks to their hard work, determination, and refusal to give in, every American woman enjoys the right to vote in every election.

"Women in the Voting Booth", an article in the Daily Record, begins with...

"It was 90 years ago this month that women across the nation got the right to vote through ratification of the 19th Amendment in 1920. This was 144 years after the Declaration of Independence — proclaiming that "all men are created equal" was signed, and 50 years after African-American men were given the right to vote."

When will adoptee's be given the simple right to their own identity? 

Adoptees deserve the same right as every other American citizen to access their own original birth certificate and court records upon adulthood.

It will be a wonderful day when ALL Adoptees can proudly walk into the Bureau of Vital Statistics office and request their own original, unfalsified birth certificate without "good cause", without shame, and with equal standing.

Adoption Reform Speech: "THIS TIME MUST COME"

By Sandy Musser

Presented at the First March on Washington Adoption in August of 1989, by Sandy Musser, a natural mother who went to federal prison for helping people search:

"I stand here before you today as a civil rights activist for the adoption reform movement. But I want to talk about three well-known activists of other eras who loudly and clearly proclaimed the need of freedom for their people."If a man named Moses were standing here before us today, I believe he would be speaking on our behalf and say to our present government - Let My People Go! Because Moses was not only the leader of the Jewish nation- he was also the most famous adoptee - one who had been adopted outside of his Jewish heritage and Jewish faith.But when he became aware of the bondage his people were in, he fought and persisted to see that they were set free. The Bible says that God heard the heart cries of His people. Our heart cries are now beginning to be heard around this country. We fight against the plagues of the adoption and child welfare system - the plague of the sealed record, which always equals cover-up; and the great plague of all - a corrupt system that has become a billion dollar business!" But I believe that we're well on our way to the Promised Land, and that most intelligent, caring individuals really want truth and openness - not secrecy and lies. This will be a land that will not see the need to sever birth roots nor eradicate the family name; a time when guardianship is a more cherished role than ownership. It will be a land that will not require the control of the social work profession, nor legislated rules and regulations; a land where no money need exchange hands (known as "fees") in order to adopt a child. Our Promised Land will be a land where adoptees, birthparents, and adoptive parents can come together and form a circle of love that will be immersed with openness, honest; and heartfelt caring."

If Susan B. Anthony were standing before us today - she, too, would be speaking out on our behalf. She, too, would be saying, let these people go. She knew what it meant to be denied rights - rights that her male counterparts enjoyed. She fought and led the women of America through the streets and halls of justice so that they too could have a voice at the ballot box. In 1873, she and 15 other women marched to the voting booth and exercised their God-given right to vote - and for this she stood trial. She was prosecuted and fined - a fine she refused to pay. How many of us are going to have to stand trial, pay fines, and be prosecuted for demanding or exercising our God-given right to our original birth certificate or other records concerning our own lives?"

If Martin Luther King could be here today, he would most likely be at the forefront of our March. He would be raising his hands, his head, and his voice, heavenward and shouting to the world - Let these people go! In one of his famous speeches, Martin Luther King said, "I have a dream that someday our people will not be judged by the color of their skin" We share a similar dream - that the day will soon come when we will not be judged or branded because we bear the name of 'adoptee,' birthparent' or adoptive parent.'

"We pray for the day that we will not have to bargain, plead, beg, petition or pay for what is rightfully ours. We anticipate the day when legal documents called birth certificates will no longer be falsified - when birthmothers are no longer signed into the hospital under an assumed name, given them by an agency or attorney - we look toward the day when a simple request for information will be granted - and when Big Brother no longer stands over us with folded arms guarding our most prized possession - our BIRTHRIGHT!"

Finally, I want to share the words of a poem written by MaryAnneCohen, a birth mother with great insight and foresight. It's entitled 'THIS TIME MUST COME'

"TIME WILL COME when our tragedy will not be replayed, When no child will be torn out of the arms of love into the arms of money. When all births will be blessed, all equal. And there will be no word remembered to brand a child born outside society's ties, no recording of legal lies…When love is more lasting than papers, and no child is deprived of either heritage or nurturing, even when they come from separate places. And it is finally seen that blood and home are not the same, And neither replaces the other, and there is no quota for love…

"TIME WILL COME when social workers are to serve, not sever; When they know it is better to unite than separate, To be true than to lie, to be seen than to hide, To accept than renounce, that the give and nurturing of life are both sacred and deserving of respect; That all parents are real parent, not rivals. That love is stronger than fear of laws or time,and cannot be terminated, cannot be legislated, cannot be denied…

"TIME WILL COME when all children can grow, become real, cast off shadows, renew or sever ties by their own choice, be responsible, BE FREE! When our bondage ends, and we answer to our children; Answer with the gift of sight, gift of words, gift of sorrow…When every person has the right to trace their roots in their mother's face, their father's eyes…When nobody is condemned to eternal childhood,and no mother cries forever…

"THIS TIME MUST COME"Copyright © 1989, 2001 Sandy Musser.Visit Sandy's website at http://www.angelfire.com/fl2/musser

Full Circle Thanksgiving

© Photographer: Andyb1126 | Agency: Dreamstime.com

(originally written on Thanksgiving 2009)


Te Deum
by Charles Reznikoff

Not because of victories
I sing,
having none,
but for the common sunshine,
the breeze,
the largess of the spring.

