Home

I stare at myself in pictures throughout a lifetime wondering who I am and where I belong.  Not here.  I am with people I call "family" but I am alone.  In a world of strangers.  

I feel no connection.  Nothing.  My soul in constant reach.  Unable to make contact.  

My people are across the sea.  In another time and place.  

Those around me fade into the background as I gaze into the distance.  

Always searching the horizon for something I know not of.  

Humanity in my bones.  They ache.  As a stranger in a foreign land.  

I wait.  For what.  I do not know.  

My son, please land somewhere grand.  God give us a home. 

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

Attachment, Trauma, And Conflict Of Interest

 

 

 

 

 It seems like every day my sweet son decides he wants

to "be" something different when he grows up. 

The other day he came home from school
proclaiming he wants to ride bulls...
what every mother wants to hear! 

 

As I sat through an all-day seminar entitled,
"Trauma: How it Affects Growth and Development in Children,"
hosted by the OK Adoption Coalition,
I felt as if I was getting a taste of my son's desired profession.





Being adopted is quite a ride in itself. 
Then we hear "professional" commentators give the "play by play,"
with no riding experience of their own. 
Adoptees are left to dismount and clean up
after the animal ourselves.




Does adoption, the way it is viewed today,
truly serve the child, 
or those in the business of "building" families?

"Attachment Theory" labels a child 
if they fail to "attach" to their care-giver 
(who get's to define this concept?),
because, as the speaker stated...

 

"It's not in their DNA...
babies will 'indiscriminately' attach up to six months old. 
That is why it is SO important to terminate parental rights
as quickly as possible and provide 'permanence' for these "kiddos". 

 

We are not ducks who will "imprint"
on the first person we see after hatching from the egg. 

We are humans who experience profound life-long loss
when separated from our mothers and families.   

 

If DNA and genetic mirroring were not essential parts of our human experience in relational development...
why is the internet full of searching adoptees and first families?

 

And what of this:
 

 

 

This is a visual of a theory which the adoption industry
works hard to dismiss. 
Nancy Verrier, a psychologist and adoptive mother, says...

"There exists a great need for legislative action and concern for the rights of adoptees.
Few dare give voice to that which they know in their hearts: that the connection between biological family and child is primal, mystical, mysterious, and everlasting.
Far more than merely biological and historical, this primal connection is also cellular, psychological, emotional, and spiritual."

I can't tell you how difficult it is to live in a society
which dismisses the very humanity of adoptees.

If we want to be truly trauma-informed,
we must acknowledge the adoptee's reality.

 Changing a child's name,
sealing their genetic identity and history from them,
and then asking them, as well,
to fulfill a "role" in their "new" family...with which 
they share no genetic connection;
with caretakers who need to be 
legally and emotionally known
as "Mother and Father", 
only serves to disenfranchise an adoptee's
 trauma and loss, 
and piles on added layers of complex loyalty issues.

The only valid "connections"
according to some behavioral health "experts" 
are made in court-created "legal" families through adoption. 
Mentions of natural families are made in 
condescending tones,
referring to "the bios" which are, of course, 
the source, and only source, of the child's "trauma."

What about the trauma of changing a child's identity
and expecting them to play a role 
for which they were not created to fulfill? 

A defining moment during this seminar, 
occurred when the entire room erupted in applause 
after the speaker made the assertion...

"'culture" is only defined through 'relationship'".   

 

"Best interest" of a child cannot be undermined in the "name of culture".    

 

It was obvious, everyone was thinking of the Baby Veronica case and the role ICWA played in that long-drawn out tragic battle over a child's very identity, family and personhood.

Veronica Cappobianco is living her life separated
from the family and blood that created her,
the connections that could have, and did, nurture her very core. 
All because of this theory, unethical adoption practices, 
and the power it has garnered by an adoption community 
that still sees children as "blank slates" and, unfortunately, possessions.

When will America wake up and ensure an end to the commodifying of children and conflict of interest in our adoption and child welfare systems?   

