The "Primal" Wound ~ "Here I Lay"

                                  © Photographer: Qwasyx | Agency: Dreamstime.com

 

 

"Here I Lay"

 

Alone in the nursery I lay

Cries ring out like radar

Searching, searching, searching

In circles around my bed they reach

Striving to find the woman I know

Her breath, her hair, her touch

No where.

Alone in the nursery I lay

The ceiling so far away

Arms flinging, hoping to find

Nothing but emptiness I feel

Where is she? Why isn't she here?

I am lost and alone. I cannot feel.

The cries stop. There is no use

She is long gone

She or me? I do not know

Here I lay in the nursery alone.

 

by Peach

(Below is an excellent explanation an adoptee author/therapist gave regarding the "Primal Wound") ~

"What you describe is the narcissistic wound. Before the age of 5

children tend to regard all events as being caused by them or happening

because of them. So when we are taken from our birth mothers we think it's

our fault.

This is an irrational belief but because it's traumatic and overwhelms the child's ability to cope it becomes hard wired into the brain. A child's brain is sensitve to events because of the hormones and explosion of brain cells primed to react to an

event. The more powerfull the event the stronger the brain reacts to it.

Now let me insert a theory by Silvan Tomkins; memories are not linear

they are organized in accordance with the amount of affect(feeling)created by

the event. That means memories dont fade with time when they are part of

an intense emotional event like separation. That memory will be as

strong 50 years later as it is the moment it happened.

In our case this affective event manifests as the primal wound and it

doesn't go away on its own. It creates a sense of social isolation, feeling lost,

dissconnectedness, loneliness in the presence of others, emptiness, and

the big affect that you are experiencing shame. We believe that since we

are responsible for our own mother's experience of relinquishment that we are not

worthy, hence the shame. Its a perfectly normal reaction. It is created

and recorded in our minds before we can think and then when we grow up

and can think logically, we ask "what is this I feel and why do I feel it?"

--

"Neither Here Nor There" ~ The Beginnings

Neither Here Nor There

"That's neither here nor there" she would say. Very rarely would I dare to bring up my adoption or the first years of my life, but each time I mustered the courage this is what I heard. Her unresolved pain of infertility and then bitter divorce after my adoption was alot to bear. But there it lay, underneath the surface, like flowing hot lava that never ceased - day in and day out - never acknowledged. It colored our world.

Day to day activities brought "normal" family life - friends, school, scouts, dinner, homework, tv, and sleep. "Why wasn't that enough?", I thought, using every shred of emotional energy left in my soul trying to squash the guilt and loneliness that harbored these unspoken feelings. I had a mother. In fact, I made it a point to enforce that in my mind and hers with regular cards, homemade and chock full of sentiments like "To the BEST Mother in the World" or "So Glad YOU'RE my Mother." Yet, underneath I was filled with a deep saddness I couldn't understand and constantly beat myself up for. I carried not only my pain, but also hers. It was my job to make everything right. Never daring to speak of my Dad, who "ran away" from us and responsibility, because even as a child I sensed her brokenness and thought she might shatter into a thousand little pieces, and I would have no Mother left. I would be abandoned - again.

It wasn't supposed to matter that Mom and Dad's rocky marriage had endured almost 15 years, but then destructed completely within three years of adopting me. Was it my fault? Did I drive him away, push him over the edge? My young mind couldn't fathom any other explanation - that must be it. It was me. So, my Mother became the Heroine in my child mind. The only parent I had left - out of the 2 mothers and 2 fathers I began with - she was the only one who I managed NOT to drive away. I must hold on to her with all my might. She was my world, and I was hers and I had to somehow keep it that way to survive.

She didn't make it hard, either. I was her everything. She now had a "daughter" and was complete. When I made sure to bring home all A's, which was expected from "her" daughter, she used them as bragging material to all her family and friends. According to her, I was smarter than anyone in my class, prettier, and of course since I was also "chosen" I MUST be somehow superior than all the rest. Yet, inside, I cowered in shame with waves of humiliation rolling over and over me when she proudly and loudly paraded me by for all to see. I felt like a scared rat, not the perfect little barbie doll I was touted to be - except for the fakiness - that I could relate to easily. I knew it was all a scam. It wasn't real, it wasn't me. If people knew the real me, they would turn away in disgust and run. So I tried very hard to believe. Very, very hard. But it was "neither here nor there."

Double Messages

After her divorce my Mother and my 3 year old self moved back to Tulsa and in with my "Nanny" - Mom's mom. So many Mom's. But where was mine? I had enough Mom's to deal with, I certainly had no time to let that question surface, though deep down it lived and breathed like a living entity in my soul. Maybe the only part of my soul that was real. Nanny became my primary caretaker while Mom worked full-time as a secretary. When I was little we enjoyed good times together. But as soon as I grew old enough to talk and had any shred of autonomy, we began to clash like oil and water. Nanny grew up in the depression and truly just didn't know how to build self-esteem or security in a child, probably never having experienced it as a child, either. She constantly berated me. Her favorite snarling words were, "You're the most selfish little girl I've ever met" and "You're just like your dad - the son of a bitch."

My 7 year old mind didn't know I had the choice to believe this or not. I had to believe it, I thought, and so it was burned on my soul like a hot branding iron is jabbed into the flesh of an animal. It only served to confirm my earlier conclusion - I certainly wasn't good enough for anyone to really want. Children are to be seen and not heard - so I lived in my own little shell, rarely venturing out.