Not for victory
but for the day's work done
as well as I was able;
not for a seat upon the dais
but at the common table.

Reunion has brought so many conflicting emotions over the years, especially surrounding the holidays. Truly like trying to untangle a ball of yarn without knowing beginning or end.

For many years after reunion I would reluctantly turn down invitations each holiday, feeling strong obligation to my adoptive family. Feeling extreme guilt for even trying to see my family of birth "around" the holiday ~ so torn. Wondering and longing through feelings of self-doubt and paralyzing covetousness of those in my first families who never lost their place. Not knowing who I was or where I belonged.

This flowed over even into celebrations around my son. Birthday parties, which are supposed to be joyous times of fellowship and fun became so stressful that I would avoid planning them. So sad. Who would I invite? I wanted everyone there but couldn't stand the thought of trying to merge these segregated and conflicting families in the same place. Holidays brought up buried pain of separation, ownership, and confusion.

Finally walking through the pain of grief unlocked my ability to feel and embrace the love that my family(ies) were trying to show. The love I so wanted to be able to feel and embrace and return.

I want to thank God for bringing me through those crashing emotions of reunion. To a more quiet acceptance and embrace of who I am and who my family is. Amazing.

Home
by Bruce Weigl

I didn't know I was grateful
for such late-autumn bent-up cornfields
yellow in the after-harvest sun before the
cold plow turns it all overinto never.
I didn't know I would enter this music
that translates the world back into dirt fields
that have always called to me as if I were a thing
come from the dirt, like a tuber,
or like a needful boy.
End lonely days, I believe.
End the exiled and unraveling strangeness.

Yesterday was really nice. My Mom was in my home again for the first time since April, when she fell and was hospitalized and then moved to a senior center. My son was so excited he climbed all over her, even in her wheelchair. Her personality is amazingly positive and such an inspiration to me, for her to be able to weather so many months of health issues and change. My first father dropped by right when we were putting Thanksgiving lunch on the table, and I so enjoyed seeing him and sharing this special day and lunch ~ just being together means so much.

He had not seen my Mom for many years (the families spent more time "together" during the infant stage of reunion ~ I feel like the beginning of "my" reunion was more for them than for me ~ so shy & emotionally numb).

I didn't beat myself up emotionally this time for letting my Mom see the heart-felt emotion of hugs and kisses between my first father and us. Maybe he is opening up more because I am.

Then, last night I got to be an adult (not just "Mommy") for a few hours at Thanksgiving dinner hosted by my first mother's brother and sister (my aunt and uncle). We sipped white wine and feasted on turkey and dressing (yet again) all evening, enjoying each others company, getting caught up on our lives and telling stories of growing up in Tulsa (separated, yet within blocks of each other our whole lives). Uncle Ron lives on Reservoir Hill just north of downtown ~ with a spectacular view of the city lights, the moon and the stars, and a crackling outdoor fireplace.

I am so blessed to be reunited with my entire family of birth. The rich diversity and YEARS of getting to know them and the strong love that has grown. I have a beautiful heritage of faith in my family, by both adoption and birth. And also great diversity. Jewish on my father's side, and my first mother's side includes a beloved uncle by marriage who grew up in the Middle East. And yet another from Guatemala!

My young cousins, Sean & Hanna, who I was privileged to watch grow up and grew close to these past twenty years have a beautiful dual-heritage, which they are learning to embrace and be proud of. We talked about the importance of family and how we can learn so much from the strong family traditions and customs of other cultures ~ how they stay close throughout their lifetimes and help each other through hard times. How they value the little things in life, without the distraction of the "rat race" we all seem to battle in America.

I am finally more complete in my identity and families now, and am so thankful. Still growing so much and overcoming. But thankful.

Eternity
by William Blake

He who binds to himself a joy
Does the winged life destroy
He who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternity's sunrise

Bitter Winds ~ A Day of Remembrance

 

 

My First Mother, Norma Carol, was born on 9/11 in 1947. 
Today would be her 69th birthday. 

 

She gave birth to me as a young, unwed mother in 1968 and was one of the first to join the ALMA Registry (Adoptee's Liberation Movement) looking for her "son". 

She was told by the hospital staff and attorney, after going through a difficult labor and c-section that she had given birth to a boy. 

 

 In truth, she actually had a daughter, who, indeed, did come back, 10 years too late to meet her (again) this side of eternity. 

 

I still haven't been able to obtain birth records from the hospital, even though I needed this important information for my own medical care during pregnancy. 

