Thank you, Mom

     Last Thanksgiving morning I held my Mom's hand as she journeyed to Heaven. 

It still doesn't seem real. 

(Originally published on 6/7/09)

     Mom has always been there for me.   

I marvel at her strength, inspiration, and tenacity, even through many medical problems in her older age.

She worked long, faithful hours for over 20 years at the same company.  She put me through college as a single parent. 


She has been my biggest encourager, and helped me believe in myself...because she believed in me. 
 

 A couple of years ago in December, she fell and hit her head on a step, and was in ICU for a week.  Laying in the hospital bed, barely able to speak, she motioned for me to bend down close...and asked me to go to the store for her and buy my son a Lego wagon she had seen advertised. 
She wanted him to have it for Christmas.  He still loves that wagon he got from his Grandma. 

When Mom went through a stem-cell transplant in 1998, she always kept a smile, even through weeks in the hospital.  I look back and cherish that time I spent with her. 

At the exact moment the stem-cells (blood transfusion) began, a song came on the radio in her room entitled, "There Is Power In The Blood". 

We all took notice and thanked God ~ she was healed from that day forward. 

My Mom is an eternal optimist and loved by many.

She gets her energy from helping others. 
It has been frustrating for me to see her neglect herself and her rest, health, and emotional healing, to be an eternal "caretaker" of others. 
She is depressed right now because she can't go to the senior center and help the "old people". 

 

She has been in the hospital for several weeks and although we finally found a doctor who is running the necessary tests that should have been done immediately, my Mom is tired.

And I am grieving to see her like this.

I regret so much. 
The times (even just a few months ago) when she would knock on my front door unexpectedly, and I would have a twinge of feeling "put out" at an inconvenient time. 
Now I cry for her to be able to do that again.

We have had to forgive each other a lot because we are very different in personality.
My Mom's out-going personality smothered me as a shy, quiet, insecure little girl.
She talked about me incessantly, causing me to retreat farther into my shell.

 

Unfortunately, neither of us got the "memo" about the needs of adopted children.

 We struggled. But we never, ever stopped loving.
 

Thank you, Mom, for letting me find myself.   

Mom is having yet more tests run tomorrow. Please pray for her strength to get through this, for the doctors to find out what is wrong and be able to help her regain her strength. She is a cancer-survivor, and they have ruled out all re-occurance. They found severe ulcers (completely missed by doctors just a month ago), which are finally being treated.
She is very discouraged and tired after a long ordeal.
My grandmother did this in her "older" age and then regained her health and lived to be 92 years old.

 

    Lord, please bless my Mom. Fill her with peace and healing and strength.
Give her your comfort right now and protect her.

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

 

This was originally written in 2009. 

My Mom did recover and went on to marry at 80 years of age. 
She had two beautiful years with her husband.  They both passed away 9 months apart last year.
Our last conversation, when we both knew her time was short, taught me much.

We realized...
 None of our human foibles or misunderstandings mattered any more. 
Only the love we had always kept in our hearts. 
The important thing was that we were there. 
We never gave up on each other.

I reminded her, "He will surely make everything right".

The bitter tears after an unfair divorce and the loneliness and fatigue she endured as a single parent.  The painful disease that tried to take her life.  Even the hurts her heart still carried from childhood.  None of it mattered anymore;  she wanted to see her Savior face to face. 
The One who loved her and would never forsake.
The faithful One who had been her Father, Husband, Provider and Protector. And mine as well.
       
When the nurses came in to ask if she knew she was in the hospital, she would say,

"I'm with Sam"  

And my tears would flow. 
I realized we had given each other a beautiful gift. 
His presence had healed our hearts to the point that we could be truly present with each other. 

We spent our last days together doing what we loved.
In the hospital gift shop, we would peruse the lovely trinkets and comment on their meaning or significance.  They would remind us of a story and we would reminisce.

Our eyes were drawn to a beautiful plaque that now graces my living room wall.  

"Be Still...and Know that I am God"

  

When she felt well enough, I would bundle her up in a soft blanket
and we would stroll outside among the bright yellow autumn leaves.  They were so delicate.  
I realized how fragile life was during those times. 
And what a beautiful gift our presence is for each other. 
I never wanted to regret another thing. 
But enjoy and embrace every moment with my family and friends, from that point forward.

What I didn't realize was how deeply the pain of grief would affect me. 
With every loss we encounter, it triggers deeper losses that seem unbearable.  
We close off our hearts and put up walls we think are protective,
when really, they are suffocating us.
We spend our time distracted and numb, because it hurts too much to feel.
We feel broken. 