My friends at school were my angels. We whispered and giggled and made up wild and fun games and stories on the playground and in class. I tried to always be the teacher's pet and most of the time succeeded. I had to somehow make sure people knew I was worth my existance, so I showed myself extremely loyal and helpful in every way possible. I'd never admit to the feelings of jealousy that nawed away at my insides, always feeling like the other girls were better than me. Everyone was better than me. They were normal and I wasn't. I was "special" because I was adopted, but that made me different, and I felt it every minute of every day. I remember looking at other girls and their mothers and how natural and alike they seemed. I loved my Mom with an unbridled passion and held on to her tightly, but we were not alike, except in our insecurities and the tough and competent images we tried to hide them under.


Although an only child and lonely most of the time, not all my childhood family memories were sad. We had many good times. My Nanny's rye humor could always make me laugh and every Saturday was my day to spend with Mom. We were like best friends, really, shopping for clothes at the mall and eating pizza at the local pizza parlor. I also enjoyed the attention and security of Nanny's sisters and their husbands being in my life as a child. Christmas was a very happy time of family get-togethers and gifts and laughter, with me being the center of attention, but never completely comfortable with that.


It wasn't until I was an adult did I realize that most daughters and mothers, however, didn't have to share a room and a bed and cuddle up every night together to sleep. It wasn't until I was in 7th grade did I have the privacy of my own room, and I almost didn't know how to react. Where did I begin and my Mother end? Neither of us really knew, I don't think. As an adult it was heck to figure that one out and live through it without thinking one or both of us would die if there were any boundaries erected at all. We were so enmeshed, but not nearly as enmeshed as my Mom and her mother, Nanny. That was my only saving grace. We all three cohabitated until I went off to college at 18 and I resolved myself to never let that happen again, once I was free, at least physically. It took many, many more years after that to establish any sense of self apart from her, emotionally.

Mom and Nanny continued to live together until, in my 20's, I was forced to admit Nanny into a nursing home during my Mom's battle with cancer. I felt extreme guilt and burden, to the point of feeling like I had no other purpose, but to ensure that my Mom and Nanny were ok. It took a huge toll on my body and mind. I became the "bad guy" because I couldn't step up to the plate and somehow physically care for both of them in bad health. Inside I was battling a rage I didn't understand. It was an inexplanable compilation of twisted emotions that had lay dormant for years - rejection, rage, and fear.

Strangers

Alot of adoptees will tell you that when they look in the mirror they see nothing. I would look in my eyes and blank circles would stare back at me in the mirror. No matter how deep I would look, trying to find a glimmer of life or substance, there was nothing. Just blue eyes with no soul. My soul - mind, emotions, and will - were defined by whoever I was trying to please. I had no identity of my own, really. Just nothing. On the outside I was the "good daughter" who brought pride and joy to my Mom, and great frustration and jealousy to my Nanny, but inside I was pretty much a void. Even though Nanny was emotionally and verbally abusive to both Mom and I, she was our center. We shared the task of making Nanny happy at all costs, yet never being able to even pool our resources and succeed. Nanny was bitter and no one could change that. But we all lived together and laughed and loved as best we knew how. Three hurt women. Three "generations" with me being grafted in to this trio of what I called my "family."

My likes and dislikes were never acknowledged or celebrated. I had to be like them, no matter what. We were the same. We liked the same foods, shows on tv, everything. Even today my Mom confidently spouts off "she's always liked persimmon pudding" and I have to remind myself that I'm not crazy, and I haven't forgotten - she is. I never liked it and probably never will. In her mind, because she and Nanny did, I did also. I never developed or changed in her mind....I was always little "Sammy" and exactly as she conjured me up to be.

I have used my adult years to fight through these deceptions and messages and form and find who I really am. In college I felt free. I could come and go and decide and live and make friends of my own. It was then that I silently resolved in the back of my mind that as soon as graduation day came I would begin my "search." Even though I didn't conciously dwell on this, it must have been a driving force, because that is exactly what I did.

After graduating, search became my goal. I was lucky, I guess. Or was I? I don't know. My search took probably the whole of 2 weeks or less. My college roomate and best friend had heard from another adoptee that a judge in our college town opened adoption records upon request. I hopped on down to the courthouse and walked into his office without much thought. There I sat for an hour or two just waiting patiently, not really feeling or thinking anything, but shaking inside. He finally welcomed into his office and when I made my request he said I needed to bring back a letter from my doctor and he would happily grant me a court order for my original birth certificate. Original birth certificate? What was that? I had no idea, but was to soon find out. Within a few days I found myself back in his chambers hearing the words, "I hope you find what you are looking for" and I walked out with an official court order.

I now look back and cannot believe what a caring and fair judge I was blessed to encounter. So many adoptees don't experience such and are left feeling ashamed and angry when told they don't have the right to their own personal information and records that pertain to them alone. It is maddening.


I immediately and non-chalantly trotted across the street to the Bureau of Vital Statistics. After giving the worker the document I sat down and waited again. I can't even tell you what I was thinking or feeling. Just numb. There I was sitting on a cold slab of concrete bench as a 21 year old "adoptee" who never thought being adopted was a big deal, but was actually defined by it in every way. Truly, growing up I never conciously "thought" about my first mother that I remembered. Yet traces of memory here and there make me now realize that somewhere deep down I thought about her often. All I "knew" was the little information my Mom had told me. She was in cosmetology school and my first dad had red hair and probably went to vietnam.