Even with a court-order and doctor's request I am still waiting. 

 

As I watch the 9/11 memorials on television, I cry for the victims of a horrible act of terror, and for my Mother. 

 

It has taken several years of slowly unthawing from the nothingness I felt inside after finding my Grandmother and hearing my Mother's story.

On my own birthday a few years ago I was driving alone, listening to the radio, when a beautiful lullaby I had never heard came over the waves. 

 

It was Bette Midler singing "Baby of Mine" and the tears flowed again ~

 this time they were tears of acceptance.

 

I could finally embrace the love I knew my Mother had for me all along,

and the strong connection we share. 

I miss her.

I post this link in her memory - "Bitter Winds"

~ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zvO75R-QrqA ~

The Shadow Self

The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.
Psalm 34:18

Originally posted on October 22, 2007

I went to church yesterday and came home with 3 different "revelations" of God's love.  

They all pertain to adoption issues, because my entire life is affected by them.
I even danced with my own shadow.

The first happened during praise/worship ~ the regular worship leader was not there because her Mother had just passed away this week after a long battle with leukemia. She had lived for many, many years longer than the doctors predicted and she had a wonderful quality of life with her children/grandchildren for years through God's sustaining power.

Half-way through praise & worship I saw Aimee come in and immediately she walked up to the front row (it was dark in our church during song time) and approached the senior pastors. They saw her coming and put their arms out in big all-consuming hugs and kisses over her, just holding her and letting her cry. It was very touching, as I saw the love of this couple envelope this young praise leader and bring comfort and unconditional love over her while she was grieving. I began to cry....and then it hit me.

Adoptees lose their mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles and cousins (their very identity and place in their God-given family). 
They lose everything their lives revolved around and identified with ~ the only place, the only love they ever knew, felt, smelled, and was enveloped by, in complete warmth. 

But adoptees are probably NEVER, NOT ONCE, given a hug of comfort for this devastating loss we all carry inside our entire lives. We are not validated or accepted for who we truly are ~ we are only given acceptance as the ones we are engineered by adoption to be ~ our adopted selves. 
Our adoptive identities, lives, families. 

We go through life completely numb/shut-off to the PAIN of losing our very selves as connected to our mothers and family line, our first and most significant love, truth and self.

I so yearned to be able to run into the arms of real people as I stood there in church crying over the loss of my own Mother and all she represents. 
To receive the same immediate acknowledgement of my pain, validation, and comfort. 

Aimee wasn't afraid to run to the front of the church, the light, and receive unconditional love ~ she knew grieving was necessary and accepted because of losing her beloved Mother. It was expected and completely understood.

Adoptees emotionally sit at the back, in the dark, scared to feel, because they receive a sentence of life-long shame and unacknowledgement ~ if they DARE look deeper into their own feelings and tap, even lightly, into the pain.

  No one in society is comfortable with this pain ~ because ADOPTION is the big cure-all, the blessing, the win-win, the building of a family
~ FROM THE DESTRUCTION OF ANOTHER ~ THE DESTRUCTION OF IDENTITY ~ an amended birth certificate, parents who did not birth, names erased and re-invented ~ and pasts erased ~ at least legally. 
All at a huge price.

NOTHING can erase the spiritual reality, the emotional reality and connections within a human being to their lineage, their core, their pain.

Aimee, I cried for your loss today. And on the backrow, I cried for mine as well. I lost my Mother, too ~ twice ~ and I know how it feels. 
Bless you, my friend.

The Best Advice I Ever Got...

 

 

Came from my Mother(s)...

{Left to me as part of my First Mother's china collection}

***************************************************

 

 

{A gift from my Mom to my husband and I on our Anniversary}

Sacred Journeys

“There's a story behind everything..but behind all your stories is always your mother's story..because hers is where yours begins.”
~ Mitch Albom, For One More Day

(originally posted in 2013

In her book, "The Sound of Hope", Anne Bauer wrote...

"The day I found out I had two mothers I was cut in half. One half of myself resided here with my family, and the other half was lost, lost to a shadowy woman floating somewhere out there...You see, I'm adopted."

Growing up, I never let myself think about my natural mother, so when I began dreaming about her as an adult ~ that began a whole new journey. With the blessing of my family, I searched and found her in my early 20's.
It was her mother, my Grandmother Carolyn, who shared the devastating news that my mother had passed away while also searching for me. Her name was Norma Carol.

 I was born Baby Girl Lowe, during the 60's when young, unwed mothers endured great shame ~ "The Baby Scoop Era".  They were told that giving up their babies for adoption would somehow redeem them...and us as well. They were supposed to "forget" and "move on" but most never could, including my Mother.

 She wasn't allowed to see or hold me after giving birth and was led to believe she had given birth to a boy.

I spent most of my 20's numb; stuffing disenfranchised grief.   Especially when my Mom who raised me was diagnosed with the same type of cancer that took Norma's life. Suddenly I was terrified of losing both my Mothers to this horrid disease.