A grieving heart is at risk of becoming bitter. 
 
Every day surrounded by families who all look alike and support one other...
enjoying a "normal" life without the mess of reunion, radiology, and obituaries. 
Or overwhelming memories of such.

    This year has been hard for me. 
A year of isolation and sadness.  
        
I've felt orphaned.

My Pastor recently spoke of the story of Jacob and Esau.
When Esau's birthright was stolen by his brother, Jacob, he was hurt and angry.
Yet through the years, instead of allowing the pain to close his heart towards God, he trusted.
And God Himself took care of him.
Later, when he and Jacob were reunited, they ran toward each other and embraced.
They felt as if they were seeing God's very face. 
 
They blessed each other.

Lord, please help me trust You to be my Father, and take care of me.
Help me forgive everyone that has hurt me, and bless them.
Give others the grace to forgive me, as well.
Turn our hearts to You and fill us with peace, love and joy again.

Help me live life with no regrets.
Thank you, Mom, for teaching me this. 
I miss you so much.
I love you. 

My "Redneck" Heritage

(originally posted July 2008)

We just got back from our first overnight trip in four years, and the FIRST one with my son! And I'm happy to say that it turned out great. Drew loved staying in the hotel ~ swimming and finding all kinds of new playgrounds to stop at!  It was awesome!

It was also his first trip out-of-state, and it couldn't have been a more appropriate place ~ TEXAS! 

Growing up, most of my cousins (my age) lived in Texas and alot of my good childhood memories are making annual trips to family reunions in TX to see them. I was especially close to Gerald, who was born just a few months before me, and who my parents just happened to be visiting when they "got the call" that I was "available". Ha ha. They jumped in the car and rushed back home to get me. What a story.

Unfortunately, when I was a pre-teen, on one of the memory-laden times spent with my wild, red-neck TX cousins, something happened that put a huge damper on our relationship. It is so sad that this had to happen, and even sadder that I didn't have the self-esteem and support to overcome it ~ without it essentially severing our "friendship" for the next several years. You see, we were visiting my cousins and having a great time ~ they lived in rural TX and enjoyed horses and hiking and going to the lake (Gerald taught me to water-ski)~ all the things I really didn't get to do in my family growing up ~ so I really did love visiting! BUT on this particular day, after coming in from a hike in the woods behind their house, I was getting dressed in the bedroom (which happened to be connected to a "shared" bathroom). Growing up in a house-full of boundariless women (truly), I forgot to close the door to the shared bathroom and was standing there pretty darn good and nude (blushing ~ lol), when Gerald happened to go into the bathroom from the hallway and ~ boom ~ SAW ME as he was closing the door! Oh my God! Being only 11 or 12 years old at the time, and probably the SHYEST, most insecure little girl there was, you might as well have...I don't know ~ it was just the most horrible moment imaginable! lol

And then, to make things worse, Gerald had the gall to TEASE me about it when I finally got brave enough to come out. Well, that was the last straw, and after essentially SLAMMING him with everything in me ~ yes, I was pretty strong, so it probably HURT ~ I withdrew myself from the situation, and POUTED for the next ~ oh, let's see ~ probably 5 years! Every time we would visit, from then on, I was a smartass, rebellious little twit who refused to even talk to him. And so, our friendship was pretty much destroyed. ALL because of THAT?!?! Yes. (I realize my stubbornness now).

I tell this story, to emphasize how DIFFERENT I always felt around even my extended family. I always put up a big & tough exterior act and would not let any of my cousins really close enough to befriend me. How sad. Because inside I was hurting and lonely. I so wanted to feel like a true part of them, but because I KNEW I was different (ADOPTED), I protected my heart from that differentness and just put on a show of people-pleasing, tough "OK"-ness ~ a mask.

The picture of me and my cousins (above) CRACKS ME UP, because it is like a snapshot of REALNESS (kind of like a freudian-slip in print)of how I really felt INSIDE as a child. If only adoptees could be given PERMISSION to talk, grieve, and DEAL with being adopted, instead of having to live in silent pain their entire lives. Instead, we are AFRAID to broach the subject, because we are CONDITIONED to accept the notion that we are SPECIAL & CHOSEN. We know we are special alright ~ but we hate it.

Well, I got to attend Gerald's wedding this past weekend, and it was joyous! I can finally embrace my entire family, knowing WHO I REALLY AM and going through the forbidden road of identity, grief, and darkness ~ to finally come out more whole.