I always silently figured that my first dad had died in vietnam and that made me completely fatherless because my adoptive father had "left" when I was three. Of course, I later found out what my Mom never cared to mention was that my adoptive Dad had supposedly "wanted" to see me, but was threatened and pushed away by my Mother and Nanny. I grew up thinking he didn't care and simply "ran away," leaving us without a thought. I see pictures of my adoptive father and I, when I was a baby, and sense that I felt very close to him, even overhearing comments that I was a "daddy's girl." I don't remember once crying over him when he "left", though. I had learned from my Mom how to deal emotionally with loss by pretending it never happened and I became so proficient with this way of coping that I forgot huge chunks of my childhood. My Dad being one of them.

I do have one humorous memory of me in elementary school in deep conversation with a small group of friends about our families. They asked me about my "father" and I adamantly stated over and over again that I didn't have a "father." They argued with me trying desperately to convince me that I HAD to have a father, that it was impossible NOT to have one. My naive mind could not be changed, though, honestly believing I came to be without the aid or existance of a man. My family proved it - you could live perfectly fine without the help of a man. Who needed them, anyway, "men were good for nothing" as far as my Nanny was concerned, so I knew it too. That is how "split" I was as a child. One minute thinking that my "real" father died in vietnam, with helpless conclusion I'd never know him, and the next, arguing vehemenently against the idea of originating from a person of the male species at all. My adopted self and "real" self never touched. Primal stirrings from deep within were all I had to go on, without the ability to verbalize - like an infant laying in her crib unable to make sense of abandonment and incapable of making her caretakers understand either.

"Baby Girl Lowe?" Who is that? I was reading my original birth certificate but not able to register the "truth" written. It would take many more years for it to finally sink in, and many years after that to even start assimilating this "truth" into my identity. But it was part of the missing piece that would help me begin to know myself as more than a stranger.

Here I Lay ~ Cries of The Adopted Infant

                                      © Photographer: Barsik | Agency: Dreamstime.com

Alone in the nursery I lay

Cries ring out like radar

Searching, searching, searching

In circles around my bed they reach

Striving to find the woman I know

Her breath, her hair, her touch

No where.

Alone in the nursery I lay

The ceiling so far away

Arms flinging hoping to find

Nothing but emptiness I feel

Where is she? Why isn't she here?

I am lost and alone. I can't feel.

The cries stop. There is no use

She is long gone

She or me? I do not know

Here I lay in the nursery alone.

 

by Samantha

Infant-Maternal Separation Has Lasting Effects

© Photographer: Dmccale | Agency: Dreamstime.com

"Separation in early life is associated with changes in

hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal (HPA) responses to stress [38], transient and

long-term changes in immune competence in non-human primates [39], and reduced

maternal-infant attunement [40]. The impact of maternal-infant separation during
the sensitive period may permanently alter affectional ties [23], and may
consequently influence developing organ systems, including the nervous system[8].

 

Events that affect the ability of the mother to attend to her infant shape
the capacity of the newborn to tolerate stress, since the immature nervous

system is unable to regulate states of high arousal. Events occurring during

labor and delivery that may affect the mother or the infant's ability to bond

include early separation, pain in the mother or infant, the use of medication

such as anesthesia, and anxiety, among others [23]. Whereas healthy newborns

demonstrate more rapid returns to baseline cortisol following exposure to stress

[41], babies born following mild obstetrical complications have less optimal HPA

responses [42] as well as decreased habituation and sensitization to stressors

[41]. Maternal-infant separation following cesarean sections is common and

appears to negatively impact quality of maternal-infant interactions [43-46] as

well as frequency of breastfeeding [46]."

http://www.veroniquemead.com/somatic_early.php

 

"CONCLUSIONS: Skin-to-skin contact, for 25 to 120 minutes after birth, early

suckling, or both positively influenced interaction 1 year later

when compared with routines involving separation of mother and infant."

***NOTE: If a ONE HOUR PERIOD of bonding with mother influences

relationships a year later, then what does mommy disappearing do???

My friend and fellow advocate (a first mother) Lori also pointed out in her comment a revealing article from Psychology Today:

An infant, due to the amount of time in the womb, and until the discovery of motor skills such as crawling, usually around 9 months old, is unaware that they are not a physical part of their mothers.

 

*Being both an adoptee as well as mother to a preemie who spent his first four months in a neonatal intensive care unit, reading these studies 'explain' the issues and behaviors so readily apparent in both myself and my son, and also saddens and angers me. Dr. John Bowlby and others have researched the importance of the mother/infant bond for years.

 

Yet both the medical and adoption communities have been either too slow or completely unacknowledging of the ABUSES they have committed against human lives.
Taking an infant away from mother immediately after birth is damaging to a child. Yet it is practiced daily in hospitals everywhere, and applauded in "open adoption", all for the benefit of waiting adoptive parents. Furthermore, research like this is avoided during "options counseling" when adoption agencies spout the "benefits" of adoption in marketing pregnant mothers. These conclusions are certainly not provided to prospective adoptive parents either.

 

How can we call "counseling" provided by the very "professionals" who make their living in adoption non-directive or ethical?
 

I recently attended the "grand opening" celebration of a new NICU in our local Children's Hospital and could hardly hold back the tears touring this beautiful "mother/child" friendly facility. Each room is completely private, with a warming bed/incubator, a comfortable recliner, and even a pull-out bed. The best-practice philosophy in neonatal care is "family-centered" where the mother (rightly) becomes an integral part of her newborns care from day one, including "kangaroo care" (skin to skin contact) as much as possible. I would have given anything for this environment when my son was born. He lived in a "pod" of open space with numerous other babies within just a few feet. I sat for four months propped on a tall bar stool by his side, with no privacy, noise and traffic surrounding us continually. The "alarms" alone were enough to send even an adult through the roof at times. What did they do to tiny, under-developed nervous systems? Just thinking back to this experience causes my heart to race with anxiety.