Mom not only endured months of chemo and radiation, but also a bone marrow transplant...never losing faith and teaching me important lessons about perseverance and trust. We just celebrated her 82nd birthday, and 15 years as a survivor.

In my 30's, I connected with other adoptees and first Mom's and began to hear their stories.  And dreaming again of my First Mother.

One of those dreams is so special...

I found myself in Norma's living room staring out her window.  There to my surprise, was the familiar site of my childhood neighborhood.

When I turned around, she was there, and I realized my Mother had been with me all along.  She reached out, took me in her arms and held me...whispering beautiful words into my ear, preparing me for life.

Then she said..."You know, Samantha, I can't complete you..." and her voice trailed off.  At this, my heart sank when she pulled away, picked up her things and walked out the door. The little girl in me stood sobbing, helpless....trying so hard to "wish" her back.

Her embrace somehow remained a part of me. I felt stronger, bigger...even through the unbearable sadness of watching her go. It was then that I noticed...there, on the table, she had left her keys.  I knew I would see her again, even if in eternity.

It is interesting that, even though I'm now a Mother myself, I am still seen as a perpetual child in the eyes of adoption law.  Adoptees are the only US citizens denied access to their original record of birth. 

Like a fellow adoptee named Moses, hiding in the desert; this dream was, for me, truly a "burning bush" experience.

 When Moses asked God, "Who am I?", God said, "I AM the God of YOUR fathers, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob." He restored his identity and his lineage. 

Then God said, "Take off your shoes...(mine even had names ~ Fear and Shame)...for the ground YOU stand on IS Holy.  He finally believed.

Our journeys are sacred, and that makes our very lives, and those we journey with, sacred as well.

Moses found his destiny ....a purpose, only fulfilled as he journeyed back to the place of his birth.

My Uncle Ronnie says that my son reminds him a lot of Norma Carol. Life somehow has a way of coming full circle.

Bitter-Sweet Surprises

(Originally published in 2009)


Since my Mom's fall and move to assisted living, I have been busy cleaning out her house ~ the same house I grew up in.
It is surreal to go back all these years later and revisit childhood memories.

I have found some sweet surprises in the midst of the clutter. One thing I found really made me smile. It was a small wallet-size photo album filled with pictures of me growing up.
Thinking it was my Mom or Grandmother's (Nanny), I started leafing through the pictures and surprisingly found my Aunt Kay's old AARP card in it. I realized it was hers and then pulled out a folded-up, yellowed paper. It was so neat to unwrap this small surprise and find a poem written in her own handwriting.

Aunt Kay passed away in 1984, when I was in the tenth grade. It was a traumatic three years watching my Nanny (her twin sister) walk right beside her as she battled cancer. Aunt Kay was a beautician and I spent many a day in her "shop" on Florence doing my nails and hearing her little gray-headed clients tell stories of yesteryear. She gave me my first hair-cut.

 

I so looked forward to her annual New Year's Party. If I try real hard, I can still smell the delicious appetizers, and feel the tickle of sparkling Cold Duck. I remember the low drone of football roaring from the living room tv. Uncle Olan would somehow make sure my favorite number #10 was the winning football team in the annual "pot" and every year I believed them when they exclaimed how "lucky" I was. Isn't it amazing what memories stay with you from childhood? 
 It saddens me that my son will know hardly anyone from my adoptive family.
Only his Grandma is left, and some wonderful cousins who live out of state. 

After my reunion, I marvelled at the fact my first Mother was ALWAYS within a few miles of me my whole childhood.

She adored all kinds of animals and always wanted to live in the open where she could enjoy many around her.  Little did I know (this little animal lovin' adoptee ~ remind me to write about my one and only detention in H.S., due to illegal posting of PETA posters on all the bulletin boards), that all the while I was a preteen, busy exploring (among other things) my Aunt Hazel and Uncle Dean's new acreage and homestead in Collinsville, that my first Mother was living just a few miles north in Ramona.

I spent a lot of time at my best friend's house by the elementary school we attended, never knowing that her Dad, L.D., worked at the carrier company my first grandfather, Papa Sid helped establish just a few blocks away. How many times did my first family and I pass each other on the old Admiral "traffic circle" over the years? Or were in the same store. The old TG&Y my Nanny managed or Borden's Cafeteria?

The first time I laid eyes on my Grandmother Carolyn (the first birth relative I met, my first Mother's mom), we had immediately decided to meet at that first phone call, and the closest place we could think of was the Grandy's where I had worked all through high school.   Never realizing she lived less than a mile away and frequented the restaurant regularly.  She also used to get her hair done at Aunt Kay's house occasionally.   