I ENJOYED being with my cousins ~ all my extended (adoptive) family ~ and sharing them with my son and husband. They are a huge part of my childhood and identity, and I love them. And I'm so glad I can share that heritage with my son. We have a double-heritage (one that I, sadly, LOST, but which very much DEFINES me) that I can only embrace fully because I was courageous enough to SEARCH and FIND and WALK THROUGH the valley of emotions surrounding my relinquishment, adoption, history, effects of societal influence & beliefs, saddness, reunion, joy...and the list goes on and on. My son deserves to know ALL his roots and family. And so do I.

My only regret is not "mattress surfing" or "two-steppin'" after the wedding with my GREAT red-neck family ~ I still watched! It was a blast.

The Best Advice I Ever Got...

 

 

Came from my Mother(s)...

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

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

 

 

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

Sacred Journeys

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

(originally posted in 2013

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One of those dreams is so special...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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. 

Digging Up Hopeful Good Shepherds Who Will Restore

This article is so encouraging...my adoptive family actually comes from a long line of "Shepards", as that was their last name.  God is teaching me that He has always been our "Good Shepherd" and will take care of us.  We are His.  He loves us! 

Bob Hartley: Digging Up Hopeful Good Shepherds Who Will Restore the Hope of Our Calling

So thankful she is still here.




And I miss her so much...




*Participating in "Grown in My Heart's" Mother's Day Carnival. You can participate and visit all the blogs by clicking here.

With my birthday falling on or near Mother's Day every year, it is truly an emotional time for me. My First Mother passed away while searching for me. Just a few years after finding her, my adoptive Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer (the same disease that took my First Mother). She underwent a bone-marrow transplant and several years of health issues, but is now doing well. We just got off the phone making plans to attend our traditional Ladies Brunch and Tea tomorrow morning.

I'm so thankful for my friends in the adoption world who share their lives and friendships.
Happy Mother's Day!

Happy Adoptees

© Photographer: Agg | Agency: Dreamstime.com

Happy Adoptees
By Julie A. Rist

I am not the happy and grateful adoptee that you want me to be. Don’t get me wrong. I was happy and grateful for almost 45 years – or so I believed. Had you asked me then how I felt about being adopted, you might have heard something like, “Great! I am so grateful to my (adoptive) parents for all they did and, no, I am not interested in finding my ‘real’ family. My adoptive family is my ‘real’ family, thankyouverymuch, and they are a wonderful family. I’ve had a wonderful life. Of course, I am grateful to my natural mother for giving me life. Oh, you’re adopting? How wonderful!”

I enthusiastically expressed that view all those years because I needed to convince myself that my life was normal and right and that I was okay. I did it because everyone else wanted me to feel that way, too. And I thought I would die if I ever looked deeper.

Happy children

You’ve seen adopted children who seem to be perfectly happy, too. They smile and have fun just like those whose families are intact. They act happy and, occasionally, they are.

Yes, adopted children smile and laugh. Did you stop smiling after you lost a loved one? Didn’t you still laugh when someone said something funny? Weren’t you still capable of having some fun?

Did you ever smile and act happy to hide your grief?

Of course you did. But even when you smiled, those close to you knew it didn’t mean you were happy. Those close to you accepted and expected your pain and sadness. They did not expect you to be happy about your loss. They gave you something most adoptees do not get: acknowledgement of, empathy for, and permission to express your grief.

What grief?

In the early ‘50s when I was adopted, little was known about the power of the bond between mother and child. Society still accepted Locke’s theory of tabula rasa – that we are born as blank slates. John Locke died in 1704, yet his theory survived until the mid- 50s. Now, however, we know that even before birth babies are intelligent, remembering and aware beings with their own personalities.

We know that much of who we are today was created in the womb. We know that mother and child are a single entity, profoundly connected physiologically, emotionally and spiritually – even through early infancy. A baby does not understand that he or she is an individual until at least 9 months after birth.

Through their research, authorities have determined that, when the mother/child entity is split, it causes an acute and lasting trauma in both mother and child. The repercussions are ominous and tenacious. Though they become buried deep inside, the repercussions follow both mother and child throughout the remainder of their lives.

It is difficult, emotionally, to imagine a tiny baby’s very real feelings about the loss of his or her mother -- the terror of losing all that is familiar, all that is comfort – the unique heartbeat, scent, taste, voice, rhythms and vibrations. Babies are born needing and expecting these familiar things which only their natural mothers can provide.