Last night I snuck away to a women's meeting at my church and then went out to eat with a dear friend afterwards. I got home after my son was already in bed asleep. Mind you, he is 4 years old now and has come a long way after his traumatic start in life. But this morning, he threw a huge panicked fit, ordering me to "GO AWAY!!!" over and over again. He was still reeling from my (just a few hours) absence last night. This is very typical for him and it has been so hard. It hurts me to see him hurting - dealing with high-anxiety and insecure attachment. All because he was separated from me for so many months at the beginning of his life.

True, I got to hold him when he was two weeks old and then on, but only for minut periods of time. Getting to hold him for even an hour a day was a privilege that we didn't get to partake of until he was well past 2 months old. His vital signs calmed, and so did mine. But even that was not enough to give him the foundation he needed. God comforted me with a verse in Isaiah 66 which promises, "I will comfort you as a mother comforts her child" and I literally lived and breathed this to keep going.

I am so thankful the medical community is finally beginning to "catch up" with the known research of maternal/infant health.

 

Yet, the adoption community continues to ignore and contradict these important studies for their own benefit.

 

According to the research above, not only are children affected emotionally and psychologically by being separated from their mother, their physical health is detrimentally affected as well.

This growing body of research can't be ignored much longer. We call upon ethical professionals to take these studies seriously and use the knowledge to change policies and laws surrounding adoption. To protect voiceless children who are caught in the web of a financially, supply/demand driven adoption industry. Even puppies are not separated from their mothers until well after the time of weaning ~ for a reason. Shouldn't human children be given this same respect and more?

While finally allowing myself to grieve the loss of my own mother through adoption (several years before the birth of my son) I wrote several poems. The feelings of a human-being who experiences the trauma of pre-verbal separation from mother run so deep, it is truly fearful to acknowledge and experience them (especially in a society which disregards them, causing further trauma,'disenfranchised grief'). Yet, that is exactly what is necessary to bring healing. That which is kept in the dark and is never exposed to the light can never be healed. You shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free. That is why "sealed records" in adoption is a crime, perpetuating painful shame for all involved.

Here I Lay

Alone in the nursery I lay
Cries ring out like radar
Searching, searching, searching
In circles around my bed they reach
Striving to find the woman I know
Her breath, her hair, her touch
No where.

Alone in the nursery I lay
The ceiling so far away
Arms flinging hoping to find
Nothing but emptiness I feel

Where is she? Why isn't she here?
I am lost and alone. I can't feel.
The cries stop. There is no use
She is long gone
She or me? I do not know
Here I lay in the nursery alone.

Here's to FB...

I am following my birth father on Facebook
I have never met my birth father, but now I am following his every move on Facebook

The Guardian, Thursday 30 July 2009
Photograph: Sam Frost

Thanks to Facebook, I have turned into an online stalker.

My mum's on Facebook. She constantly leaves messages for me on the social networking site, reminding me to put my bins out, or water my houseplants – even though I'm 27 and have lived away from home, unscathed, for 10 years. She also does it to my little sister, who suffers a constant stream of web-nagging.

My dad's on Facebook too, but he doesn't leave me messages. I can't see his profile, just a blurry photo and the stern injunction: "You must be friends with this person to see his full profile." This is because we are not friends – either online or in real life. We have never even met.

My father was gone from my mother's life before I was old enough to be aware of his existence and, as far as I know, has never attempted to get in touch with me or offer any support in my upbringing. This isn't particularly unusual, certainly in my generation. I consider my mum's long-term partner, who came into my life when I was 13, to be my father in every practical sense of the word. Although I was an angry teenager I have never felt particularly anguished about my biological father's lack of interest. If divorced-child trauma were measured by a scale, like earthquakes, mine would barely register – just a tremor really. I've got lots of family on my mum's side – plenty for anyone.

But a few months ago, as I logged on to Facebook, my eye was caught by a familiar surname in the "People You Might Know" application. This little box points out to the user people with whom you have friends in common. It was my father's surname that I glimpsed, which is reasonably unusual, and the first name Lee-Anne. The thumbnail-sized image was not of a person but a grainy black-and-white pattern. Without even thinking I clicked on her name, and because Lee-Anne left her profile public, so anyone can see it, I was taken straight to her page.

My eyes slid down the page. She's younger than me. She lives in the same town. She's pregnant. And in the space of two or three minutes I realised that she is my half-sister.

Facebook has another helpful feature – an add-on application that lets people display a family tree on their profile page. She had filled in her father's name. It's the same name as my biological father. There was another thumbnail picture, which I couldn't really make out because it was tiny. There were more photos, one captioned "Dad", which I clicked to enlarge. I was breathing shallowly.

I have my mum's hair, her mannerisms and her ways of speaking. We look a lot alike. Everyone says so. But here was a man with the same eyes, eyebrows, cheeks, even ears, as mine. This was my father, the man I had never known, and there he was staring back at me. The shock of it hit me suddenly, and I felt tears running down my cheeks as I read the comments he had left on Lee-Anne's wall – how excited he was about his impending first grandchild, how he hoped to make it back to Wales to see her very soon. I was so overcome that I switched off the computer and retreated to bed, where I lay awake with my mind in overdrive.