Finding out things about my first Mother gave me goose bumps ~ like how we shared the same favorite color, love for animals and writing, and we both attended "beauty school" (although my lame 11th grade vo-tech attempt only lasted a couple of days, when I found myself an official "beauty school drop-out" realizing real quick it was going to be a lot harder than learning how to "just cut hair" lol).  My First Mother's grandfather (my Great-Grandfather Ernie Terrell) owned a barber shop on Cherry Street and was friends with Uncle Olan (from my adoptive family) who owned Anchor Barber shop on Harvard. 

The "synchronicity" in adoption is truly amazing. Almost mind-blowing when you let yourself think about it. Treasured pieces of information that help define who I am. Yet having to wait until adulthood to find one tidbit here, another there, rationed over the years of my reunion.
No matter how much I learn, I still yearn for more.

I so wish I could sit down with my first family yet again (even 20 years in) and pour over every detail and morsel of their lives and mine.

This process of reunion is so painful that most of the time adoptees and first families take it in tiny increments and then back away emotionally, trying to integrate and survive the loss they experience, even in reunion. Like the waves of the sea, waxing and waning.

After finding out my first Mother passed away so young, another memory came back to me ~ attending a funeral in 6th grade of the mother of one of my girl scout friends. The most disturbing part of this vague memory is hearing the constant, judgmental criticism coming from some of the other Mothers about my friend and several other girls who apparently "had the nerve to 'play' at her own mother's funeral."  This little girl was coping the only way she knew how.

For some reason that really made an impact on me and bothered me a lot. But I didn't know why.

As an adult looking back on this, and now knowing that my own first Mother's funeral was literally taking place around this same time, right around the corner, it really hurts. 

These women had no idea what this young girl had gone through losing her mother so young and really shouldn't have gone on and on about her behavior, no matter what she was doing.

Maybe the reason this memory has bothered me so much, is that it finally hit me that, in a sense, adoptees are actually EXPECTED to "play" at our own Mother's funerals. Society gives us little freedom or validation to appropriately grieve losing that profound connection and how it permanently alters our very identity, emotions, childhood, and life-long experiences. Instead, we find ourselves in hiding, behind plastered-on-smiles at "Gotcha Day" PARTIES, complete with streamers, balloons, and cake.

 

All these memories came back to me after I carefully unfolded this tiny, yellowing paper tucked away in the photo book. It seems like God uses little reminders to guide me gently through bitter-sweet memories ~ even though I sometimes feel like a stranger in a foreign land.

Here are the beautiful words I read and continue to bring comfort: (Thank you, Aunt Kay)

"God is no stranger in a far away place.

He's as close as the wind that blows on my face.

It's true I can't see the wind as it blows,

But I feel it around me and my heart surely knows.

That God's mighty hand can be felt every minute

For there's nothing on earth that God isn't in it."

(Helen Steiner Rice)

The Prince Of Egypt: "When You Believe"

I've been hesitant to write this entry, simply because there is much I would like to express ~ so many layers. I truly don't know where to start, or end.

To begin with, I PRAISE God for TEACHING me that He is trustworthy. Yes, even this adoptee with major trust issues. I cried out and He answered me, in so many ways. One way He has proven His love to me is through the miraculous birth of my son, six years ago. He was born on January 14th weighing only a pound, but was not due until April 8th.

A year after his birth, I was reading the Bible and happened to come across the story of the Passover in Exodus. It said that Passover was celebrated the "14th day of the first month" (my son's birthday!). It hit me like a hammer!

When my son was born we continually spoke God's Word over him, during the long hospital stay. We even put a tape in his incubator so healing scriptures would be playing for him 24/7. Although this adoptee was filled with fear, I asked God to please teach me to trust Him. We believed that the healing power of God's Word would infuse life in our son's frail body (Proverbs 4:20-23). Just like the Hebrew children in Exodus applied blood over their doorposts to be spared from destruction, (hence, evil "passed over" them ~ Passover) we put our faith in Jesus' blood to spare our son. 

It wasn't until a year later, and reading about this account in the book of Exodus did I noticed that my son's birthday was the "14th day of the 1st month" ~ the same day the Isrealites celebrated their deliverance from slavery and death.  I felt like God was telling me (yet again) that He knew when my son would be born, and had Life for him.

My son's due date would have been April 8th, and "WOW" is all I could say when I saw that in today's calender, Jew's celebrate Passover in April. Both dates were covered. God KNEW I would need double-confirmation that it was truly Him who planned my son's birth and deliverance. I write with overwhelming thankfulness and tears.

Adoptees, His banner over us is LOVE, and it covers us ~ from birth, through relinquishment, adoption, and search.

The day after my son's birth, I was sitting in my hospital bed with my Bible open, searching for comfort and strength. Amazingly I came across a scripture in Isaiah 66 which gave just that. It said "He will comfort you as a mother comforts her child". I was in despair, not being able to hold my son, feeling all those waves of relinquishment, loneliness, and abandonment wash over me in dread ~ so distraught that my son was alone, without his mother, feeling the same emptiness I had become accustomed to, as an adoptee. BUT GOD spoke to me through that scripture ~ He is able to comfort us just like our own mother would have, could have, should have. His comfort would fill that need for me, and for my son.