The inherent right of a child to be raised by
his/her own family is often thwarted by a system
which gives agencies and foster/hopeful adoptive parents
the legal ability to draw out a contested adoption in court
and then argue "best interest" of a child to stay
with the "only family they have ever known".

We need to ensure ethical adoption laws which
protect natural families. 
Every child deserves his/her own attorney.       

Adoptees are viewed as perpetual children in the middle
of a never-ending game of keep away. 
We are marginalized by being labeled "bitter" 
if we speak of the injustice of having our names changed, identities sealed, or families separated through coercion or conflict of interest. 
Sealed records in adoption not only strips adoptee's of their identity, but it also fails to ensure ethical adoption and child welfare practices. 
A lot can be hidden behind a sealed record.

I once spoke to an adoption attorney who asserted that a new "amended" birth certificate and name must be assigned to an adoptee in order to prevent them from being seen as "second class". 
The more I thought about it, the more I realized, that it is the act of changing and sealing our identities that actually makes us "second class".

It gives the message that adoptee's are not
accepted unless "amended".

This could be the real reason why
a child struggles with "attachment". 

Yes, "attachment" to a caregiver is necessary for survival,
but for an adoptee it feels like holding on for dear life,
while dangling over the edge of a cliff.

The last thing we need is a lucrative adoption industry
feeding society myths and flawed theories
which disenfranchise and exploit
the very ones they claim to be serving. 
Yet these same "experts" are the ones who seem
to have the ear of our court systems, DHS, legislators
and behavioral health services. 
The ones making policy decisions.
 
We now have "professionals" contracted by those who earn their living
 by adoption, defining terms such as "best interest", "psychological parent", "permanency", and "attachment"
based on the perceptions of adoptive parents,
rather than protecting the inherent right of a child
to their identity, family history and connections.

With flawed theories of "attachment" expressed in the quote below,
no wonder adoptee's live a life-time of disenfranchised grief.   

  

Since "child placing" agencies are contracting
with behavioral health "experts"
who perpetuate these myths
(and many others)
to legislators, policy makers,
and foster and adoptive parents,
whose interests are we serving? 
 
Children deserve better. 

We need to start honoring the child,
not who the child can become to complete a new family.

The fact foster and adoptive parents
don't have a biological understanding of their child,
foster and adoptive children are more at risk of being
abused or drugged just to conform
to unrealistic expectations. 

 When a child doesn't have any mirroring of their own self
 through their family, they struggle with anxiety and hyper vigilance. 
It often presents as ADD or even sensory issues. 
Yet it is termed as "attachment issues" or "RAD"
and the child is given a label for a truly natural response,
rather than the problem being placed on the system
that put the child in the unnatural situation in the first place. 

 

My heart went out to one mother who stood up asking for help
for her eighteen year old adopted son. 
She said he had gone through all "the therapy"
and was still struggling. 
What could she do? 

Out of an entire room full of self-asserted "expertise",
she got no help whatsoever. 
Instead of given resources that could have really helped her family and son,
she was given a "band aid". 

The speaker described an exercise they do with "traumatized" children which consists of giving the child a band aid and asking them to put it on their body. 

This supposedly helps the child feel more comfortable to "unload their baggage" because through acknowledging they have an "owie" somewhere on their body, they will acknowledge "heart" issues more easily. 

 

How can an adopted person honestly find their heart in the midst of loyalty issues?

Adoptees must live an identity and narrative defined by others.
That script is skewed based on societal myths
perpetuated by an adoption system that serves the "demand"
for adoptable infants and children.

The sealing of our records steals
not only our identities,
but also any accountability over the "professionals"
who profit from us.  

 Federal adoption incentives influence child welfare philosophy
and adoption policy, when states are rewarded monetarily
for each adoption completed, but not for services towards natural families, family preservation, and reunification efforts.  

"Swift Adoption" programs and "Bridge" foster parents 
whose ultimate goal is adopting, adds to the conflict of interest
in a child welfare system whose goal should be preservation
 of kinship and natural families.

We need to ensure that "permanency" isn't influenced
by financial incentives and tax credits
which adds money to state budgets 
each time they encourage "adoption" placements
over reunification efforts with a child's natural family.