Two months later, I have turned into an online stalker. That first accidental glimpse has turned into a low-level obsession. I check Lee-Anne's Facebook page every day, reading her complaints about the discomforts of late pregnancy. I have followed a link to a video blog that my father updates regularly with clips of himself doing karaoke and telling jokes. I now know where he lives, works and drinks, all information I never had before and all just from looking at web pages. I haven't got in touch, but I can't seem to do the sensible thing and consign the web bookmarks to the recycle bin.

I am fascinated by these people even though I know that what I'm doing is borderline odd. I don't want to meet a man who is only biologically my father, but I can't stop watching him either. I like the fact that I know more about him than he knows about me. I can satisfy my curiosity, without the fear that he will reject me. Nothing has actually changed in my life – and yet everything is different somehow.

And this week, Lee-Anne had her baby. I'm an auntie. She has already uploaded hundreds of photos to her Facebook page and I have been sitting at my computer, watching this brand-new person's life unfold over the first few days, feeling an odd combination of excitement and horror. I hope Lee-Anne's boyfriend will stick around to raise this child. Out of sight, out of mind is not an option for absent fathers anymore, at least not for mine. I am watching him now, and I can't seem to stop.

"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

 




     

Rainbow Teardrops

© Photographer: Specular | Agency: Dreamstime.com

"Only eyes washed by tears can see clearly."
~ Louis L. Mann

I cry a lot...and am so glad I finally can. I think I'm making up for many years of numbness and not allowing myself to feel...I love the scripture in Psalms that says God saves our tears in His bottle...can you imagine. Not one tear wasted or unseen.

I especially treasure the gift of tears for my son. He was born three months early and spent 98 days in the NICU. It breaks my heart to say this, but my son literally doesn't know how to cry. His little sensory system handles distress by anxiety, avoidance, and anger, instead of saddness and tears. I know the reason...because tears didn't work for him as an infant. They failed to bring his Mommy to him like nature intended. I'm praying and believing for complete healing in his heart and mind..."I will comfort you like a Mother comforts her child, says the Lord." (Is. 66:13) My very favorite "Andrewism" is when my son implores, "Hold me like a rainbow, Mommy!" What a beautiful picture!

On Wednesday of this week I found myself crying tears of relief. How good it felt to be surprised by understanding, especially as an adoptee. The Women's Bible Study I've been a part of for a few years now has been such a blessing to me. God has used these women to bring comfort & strength to me, and I'm so thankful for them. At the end of this week's lesson, the leader shared on how God wants to heal us of an "orphan spirit". So many of us feel utterly alone and disillusioned because of what we have gone through in life. We have a very hard time trusting anyone, especially God. We feel as though we must take care of ourselves. Yet we know we really can't. Hopeless.

I remember crying out to God several years ago to PLEASE teach me to trust Him. I knew I couldn't trust Him, but I so wanted to. That is when He heard my prayer and began to show me, little by little, how much He loved me and wanted me free. Journal after journal is filled with written prayers and tears, as He helped me pour out my heart to Him, and He sent comfort and promise to me through His Word. I'm still on that journey and asking Him to help me know Him as Father.

So many in the Christian Church loudly proclaim that the only remedy for the "orphan spirit" is the "spirit of adoption"...yet they don't realize that every time they make that claim, they are rubbing salt in the wound of every adoptee, and driving us farther from God, rather than closer. In order for us to be adopted, we were relinquished, given up, abandoned. We certainly don't need more of that in our search for oneness with a loving God.

The more accurate translation from the original Biblical language in those scriptures used to speak of us being God's children (rather than "adoption") is actually "sonship". Thank God we are His son's and daughter's by birth...not adoption.

In fact, that is what made tears well up in my eyes this week. Our leader spoke of God's unfailing, unconditional love for us as our Father, and how we are delivered from an "orphan spirit" through the "spirit of sonship"...my heart didn't have to immediately flinch or harden to the word "adoption" again...and it felt like water to my soul. Exactly what my spirit needed...

She had us raise our hand if we had ever felt like an "orphan" and then the ladies all gathered around those of us who did...and prayed. They loved on us and our tears flowed together...tears of healing. It wasn't until I allowed myself to become vulnerable and take down the walls of "I'm strong" and "I'm OK" that God has been able to help me. I still walk around with some of those walls, but I ask Him every day to peel back more and more layers, help me lay aside my pride and self-sufficiency, and not be afraid.

I wanted to share the teaching on "The Orphan Spirit" here and hope that it will bless you as it has me. I especially saw many of the "symptoms" it speaks of in myself, and am asking God to work miracles in our hearts and speak Words of Love over us as His sons and daughters...

I used to wonder why the Bible uses the term "Born-again" to describe the salvation experience of trusting in Jesus as our Savior. Just this past week I felt a comfort I had never felt before regarding this term...Born-again. It is a promise to those of us who needed help from day one. No matter how much loss we experienced since our very birth, we can actually receive a NEW BIRTH, a new beginning. 

 

I love Psalm 103:2-5..."Bless the Lord, oh my soul, and forget not His benefits. He forgives all our sins, and heals all our diseases. He redeems (buys back) our lives from the pit, and crowns us with lovingkindness & tender mercies. HE RENEWS OUR YOUTH. He can RENEW our spirits with the Love of a perfect Father...even if we don't know what that is. If only we dare to ask Him.

The Spirit of Sonship

by Tino Todino

November 2, 2008

http://heartbeatcc.org/2008/11/the-spirit-of-sonship-v-the-orphan-spirit/comment-page-1/#comment-3151

We worship God who is Trinity in unity. Three unique aspects of the same being expressed in human terms as the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.