Even with this knowledge which has accumulated over the past 20 years, there remain those in our society who sever the mother/child entity as casually as they would cut a common earthworm in two.

Ignored trauma is another trauma

A child’s first experience in the adoptive family is usually joining in everyone else’s happiness over his or her tragedy. The child’s first trauma is ignored or dismissed, perhaps in the belief that enough love will make it disappear. It will not. In essence, the adoptee is expected to dance along with everyone else on his or her own mother’s virtual grave. Most experts in the fields of adoption psychology and trauma consider this dismissal to be the adoptee’s second trauma.

The first and second traumas are the root causes for a number of issues and for additional traumas, which accumulate one upon another (what Betty Jean Lifton calls “Cumulative Trauma”).

We may not want to imagine these things because it is uncomfortable to do so but, to act in a child’s best interest including protecting his or her emotional health, we need to suffer through such discomfort.

Denial

Over 14 years ago, I began 9 years in therapy, struggling with a boatload of issues that are utterly classic in adoptees. I didn’t accomplish much. The problem was that I did not connect them with my adoption experience. In all fairness, my therapist encouraged me to recognize the connection, but I was so deep in “De Nile” that I could not see it – indeed would not see it. I needed too desperately (like most of society) to believe that my adoption experience was the positive part of my life – not the source of my problems.

Denial is powerful and, in many ways, a gift. It is a state we create in order to avoid feeling the pain of seeing the truth. When a baby’s world is gone, he or she does whatever it takes to survive. If the child does not get empathy and permission to grieve, he or she has no choice but to psychologically deny the trauma. And that includes smiling to hide the grief. The child begins to believe that his or her feelings are unimportant – even wrong. The child learns how not to feel.

I do not use the word “denial” in a damning or judgmental way. It is a normal and natural human survival tool. I not only acknowledge it but, knowing intimately the pain that comes with shedding that denial, I am reticent to nudge others out of it. Denial can be a trauma victim’s most effective tool for survival, because revisiting the event that caused the trauma can feel literally life threatening.

The downside of denial unfortunately outweighs the upside. Denial prevents us from understanding and effectively managing all the issues that stem from the disintegration of the mother/child entity. What are the most common issues?

Identity

Issues of the adoptee are barely acknowledged by society and then only in those who are of a different race than the adoptive family – as if physical differences are the only ones that matter. But there are reasons why we see repetitive generations of lawyers, healers, scholars, actors, artists, etc. in natural families. It is not just a matter of continuing a family business or tribal tradition. It is a matter of like characteristics being perpetuated, generation after generation, being nurtured by genetic mirroring.

Even if we are not transracial or biracial adoptees, we still do not get the genetic mirroring that we so desperately need. We don’t know how tall we’ll get, or whether our hair will get darker or lighter, our skin clearer, our bodies thinner or thicker. We don’t know who we’ll look like when we’re older. Our own natural characteristics are unfamiliar, so we don’t know what we should or should not choose to develop.

Although such things may seem inconsequential to those around us, they are monumental to us, and serve to make us feel even more alienated, more lost.

When an adoptee’s characteristics do not fit those of the adoptive family (or the extended adoptive family), there can be trouble. In my case art, writing and psychology were all frowned upon by my adoptive family. Yet those characteristics run happily in my natural family. Though my adoptive parents meant well, I grew up feeling like a bad seed. Out of desperation for approval, I pursued career paths that I thought would please them but even those successes were never enough to overcome their disappointment.

Carrying the surname of someone else’s family also contributes to identity problems. The child is expected to embrace the adoptive family’s ancestry, as if his or her own is immaterial -- as if living in the dark is no big deal.

Low self-esteem

Identity issues can explain some low self-esteem, a classic adoptee problem. Another cause is some adoptive parents’ – and society’s – (unmistakable yet unspoken) low opinion of the stereotypical “birthmother.” Not only is this an unfair and incorrect judgment about our mothers, but adopted children incorporate these attitudes into their own self-image.

Along with this message, adopted children are often told that, essentially, their mothers loved them so much that they gave them away. This makes no sense. If my mother really loved me that much, she would have kept me -- therefore there must be something wrong with me. This creates low self-esteem.

Low self-esteem leads to people-pleasing. Adoptees are exemplary people-pleasers. That is why we so often appear to be happy and are pleasant to be around. Lots of smiling! Our original purpose as adoptees was to fulfill the desires of others, to make them happy. Early on, our authentic selves are sacrificed to fill those needs.