Moses was led by God to return to his family of birth (the Jews). He didn't cower from his "exodus", even though it would have been easier to. He couldn't deny his identity and his heritage. It was who he was. Adoptees can't deny who we are.

God will reveal the hidden things, and set our people free of sealed records, hidden identities, secrecy and shame.

I found my natural family years ago and was surprised to find out that I came from a huge Jewish clan. It has been amazing to find these roots and identify, finally, with my heritage. My son's heritage. God is truly about heritage and family. Even when families were separated (look at stories like Moses & Joseph) God brought reunion, reconciliation, truth, and miracles out of the pain people experienced. We just have to believe.

"The Prince of Egypt" is the story of Moses and the complexities of his adoption, search, reunion, and destiny. It is my son's favorite movie right now, so I've had the priviledge of watching it many times!

Here's just a few of the thoughts I could relate to in Moses' journey as an adoptee. One poignant quote from the movie was when Moses was confronted with his true identity and he fled in fear. He ran back to Pharoah's palace to surround himself with the only identity & familiarity he found comfort in. It took many days for him to slowly "wake up" to his true identity as an Isrealite and realize that the life he had lived was not his complete story.  He finally realized, "I did not see because I did not wish to see." How often adoptee's wander in a desert of isolation because fiercely engrained loyalty issues quench or skew our emotions, rather than being free to live in true authenticity?

In the midst of this emotional upheaval, Moses' burned with anger (a very real component of grief) and killed an Egyptian man (his adoptive heritage) who was attacking an Isrealite (his birth heritage). He couldn't forgive himself, and so he fled from it all into the desert. There, God sent refreshing waters to revive him, and he met and married Zipora, who helped restore his trust in "The Tapestry of Life" ~ in himself and his destiny.  THEN God gave him a burning bush experience and restored his lineage.  It was in both families that Moses' destiny was found, and only after going back to his land of birth was his calling fulfilled. 

Memorial Day ~ Adoptee Style

                                                                               

I've always heard that birthdays can be tough for adoptees, and yes, I can attest that for some reason I have always hidden a quiet sadness around the holiday, especially since my birthday falls on Mother's Day weekend. 
 
But Memorial Day?  How could Memorial Day be conflicting for an adoptee?  I'll tell you.  For years I dreaded visiting the cemetery with my Mom and Nanny every Memorial Day because I decorated graves of grandparents that I never met...and that I knew I shared no blood relation with.  It reinforced the hurt within me of not knowing my own biological connections and not being able to honor and know them, and hence, myself.  I couldn't really embrace my family because of this.  I felt like the third-wheel, but obligated.  And sad. 
 
After reunion, I went through all the rollercoaster emotions of grief...for several years...but it was complicated and disenfranchised.  Like trying to untangle a ball of yarn without knowing where the beginning or end of the string is...just a numb mess, without the words or self-understanding to even explain. 
 
Finally, after hearing the stories of other adoptees, their feelings expressed...I was able to tap into those unspoken, deep-seated emotions and begin the process of healing...
 
Anyway, after reunion, I would reluctantly still go with my Mom every year to the cemetery, but inside, I was resentful because I now KNEW where my birth family was buried, but because of loyalty issues, I didn't feel free to feel or express my sadness that I wasn't able to spend time with them or even visit the cemetery of the relatives of my birth.  I was fulfilling the role adoption created for me...but I was being incongruent.  As I look back I realize it was part of the necessary grieving process....
 
I thank God that after decades of reunion and walking through the grief (with the help of other adoptees, first moms, and friends...not denying the feelings, but letting them wash over me)...I can now feel the good and the bad...and embrace my entire family.  Visiting the cemetery is filled with love now.
 
Yesterday I spent the morning with my birth family at the funeral of my beloved Uncle Jim.  He was laid to rest in the same cemetery that my maternal and paternal grandparents are buried.  Ones I was so thankful to know in reunion for several years before their death.  I have beautiful, sweet memories.  In fact, I have now known my birth family for longer than I was separated from them.  Our family sat together and cried together as we heard a touching homily about eternal life and forgiveness.  I was finally a full-fledged member.  But the cost has been high.  Lines and wrinkles and puffy eyes from years of processing and crying and laughing through this journey of self-realization and reunion with my roots.  It meant so much to sit by my Uncle David and my little brothers and Dad and cousins.  To exchange hugs and smiles and kisses.  And Love. 
 
After the funeral I walked a few feet over to the grave of my maternal grandmother, Carolyn, and took pictures of her grave and my paternal grandparents, Sid & Mary.  Pictures I will cherish.  It was so peaceful...yet I found myself alone, again.  Exhausted.
 