The relationship that the Trinity enjoy with one another is described as a “Circle dance” (Greek – Perichoresis). It describes the way the Godhead interacts with each other in unity, intimacy, joy and closeness.

•The Father’s mission is to bring many sons to glory (Hebrews 2:10), to invite us to participate in the intimacy and joy of this circle dance with them.

•To receive the Father’s love and to give that Love to others

•The Father’s desire of redemption is to give His sons a home (John 14:2)

•What is Home? Home is a Place of warmth, affection, affirmation. Where you are known and understood and where you can be yourself.

•We either live our life as if we have a home, or as if we don’t have a home (Henry Nouwin)

•Only family (sons) can participate in this dance, for they are the ones that know they belong in it and are at home in it.

•Son = Huios – matured for full partnership in the Father’s business. (Romans 8:14-17)

•The battle that rages in the earth is between two spirits, either the spirit of Sonship or the orphan spirit.

•The orphan spirit cannot be cast out, rehabilitated, or psycho-solved. The orphan spirit can only be conquered by being introduced to the Father.

The Spirit of Sonship v Orphan Spirit – What they say:

The Spirit of Sonship says:

I belong and I can be myself.

The Orphan Spirit says:

I don't belong here, so I must pretend to be someone I am not to be accepted. (sealed records law in adoption harms the very spirits of adoptees).

Sonship: I don’t have to perform to be loved

Orphan: I must achieve, perform and prove myself

Sonship: I’m a son/daughter

Orphan: I don't know who my Father is

Sonship: I have a home

Orphan: I don't know where I am supposed to be

Sonship: Father knows me better than I know myself and He loves me.

Orphan: Nobody knows what I'm going through or the pain I'm in and no one cares.

Sonship: Because I am a son, I have an inheritance from my Father

Orphan: Since I don't have an inheritance I must claw and grab for everything I

can get. No one but me can meet my needs. I am alone.

Our Father says "Though your father & mother forsake you, I WILL TAKE YOU UP." He will never leave us or forsake us. Oh, how HE loves us. We are HIS.

I KNEW I should lay off the coffee....

CEDAR RAPIDS, Iowa - It wasn't just the caffeine that gave an Iowa woman an extra jolt after she had her morning coffee. It was also the bat she found in the filter.

The Iowa Department of Public Health says the woman reported a bat in her house but wasn't too worried about it. She turned on her automatic coffee maker before bedtime and drank her coffee the next morning.

She discovered the bat in the filter when she went to clean it that night. The woman has undergone treatment for possible rabies.

Health officials say that the bat was sent to a lab but that its brain was too cooked by the hot water to determine whether it had rabies.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Ouch! Nasty! GAAHHHH! ~ this story caught my eye for two reasons
1) I'm always trying to get my hyper-active, stressed out hubby to STOP drinking coffee ~ it doesn't do him a BIT (BAT) of good!

2) My son is FASCINATED with bats (of all things). He thinks Count Von Count on Sesame Street(and his lovely entourage of BATS) is a big "Purple Mouse" (take a second look ~ he DOES look like a purple mouse, and I for one, don't mind my son thinking so ~ lol) who likes to count things and laugh weird ~ HA HA HA HA HAAAA...so my toddler runs around the house doing the same. We went to the zoo this past weekend and he had a fit when we left the bat house! lol

3) Another chilling side-note here that I rarely admit or talk about, because it is alittle too close to home ~ my first Mother's brother (my Uncle, whom I adore), wrote me a wonderful letter at the very beginning of our reunion ~ all about my Mother. He told me so many things that made my hair stand on end (literally) about her ~ because we sound SO much alike. She was an activist, a writer, an animal lover deluxe, loved nature & flowers, and fought for the underdog every time. The ONLY thing he mentioned about her, that I didn't share, was the fact that she liked horror movies (I hate them), and got a kick out of old Dracula movies. (I think one reason I DON'T like horror movies, is because I'm adopted ~ real life is scary enough for me. I know many readers of this blog probably would accuse me of "blaming" everything on adoption ~ and that's o.k. (really) ~ HA HA HA...
BUT ~ the interesting point I'm trying to get to here, is that when my son IMMEDIATELY gravitated toward Count Von Count on Sesame Street (the only consolation I have is that he truly believes he is a mouse) I wanted to throw my hands up and scream ~ it was just a little TOO much to take ~ reminded me of my first Mother so much, and how strong genetics truly are (not that it hasn't hit me in the face MANY times during my reunion). I've finally come to the point of accepting the fact that my son (unlike me) inherited that from his Grandmother ~ the one he never met, the one I never met ~ but yet who continues to live through her descendants (us!) and influence us every day in such a strong way. I so wish she were still on this earth ~ I just know we'd be having great fun).

it is what it is

© Photographer: Galdzer | Agency: Dreamstime.com

Change: To lay aside, abandon, or leave for another; switch. (American Heritage Dictionary)

Maybe THAT'S it. This definition of change explains why the last few weeks have been so hard for me. Everything is changing. Or so it seems. Being adopted (sounds eerily similar to the definition above) is tricky, and living 43 years of it, I'm convinced it weaves more complex layers of emotion than most people experience in a life-time. Exhausting.

Mom got married last night. She's 80 and met an extremely nice man in her assisted living center a few weeks ago. They had a whirlwind romance which culminated in what rivaled a "royal wedding" (media and all). I'm still in the middle of the whirlwind...but so happy for her! She was a beautiful Bride.