Powerlessness and control

For many adoptees, it is easy to fall into despair and feel powerless over circumstances that emotionally healthy people can overcome with relative ease. This is rooted in our separation experience, when we felt powerless, helpless and hopeless. Paradoxically, we can become obsessed with controlling other parts of our lives, those things and events that we can control. This is conflict waiting to happen.



Depression

Often, depression can come from the sheer exhaustion of maintaining pretense (being in denial). No matter how much love and care we are given, the truth is that we are (and will always be) someone else’s children. Yet we exhaust ourselves emotionally, pretending otherwise because we believe it will ensure our survival and prevent another abandonment.

We also expend a lot of energy fantasizing about our natural mothers, and a lot of energy burying our authentic selves in favor of people-pleasing. All these things take a great deal of energy yet offer little reward -- fertile ground for depression.

Trust

One of our most common problems is that of trust. The original disintegration of the mother/child entity can literally destroy a baby’s nascent sense of trust. Once lost, it can never be recovered. Only a tentative sense of trust can be painstakingly built by the adoptive family, yet it will always be difficult and sometimes impossible. Again paradoxically, we tend to casually trust anyone and everyone. It is when deep trust is required, as in intimacy, we tend to fall short.

Abandonment

Abandonment is the most common issue of the adoptee. Despite the true circumstances of the separation from our natural mothers, we experienced this emotionally as abandonment. Even with later knowledge of those circumstances, the early emotional experience of abandonment never leaves us. Relationship troubles abound. Other issues such as trust, identity, low self-esteem and control compound these troubles.

Many people have abandonment issues. For adoptees, however, abandonment is not just painful. It can feel like annihilation.

“Only eyes washed by tears can see clearly.” – Louis Mann

Staying in denial, while it may be a refuge, hurts everyone involved. Although seeing the truth also hurts, don’t parentless children deserve what they truly need? How can society continue pretending that the smiles are genuine simply because it is easier than acknowledging the underlying problems?

For those who genuinely care about these children and want to take that first step toward seeing clearly, start with one of Betty Jean Lifton’s books, such as Journey of the Adopted Self or Nancy Verrier’s The Primal Wound. They offer insight into the issues of adoptees, adoptive parents, and of mothers who have lost children to adoption. Such knowledge and understanding can open our minds and hearts to alternatives that are even better than adoption.

Smiles as masks

Despite all these traumas and issues, adoptees smile. We smile to hide a world of hurt that neither we nor the rest of the world want to face. We smile because the world needs us to smile. They need to believe they are doing the right thing for us, to forget those silly “issues,” and call us “happy.” By smiling, we help them do that.

Next time you encounter a “happy” and “grateful” adoptee who had “wonderful” adoptive parents and a “wonderful” life, look a little closer.


Ms. Rist is an artist, writer, and adoption alternatives activist living in Phoenix.

Article by J. A. Rist © Copyright 2002, 2003. All rights reserved.

What's In A Name?

Growing up, I hated my name. It was a little on the unusual side, and the last thing I wanted was to "stick out". I just wanted to be like everyone else. But I wasn't, 'cause I was adopted.

It wasn't until I became an adult and found my first family, and then grieved losing my first family, my first identity, my first life, that I finally came to embrace my name and actually learn to like it. And, although I grew up a smiling, "loyal" daughter (my "Best Mom in the World" cards were quite prolific), I truly wasn't able to embrace my family until I searched, and grieved being adopted.

I remember the first time I saw my original birth certificate. I was a young, 20-something "in the fog" adoptee, (early 90's) sitting alone on a big concrete bench in a cold Bureau of Vital Stats office. As I opened it up, it felt like I was moving in slow motion. After all the hoops I had to jump through, it was finally in my hand, and I almost felt like a criminal holding my own record of birth. Like reading a stranger's birth certificate, literally. Who was "Baby Girl Lowe" anyway? Me? Oh my gosh. The first thought that hit me was that I was somehow related to Rob Lowe. Double oh my gosh. lol

It turns out that (no, not related to Rob Lowe) Lowe was my first mother's step-father's name, whose she had taken when her mother re-married. My maternal grandfather's last name was really Terrell, and grandmother's maiden name was Price. It took many years for me to actually FEEL a part of these names. But thank God it happened. I have a precious genealogy book made by the Price family that goes back to the 1600's! It is truly amazing to see the lineage I come from. More than words can describe. I'm human.