An adopted child's mastery of developmental and relational tasks 
are stunted because of myths perpetuated by an adoption industry 
that splits us apart.  

  
 
I could only accept myself when I was able to know, 
and embrace my dual identity...
by both birth and adoption.
  
When I found the courage to grieve
the losses that had been disenfranchised,
I was finally able to feel and fully experience 
both the good and bad in life.

Only then, as a whole person,
could I embrace myself and my families. 

The only other adoptee I knew in the building that day
 was a darling infant boy dressed in business casual
being cooed over and passed around the table like fresh meat. 

I pray for him, and for the eighteen year old son of the concerned mother. 
And for all of us.   

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.

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)

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. 

Things I Wish I Had Known

                                       © Photographer: Arneke | Agency: Dreamstime.com

 

Things I wish I had known:

   I didn't need to feel rejected as a child and young adult wondering HOW a mother could give her child away (ie. "place for adoption") because of "Love". 

I wish I had learned much earlier about the societal history of shame

(see Ann Fessler's book, The Girls Who Went Away),
and a financially driven, supply & demand based industry that explains the reason most babies become "available" for adoption.

My mother didn't "place" me because she loved me.
She certainly didn't reject me.
She surrendered her own motherhood/child because of a society that rejected her, and

only accepted me if I was removed from her and my original, true identity.

 I didn't have to be confused by the myth that it must be God's will for me to lose my mother, family, identity, and original life so I could be "chosen".
To gain my new family, life, love, and blessings.

I grew up trying to force this idea into my head & heart, but it was completely incongruent with life, truth, and the adoptee's reality.

I lived with emotions of extreme guilt for feeling disloyal, wondering how I could really love my adoptive family if I had feelings of loss and longing.

I was relieved to "wake up" and realize that, like Joseph, when he was reunited with his original family, I also concluded,
"What the ENEMY meant for evil (separation, loss), God eventually turned for good."

I didn't have to be fearful and distrusting of God anymore because it was impossible to understand (what adults tell most adoptees for their own benefit) how God PLANNED and WILLED for me to be adopted.
He didn't orchestrate it.

I once heard an eye-opening sermon by Pastor Dick Bernal ("Jubilee Christian Center"). 
 He was talking about scriptures in the New Testament that spoke of us being "adopted" as God's own children. After doing an in-depth study on the word translated into "adopted", he found that the original meaning in the Greek language more closely resembled "reunited" or "reinstated."

First John even uses the Greek word "sperma" to describe us as God's beloved children. The Prodigal Son certainly wasn't his Father's "adopted" son, he was his biological offspring. 

 It was comfort to this adoptee's soul to hear this revelation. 
 That God didn't NEED to "adopt" me as His child in the same sense "adoption" is used today.

The scriptures also teach that anything hidden in darkness and secrecy cannot be truly made whole.

Yet adoptees' records and birth certificates are sealed by laws which perpetuate this shame and injustice.
Even "open adoption" is not legally enforceable by law, and certainly doesn't negate the profound loss every adoptee experiences.

I wish I had known that, just like Wilbur Wilberforce, Susan B. Anthony, Martin Luther King, Jr., and Jean Patton,  
that it takes a lot of courage, fortitude, and perseverance to keep voicing an "unpopular" opinion, but a lived experience.

That I don't have to feel like the lone duck and the odd-one-out.
 I can stand up to criticism, with courage. That someday the cost will be worth it.

Until the monetary & marketing aspects in adoption are removed, and every adopted individual in America is restored their God-given right to own their original birth certificate and identity, adoption will continue to be simply an enterprise of human-selling.
Children who truly need loving homes will be overlooked and discarded.

Loving and capable Mothers will continue to be pressured to "do the right thing" and relinquish their precious offspring to those willing to pay.

And adopted individuals will continue to be seen as perpetual children in the eyes of the law and society, being treated with contempt and shame for wanting the same right as every other American citizen, for themselves and their children after them ~ simply to know their true genealogy, identity, medical history, and family line.