So thankful I was able to enjoy it with her, even through the fatigue of planning a wedding during the same time my son was transitioning schools.

Considering his sensory issues, my son was amazing last night. He tried his hardest to hold it together. All after his first week of kindergarten in a new (huge) school. He only stuck out his tongue once and stomped on one foot the whole evening. Thank goodness it was a friend who understands. (It was Mom's teasing that taught him to stick out his tongue in the first place ~ thanks, Mom).

Before the wedding I had to talk my son down from horrible anxiety. And when I say anxiety, I mean it. He can't deal with strong feelings sometimes and behaviors ensue ~ like head banging, darting away, yelling, saying he "hurts inside" and wanting to "get out of here." We were at the brink of leaving with him, so conflicted about what to do...put my son through something obviously hard for him (to please my Mom), or try to talk him through it and see it is a growing experience...thank you, Lord, for helping us.

The photographer from the paper (yes, the media was there in full force because the assisted living center was so nice to host the ceremony) actually helped a lot. She got on his level and talked gently to him (she has an eight-year old, she said), till he felt comfortable enough to take pictures with us and his Grandma...and then walk right down the aisle like he knew what he was doing. Whew!

I explain all that to say this...I'm so done. I can't wear myself out anymore with all this stress. I'm tired. My head was spinning by the time I got home last night, too exhausted to sleep (again). I put on a smiling face, but at home I struggle. I know most people do. Life. Right?

Adoption never ends. It colors everything for an adoptee. I'm just thankful I've grown over the years through my search & reunion, the pain, and joys, to finally accept...it is what it is...and enjoy and embrace the present. (When not under so much stress, at least).

Last night, for example, as Mom and I were walking back to her room to get some things after the wedding, she commented about how many people complimented her on her family...

"You always looked so much like Nanny (my adoptive Grandmother) that no one even questioned and we never had to think about the fact that you weren't really ours...I mean in THAT way...You know what I mean...you ARE ours, BUT..."

It struck me that I've heard this same scenario at every major milestone in our family's history...since I was a little girl. And speaking of "little girl"...do adoptee's ever really grow up...or are we forever children? It sure seems that way, especially when we can't even access our own birth certificate as adults. Loyalty issues from day one.

I so enjoyed seeing many long-time friends, and Mom's new husband's family. I also couldn't help but notice how mothers & fathers, with their children and grandchildren all share family similarities through the generations.

I'm enjoying an amazingly special day with my Mom, while trying to ignore pain that I'm not with the family of my birth. You can never get it all back.

It's taken years of riding this roller-coaster of search & reunion to integrate my identity, know who I am, and embrace my family for what it is...the good, bad, and ugly. Much better than trying to live how adopted people are expected to live..."it is what it isn't." Pretending.

Someone mentioned to me, "You have a new Dad". What? I had to stop and think about what they said. A new Dad? It never occurred to me that my Mom's new husband is legally my step-father now. That his family is my family too. That's how adoptee's roll, actually. We experience ambivalence everywhere we go, because we never had what most people have and need...that strong bond as a baby with our mothers, the families of our birth, those we came from and look like and act like. We have to adjust and adjust we do. But inside we sometimes feel lost.

Probably the most awkward moment in the wedding was when the preacher asked "Who gives this woman away?" Huh??? I guess he had spoken with my husband earlier about that part of the ceremony, but it was quite a surprise to me. Interesting concept.

So, I guess I met my "new family" for the first time last night. Talk about ambivalence...this wedding was planned so fast none of us have had time to think or feel. My Mom's husband's grandson and his wife was there with their four-month-old daughter all dressed up in her wedding best...so darling. Even after a long evening she had a big, peaceful smile on her face, perfectly content resting in her Mother's arms.

Yet another reminder of adoption, prematurity, and life-longings of the early mother/child relationship. How can an innocent wedding evolve into an emotionally-charged land-mine?

On the outside, no one would have known I was tired & numb, and emotionally navigating adoption even as a grown woman, wife, and mother.

Laughter abounded, and I so hope my Mom and her new husband have many more years of amazing joy. I know years from now we will look back with great joy at what a beautiful evening we had together as a family. Because we did.

The Broken Hearted

"...He has sent me to comfort the brokenhearted. To tell those who grieve that the time of the Lord's rest and favor has come. To all who mourn he will give a crown of beauty for ashes, a joyous blessing, and festive praise instead of despair...For in all our suffering He also suffered, and He personally rescued us. In His love and mercy He redeemed us (bought us back). He lifted us up and carried us through all the years." Isaiah 61

 

 

I recently experienced a drama production based on "Affabel" by John Bevere that spoke volumes to my heart.

It featured the lives of five friends as they made their way through life and then faced eternity. The character "Faintheart" was an innocent, sweet girl who was brutally betrayed and hurt by another. Her innocence and pure heart was marred by pain, and she sadly grew bitter and joyless.

It was so hard to watch as this happened. John 10:10 says "The thief (satan) has come to steal, kill, and destroy, but I (Jesus) have come to bring life and life more abundant." Oh, how we see this in our world of suffering and injustice.

God's love is so passionate that He tore open the windows of Heaven and ran down to Earth wrapped in garments of suffering and love. He cares deeply when one of us is hurt. So much so, that he took upon his own body our very pains and sorrows, so we could receive His healing and peace. But what a journey we walk in this fallen world, as the enemy of our souls uses every diabolical tactic imaginable to keep us from this Truth.