As a little girl I loved to play school. I would have my little grade books and named all my students, keeping excellent records of assignments, grades, and lessons. One of the students in my pretend class would always have the last name of McGee. I had no idea why I felt so drawn to that name, but I did. As I've researched my family names now, I ran across my great-great-great (not sure exactly how many greats, but close) grandmother whose name was Pleasants McGee. Is that not a wonderful name, or what! She had 10 children. For some reason I just feel close to her, and I've never met her or any of her family that I know of. Except me. Shivers.

I've heard wonderful stories (from both sides of my first family) of my Great- Grandparents. I have pictures. An old black & white photo of Susan Terrell when she was just 16, and whose jaw-line I share. Her son, Buster, was my first mother's father who died before our reunion. He worked as a chef for many years at our hometown country club. How I wish I could have sampled his gourmet creations. I learned about the Terrell side of my heritage mostly from my Great Uncle Eddie, who was a retired Post Master, and such a sweet man.

Thank God for him, and my first Mother's siblings and their families, Ron, Patty, and Rick, who were the best Aunt and Uncles I could have ever found.

I truly feel part of them. Uncle Ron lived in San Francisco when we were first reunited, but his beautifully penned letters welcomed me into the family so warmly, and articulately described my first Mother and her personality, love, and passion. It was from those letters I was able to "know" her and her life, and realize just how much of myself I was finding. I'll never forget the difficulty with which I devoured them; having to set them aside periodically, simply because of the emotion and revelation they brought. Even so, I still feel a profound reaching and longing inside, because she is not here.

Even better than pictures & stories, I got to embrace my Great-Grandmother Grace, before she passed away. What a beautiful, sweet lady. A treasure and heritage that I will never take for granted; it is so rare for an adoptee to have this many years of reunion. I am in awe.

My husband and I spent one memorable New Year's Eve ballroom dancing with my grandmother Carolyn (Price). Her mother was Victoria Smalley. A "praying woman" of whom I am so thankful.

And then there are my grandparents on my first father's side, Papa Sid (from whom I got my Jewish heritage) & Grandma Mary. They passed away just a few years ago. I will never forget my grandmother Mary's reaction when I told her I was having a baby. She threw her head back in a huge smile and shouted "Finally!" The last time I saw her, her health had deteriorated quickly but she had pictures of her newest great-grandson on her wall, whom she never got to see in person. She passed away just a few weeks before I got to bring him home from the NICU. Tears.

That same year I had to bury my adoptive grandmother, Evelyn (Nanny), who helped raise me and from whom I got my middle name. She only got to see my son one time.

My adoptive family comes from a long line of "Shepards" (family name). When going through this journey of search and discovery, God seemed to be reminding me that He has always been my Shepard, my Comforter. He restores my soul.

What a sad summer that was. But full of hope and joy, also, with becoming a new Mother to my miracle preemie. It all seems like a blur now, those first anxious months in the hospital. And the relationships and mourning I had to put on hold in order for me and my son to survive. Just now revisiting that fateful year and these bitter-sweet memories.

As I get older names are so much sweeter to me. All these precious names. Family names. We named our son Andrew Bryan. Andrew is my sweet brother's middle name (one I am reunited with) and after my wonderful husband, Brian.

So many connections and reconnections I am thankful for. These pictures are some of the many beautiful cousins in my life. Some I grew up with and am still close to, and others I didn't meet until adulthood, but have become so very special to me.

My adoptive Great-Uncle Olan walked me part-way down the aisle at my wedding, almost 20 years ago. To me, it represented my childhood, and how special those relationships with my adoptive family are. Then my first father walked me the second-half, to the altar. We were recently reunited, and I'm so thankful I was on his arm that special day; representing my new-found identity and treasured connections lost and found. We are so much alike in our mannerisms, looks, stature, and personality. Amazing. Thank you, Dad, for being in my wedding. It means more to me than you could ever know.

Uncle Olan was a barber here in my home-town. As a child I would spend time in the Anchor Barber Shop on Harvard Ave., not knowing his fellow barber friend who owned a shop around the corner on Peoria Ave., was actually my birth great-grandfather, Ernie Terrell. Not until I became an adult and reunited with my entire first family did any of us know.

My china cabinet graces my First Mother's beautiful china with tiny, delicate purple violets, right along side my adoptive Mother's heirloom china, and some beautiful dishes from Grandma Mary and my adoptive Aunts Kay & Hazel, who were so special to me growing up.