Later in the afternoon we took my Mom to Rest Haven to decorate the same beloved family graves I have visited since childhood.  And I cried.  Because I now know myself and my connections, and have allowed myself to feel and process the pain of separation...I can now feel and embrace the love of ALL my family, by both birth and adoption.  I took pictures of my beloved Nanny's grave, my Aunt Kay and Uncle Olan, and my Aunt Hazel and Uncle Dean...who I have precious memories of growing up. 

It was wonderful to see the proud flying colors of our American flag waving over the headstones of my Uncle Olan & Grandpa Sid.  Both "branches" of my family serving in the military and keeping us free.  I'll never forget their stories and so thankful I was able to hear them tell me in their own words.  Papa Sid flew an airplane in WWII that crashed landed...amazing.  It also reminded me of this article I read a few years ago about unknown soldiers, and missing families in adoption. 
 
My perfect moment was walking hand in hand with my son through the beautifully decorated cemetery and sharing stories of these beloved relatives...explaining eternal life and love...about the Shepard family adopting me and the Lord being our Shepard and ALWAYS taking care of us...and how Grandma Norma Carol (my first Mother) is in heaven waiting on us...and how we'll all be together someday.
 
About Family. 

"The Sound of Hope" Book Tour

                                                                             

"A feeling of kinship instantly formed...we each unwittingly carried an ugly scar deep within our souls made on the day we were separated from our birth families ~ we suffered being cut off from our biological roots." ~ Anne Bauer, "The Sound of Hope"

As a fellow "reunited" adoptee, born in the 60's (a Wild World indeed), it was an amazing experience to read Anne Bauer's story in "The Sound of Hope."

I felt such a kinship, as my memories and emotions sailed along with her as she journeyed through the realization of being adopted (and all it entailed), her childhood memories and young adulthood... through search & reunion with her first family.

I cannot even begin to list the similarities in our life-stories...growing up as adopted kids, our "waking up" years after college, and reunion journey with our natural families (my first family also attended my wedding)...it is uncanny.  It was an honor and blessing to be able to walk with you through your story as a fellow adoptee.  You brought back so many memories and reflections of my own 20-plus year reunion...the ups and downs, the changes & growth, and the deep insights I've gained in becoming "real".  I so wish I had known other adoptees and could have learned from books like yours 20 years ago when I was walking the same journey.  What a blessing that would have been.  Now you are that voice for so many...and helping others find their voices as well.     

As I was reflecting on the power of your story, and the beautiful title of your book (I LOVED "The Sound of Music" growing up too), I thought of a lighthouse.  When the fog is so thick that ships lose their way and can't see the bright circling light... the low, mournful sound of a foghorn guides them to safety through the fearful and threatening waves.  You were vulnerable enough to share your journey so others can hear the sound of authenticity and find their way through the treacherous seas of search and reunion...out of the fog. 

I am honored to be part of this book tour and participate in Lori Holden's online book club...to meet so many amazing authors and glean from the thoughts and discussions of other bloggers.   

I'd like to highlight some of the quotes from Anne's book that really stood out to me, and share some thoughts and feelings they brought up.  I may even link some previous blog posts I've written through the years (click on the highlighted words throughout this post to see them), as I reminisced and reflected on the kinship journey we have taken as adoptees.

Like Anne, my childhood was very much influenced by my maternal grandmother.  In fact, we lived with her throughout most of my young life.  Our families shared some of the same dysfunctions and I especially related to the experience of having an adoptive mother who thought problems would just disappear if they were not addressed...it brought deep silence in my soul.  It took many years to finally "wake up" to my own needs and emotions, and not tip-toe around the needs of her and my grandmother.  In fact, I felt overly responsible for their emotional well-being, much like Anne did her parents. 

I, too, found that searching (even though emotionally treacherous at first) actually brought me closer to my adoptive family and brought about healthier relationships.  I could finally embrace myself and my families (both by birth and adoption) as a real person.   

I think alot of adoptees share this burden, because we are, indeed, "commodities" and our very identities and lives are amended to fulfill a role and needs of parents who often have unspoken (or sometimes loudly spoken) expectations and misinformation about adoption.  Children are not the benefactors in the adoption system.  Anne brought that point out with true grace.

                                                                         

            
Even the cover of "The Sound of Hope" was profound...the hand of a child being held by a shadowy, unknown figure.  To me, it seemed to pair nicely with some thoughts Anne expressed toward the end of her book.

"...birth parents are indeed present throughout an adoptee's childhood...they were real to me, and they became a part of who I was and am now. These phantom parents were with me every day, every minute, every second of my life."

"The existence of my other parents was a mere fact, and once divulged, it was supposed to be forgotten. But how does one ever forget such a thing as having another family, a mysterious family you know exists but that you're never allowed to see or even talk about? The whole adoption setup struck me as institutionalized brainwashing."

                                             Isaiah 11:6 ~ Secrecy is (truly) a burden.

"...this realization (the true meaning of being adopted) entered like a charging bull, taking hold of my naive preconceptions and throwing them to the wind. It left me feeling half naked, as if I was missing some part of myself. But the lasting impression was clear...I was different from everyone else...adopted."