The "Orphan Spirit" and "Self-Protection"

The one human "Faintheart" trusted to care for her proved untrustworthy.
She felt alone and conflicted and learned to protect her orphaned heart at all cost, fearing more loss and abandonment. That fear kept her from entrusting herself to the only One who loved her completely, and sadly, she ultimately faced eternity without her only source of healing and Life.

Divine Justice

"...then I realized that my heart was bitter and I was all torn up inside, YET I still belong to You." Psalm 73
 

It is so hard to entrust our broken hearts to pure Love and trust Him to bring justice instead of ourselves. But we can because He promises recompense for all our suffering, and justice upon that which harms us.
He takes care of us better than we can, especially since our brokenness paralyzes us emotionally.  He will "make our cause shine like the dawn" and bestow on us "beauty for ashes" when our hearts are mangled.  We can forgive others because we know forgiveness is NOT excusing them at all.  It is releasing them (along with the hurt they cause) to a Father God who gave His very life to restore us to the same condition we could have been before the pain and injustice occurred.

A perfect Judge. A perfect Father. Everything we always needed and never got.

In my weakness I knew it was impossible for this orphaned heart to trust anyone. But I'm so thankful for this simple prayer that literally changed my life. "Lord, teach me to trust You." He has been faithful to do that and continues to heal this broken heart of mine little by little, one beautiful Word at a time.

"...trade these ashes in for beauty...lay every burden at His feet...breathe in the life He won for me...it's here I'm made complete."

Just Another Day at the Park...

© Photographer: Elenathewise | Agency: Dreamstime.com
So last night my family met three other fam's at the local park for a get-together ~ just for some fun, food, and fellowship. It was so nice to sit under the huge trees, feel the cool breeze, stuff our face's and just TALK. As a Mom, that is a treasured commodity! Our kids had a great time running around, and playing on the playground equipment ~ it sure isn't what it used to be! My son is a slide connoisseur ~ at three years old, he can definitely state his preferences on slides ~ curly, fast, double, tunnel, or bumpy! It is so fun to get another chance at being a kid, when you have your own.

As we were all sitting there watching our kids run and play, it dawned on me, that out of the six kids in attendance, MINE was the only one who WASN'T adopted ~ wow. Yet, he is the son of an adoptee...holy cow ~ adoption is everywhere.

Us Moms were talking alot about the kids, and of course, adoption was a big topic, because of all the little adoptees running around. Two of them were from China, two were private domestic adoptees (now bro & sis in their adopted fam), and one was an only child, whose adoption started out "open" but has since closed, and unknowingly to his adoptive parents at the time of his adoption, they also now have a special-needs child, as their son has autism. Whoa. Of course, I have a preemie, and I'm also an adoptee in reunion ~ so needless to say ~ all of us are pretty much in stress-mode. Here we were sitting there comparing "therapies" and "diets" and attachment conferences ~ what a night! lol

The Mom of the two Chinese adoptees (age 4 & 7), talked about how her daughters have actually "decided" who in the family will die first. They think their Dad will die, then their Mom, and then it will be their turn eventually. She says the oldest girl is obsessed with "death" thoughts, and seems to bring it up when they are the least bit "lost" in traffic, or away from home on a trip, or just out of the blue.

It reminded me so much of myself as a child ~ I remember being fearful that when my adoptive parents died, that I would be all alone. I would also lay in my bed at night and wonder and hope that I would not die in the night, but, in fact, wake up the next morning. What thoughts for a child!?!? Only as an adult can I even BARELY understand where they came from ~ not knowing my past, brought fear about my future.

This same Mom said she recently heard an adult adoptee on a "message board" online (she would FREAK if she read some of my posts ~ lol), that said he wanted to do his "search" completely himself ~ without the help of his adoptive parents. That it was something he felt he needed for himself, for his autonomy, and that the "process" of searching was the key to finding his own identity, feelings, etc. I agreed with her wholeheartedly. But THEN she conveniently stated that it made her re-think her own girl's searches, and that maybe she should just leave it for them, when they are older ~ even though it would probably be "impossible" for them to find any information in China by the time they become adults.

I could almost hear her breathe a sigh of relief, thinking that there would be no information or leads by that time, and she would be "home free" from dealing with anything like reunion. She, of course, believes that EVERY adoptee from China was abandoned and has no chance in HE_ _ of finding their origins. Wrong...
I could tell she was really grappling with this whole issue...just like her children, and every other person on this earth affected by adoption.

I happened to be at a local Catholic Charities meeting about adoption recently and saw a woman speak who had adopted a son from Russia. She had done her own search for his birth family, and had somehow actually found them ~ very poor family in a remote part of Russia. She had an impressive slide-show of how she found them, making contact, and continuing contact with them ~ all for the sake of her son. She found that the Mother was very sad about losing her son to adoption, and was elated to know he was ok and thriving in the U.S. She wept as she spoke about the emotional journey she was making for her son ~ without him even knowing yet ~ because he is still so young. So did I.

Anyway, I told this Mom last night about this woman and her search for her son's birth family ~ she said she would call Catholic Charities and get the name of the woman, because she is not convinced that she should wait till her daughter's are grown before she somehow captures information about their history. If she would call the agency, they could probably tell her much more than she realizes. If only they would.

Just another evening in the life of an adoption-effected Mom...no wonder I'm tired.

(Click on the title of this post (above) to hear an interesting radio segment about sealed records, adoption search & reunion.)

http://podcast.1170kfaq.com/DesktopModules/Orizonti_NukeNews/getLink.aspx?pid=48&tid=1852&newsid=38633