These beloved heirlooms, from both my families through adoption and birth, all mingled together in my home and heart, represent the blend of bitter-sweet heritage which is "me."

Names who mean so much, some close in childhood, some in adulthood, and some I grieve not ever knowing. My own family. My own name(s).

I'm not related to Dr. Seuss (that I know of), but even his name holds a special place in my heart. A few years ago I took an art journaling class and the assignment was to read his book, "Oh, the Places You'll Go" and write a new version of the poem about your own life journey. Then draw a picture to match. I had never connected to my artsy side before, or the deep emotions over my relinquishment, adoption, and reunion. It was truly amazing to experience myself delve into hours and hours (that seemed like minutes) as I let these locked up words and emotions flow onto the paper in colors I didn't understand. It was so true that creativity does help you "tap" into emotions and experiences that are more easily avoided or stuffed. What came out was a picture of many eyes, all blue, like mine. They represented the family, ancestors and identity that surround me all around, yet I was separated from for so long. And the poem went like this:

"Oh, The Places You’ll Go...A Journey Through the Eyes of An Adoptee"

You’ll wake up one day

And find yourself floating on rivers of golden tears...

In deep scars of black and purple, too,

Streaming from your hidden view

Amidst eyes of blue.

Encircling your heart is crimson red,

Blood of the fathers you never knew

Heart enshrined...

Finally you’ll find the "real" you

Safely hidden in the prison of blue,

Your only chance now is to ride the hues

Grief unlocks the colors of life...

You’ll find your "purple" deep inside,

After the ride.

So, close your eyes and feel the depth;

You’ll find you’re not alone...

Surrounded by the throng ~ the unseen tears...

Hold on.

I must visit the eyes of my forefathers...the pain of my unknown

Connect with the blood with whom I found life;

Love through the tears of my own.

by Peach

Mother(s)

The last few weeks have been a blur of one thing after another, and I am beyond exhausted. Literally.

My Mom (who still lived alone and worked) fell in her drive-way and suffered a compression fracture in her lower back. She had not talked to her physician about having alot of G.I. problems and when she was hospitalized and then sent to a rehab center these problems escalated quickly. The pain medication caused her to be extremely confused and she refused to eat (for the past 3 weeks) because of nausea/vomiting. I got more and more frustrated watching my Mom go downhill instead of recuperating, and talking to the rehab facility doctor and getting nowhere.

I finally talked to a nurse there who agreed to call an ambulance to transport my Mom to another hospital and we spent 10 hours in E.R. a couple of nights ago, to find out that her potassium level was at 2.1 and severely dehydrated. I was just sure that the literally dozens of obviously sick people right outside our little cubicle curtain had swine flu, or something else we certainly wouldn't want either. It was so tiring.

Each time I think I'm getting help for my Mom, it seems like there is another hurdle to advocate over. Once they admitted her and got her electrolytes restored, they came into her room (the next day!) and asked what rehabilitation facility she wanted to be transferred to. I had to jump up and down to get the doctor to call in a G.I. Specialist and a Spine Specialist. Well, the G.I. guy did a simple exray and found that my Mom was "full of it" (exact words) and a little Miralax he thought would do the trick. I tried to tell him that she had been having G.I. problems for several months and didn't he think he should do a scope or something to see what is going on. But he said he would do it later if this didn't resolve the issue. Later is not good, when Mom has been having problems for months, and this compression fracture has just compounded the issues.

I was so tired today I literally couldn't pull my body out of bed, yet she gets "embarrassed" to have help from the nurses for her personal care. When I am there, she won't ask for help from them or tell them she is having symptoms. So I take on all the emotional responsibility and it has been tough. As a side-note here, I can't even count the number of times I've heard this scenerio in the past three weeks. Mom won't touch her food and a nurse questions her as to why. Instead of telling them upfront that she was nauseauous, she says "You think I might be pregnant?" When they laugh and dismiss her, she quickly inserts, "I have a little grandson who would just LOVE a sibling." Talk about frustration, listening to this flippant, Freudian dialogue over and over, and feeling like Mom is still jealous in her old age, of women having babies.

This, also, is another whole post, but for some reason it is really hard to assist my Mom with her personal care and bodily functions, if you know what I mean. I've always wondered if it had something to do with me being adopted, and the fact that we don't share that biological connection. Yet, I have always been extremely loyal and felt emotionally responsible for her happiness. I am so trying to avoid making my son feel emotionally responsible for me.