When finding the courage to begin my own search, I too, shared Anne's deep fears and saw the irony ..."it felt so devious...but then again, it was my own information."

When Anne's co-workers asked her the ever familiar question of how her search "...affected her mother?", instead of sharing her own deep anguish, she said, "I smiled."

That's what we adoptees do. We are programmed to be forever concerned about other's feelings, and get weary of explaining, being misunderstood, and seen as "ungrateful" betrayers.  Like Anne's fiance, even those closest to us have a hard time understanding. It seems everyone is most concerned about the feelings of our parents. "How are THEY taking this?...Matthew's words stung."

"I just can't understand why you need to find somebody who's a stranger to you."..."She isn't a stranger; she's my mother."

 I relate so deeply with Anne when she said, "It hurt that he didn't even ask how I was doing..." Yes, we adoptees can feel isolated and alone, even when around others - for this very reason.

And then there are those adoptee dreams...Anne shared a dream she had of a shadowy, veiled building housing herself and her mother before relinquishment, in which...

..."The baby screamed and screamed while the girl cried softly along.  It was my birth mother.  She was devastated, and her pain came rushing in like a fast-moving flame and burned from the inside out, devouring me."  I believe adoptees carry within our bodies the silenced pain of our mothers.  We are forever connected. 

In Chapter 22 "First Encounter", Anne describes an "unnatural" social awkwardness when first meeting her (birth) Mother...."I was mortified of my reaction and wished I'd given her a hug or at least looked into her eyes and said hello." 

I so related to Anne's feelings.  I, too, felt very unnatural.  Here I had searched and found them, yet I was not able to express the elation I felt inside...only jittery nervousness and profound worry about what they thought of me.  I was terrified that their warm reception was only out of obligation and not sincere.  I couldn't receive acceptance because I was so numb.   

I was relieved to hear Anne later write that her first Mother "...didn't appear affected by my awkwardness...she continued to stare at me with a broad smile." 

My family members did the same...as if they somehow understood, and weren't judging me.   I was the "lost child" in the equation.   I so wish I had been easier on myself and less critical of my every move.  Adoptees feel very foreign, even to ourselves.  It took me many years to feel comfortable in my own skin, even AFTER reunion.

Like Anne, ..."There were no words to express my astonishment at finally seeing someone I resembled."  CONNECTION to the human race.  Connection to ourselves, finally!   

"The Letter" (Chapter 23)

"I never saw you with my eyes, but I know you with my heart."  ~ what a beautiful gift Anne was given in the letter from her (first) Mother.

This sentence of the book brought my first tear...and then they wouldn't stop.  When I found that my first Mother had registered with ALMA before she died, I quickly called them, so hoping that she had left me a letter or personal message....anything.  The ALMA volunteer was ecstatic that she found "a match", but she was met with my profound disappointment when asked if there was any type of personal message left by my Mother.  Nothing.  I don't think she felt she had the "right". 

Knowing my Mother searched for me and registered with ALMA (as early as the late 70's) has given me much needed validation.  Her brother reassured me again and again, of the yearning to find her only child, even mentioning me right before she died.  Tears. 

I have received several cards over the years from my first Father, who, like Anne's first Father, is also Jewish (extremely interesting article), that have brought further healing to my soul...cards to "My Daughter" with beautiful sentiments that seemed to say exactly what I longed to hear.    

So happy that Anne was given this gift of "The Letter" from her first Mother...I know how very special it feels.  And also, the grief it unlocks. 

"I was unable to move.  Her words tore through my flesh and sunk deep within the very core of my body where they mingled with the essence of my being, and for a split second - where time seemed to stand still - every emotion she had felt and the twenty-three-year void rippled through my body.  She'd been completely heartbroken, and I ached from the pain.  None of it was fair."

In Chapter 26, during a visit to her first family's home, Anne comments about feeling "so comfortable and right at home..."  Then her eyes are drawn to a family portrait on the wall. 

"You all look great," I said softly.  My own voice startled me.  There was a hint of envy laced in my tone when I realized I wasn't part of their family portrait.  Their smiles in the photograph, frozen in time, taunted me as if saying I'd lost my chance.  I was too late to be a part of their family."

                      "I was so swamped with sorrow that it was difficult to breathe." 

Even after 20 years,  when I read memoir's, such as Anne's, I find myself breathing shallow and having to lay the book aside at times, overwhelmed with layer after layer of emotion that well back up...feelings so familiar, that I, too, have lived and experienced, as a fellow adoptee in reunion.

The only way out, is through.  Anne Bauer...your strength and spunk is an inspiration.  And I'm so blessed to have been introduced to "The Sound of Hope" through this book tour.

To visit the next leg of this book tour, please visit the main list at  http://lavenderluz.com/2013/04/adoptlit-sound-of-hope-book-tour.html