Now for the only part of today that gave me a tiny bit of laughter ~ After I picked my son up from preschool I thought I'd "run" up to the hospital and let my Mom visit with him for awhile, because I know I will not have the energy to go again tonight. I was hurriedly trying to get him to the restroom before he had an "accident" (he is potty training) as I knew right after school he usually needed to go and I put a diaper on him for his naptime anyway. I didn't have an extra pair of pants for him, so I knew I was racing time. Well, on the way to the restroom in the hospital I happened to see a door labeled "Patient Advocate" and my stressed-out mind thought I'd open it just to see what I found. Inside was a small office with a Sister (Nun) sitting behind a desk and very willing to hear my story. I hurriedly tried to explain the situation and that I was so concerned that the hospital please not discharge my Mom until they know she is eating again and has more strength, yada, yada, yada. All the while my son is doing really well (considering) that it is way past his naptime. He decides to sit in a chair while the Sister takes notes and is very lovely and patient with him, giving him a notepad and pencil to help her, etc.
I'm glad I stopped in there, but it did stress me out more trying to talk about Mom and deal with my hyper-tired little one.

Anyway, we finally left the office and as soon as we hit the bathroom I realized it was too late and Andrew had pee peed in his pants ~ the only pair I had with me. Thankfully, I did have a diaper, so I hurriedly put it on him and we headed (in his stroller) up to the 3rd floor to give my Mom the Peach Tea she loves, hoping she would drink it. Wouldn't you know, I end up running into an old co-worker and also got several stares from elevator-mates, etc. with my little 4 year old in a stroller pantless, with only a diaper and shirt. Not just that, but him screaming that HE wants to push the buttons!!! I should have known it is impossible just to make a quick "run" anywhere! Nope.

Once we made it to Mom's room she wasn't even in there, but had been taken for an MRI to follow-up on her back (thank goodness, because I had to plead with the doctor to get a spine specialist involved as well). It has taken all my energy just to try to get medical care for my Mom, so much so, that I have no energy left just to be with her and care for her. Now I am trying to convince my husband that he needs to take a few days off work so I can somehow try to rest and also tour area rehab centers (glorified nursing homes : ( so I'll hopefully be a little more prepared when they walk back in her room (who knows when) and ask that flippant question. Oh my gosh.

I am still trying to get to the funny part of this story ~ sorry. When I realized my son had wet his pants (soaked) I realized that he had probably wet the nice Sister's chair as well, and in that little, not-well-ventilated office, good luck on trying to salvage that chair! Nothing like leaving alittle bit of yourself behind when you leave ~ right! lol

On the way home, Andrew looked over and saw the Children's part of the hospital which happens to be blue, and he loudly exclaimed, "wanna go to the blue hospital sometime and get a beer?" No joke ~ it sounded exactly like that. I laughingly replied ~ "Yes, that sounds like a great idea, honey!". He had remembered the little "BEAR" he got during one of his surgeries and I'm sure that is what he really wanted, but I kind of liked the "BEER" better! lol

Another whole part to this saga is the fact that I have always avoided this particular hospital because it is the one my First Mother passed away in, back in 1980, ten years before I "found" her. For several years I was almost scared to drive by it, because of the buried feelings that were trying to seep their way up through my numbed-out adoptee denial. I still can't let myself emotionally "go there" much, simply because it is too overwhelming. Just to know that here it is almost Mother's Day and my Birthday (same freaking day) and my Mom is in this same hospital now. Both my Mothers with all the complicated emotions still STUCK in me it seems (at least today).

I'd do anything for my Mom to be knocking on my front door right now "surprising" me with one of her visits, even IF it was an inconvenient time. Yet I also beat myself up for not knowing how to balance my priorities as I don't want to end up so emotionally and physically exhausted from trying to care beyond what I just can't physically succeed at and neglect my son, my own motherhood, my marriage, my mental and physical health, etc. It is so difficult. I took care of Mom through a bone-marrow transplant back in my 20's, as well as my grandmother. It is all very triggering right now. I thank God for several good years of restoration for my son to have a relationship with his Grandma and for her to be able to enjoy him. And I don't want that to ever end. I just pray for healing and strength for her and for a good rehab center who will help us to that end. Because I'm so tired.

Yet I'm also sitting here weeping and missing a woman who I never really met (at least as an adult). The woman who gave birth to me and who searched for me her entire life. And I her. My Mother. Who I have missed every day for 41 years.

I love them both so much.