Today’s story –
I wanted to share a little story as I believe we retain memories from when we were in the womb and I’m tired of people saying infants don’t experience trauma being separated from their mom or that we were too young to remember. I’m a domestic infant adoption. I was adopted before I was born and it was finalized 3 months after. My mom never saw me or held me outside her body. They wouldn’t let her because they were afraid she’d change her mind. When I was a kid, I tried to get everyone to call me Storm. I wanted to change my name. I felt, deeply, that I was Storm. Nobody would call me that, and some made fun of me, so I stopped, but I still called myself that on the inside. Fast forward many years. I met my biological mom when I was 21. I immediately recognized her and even recognized her smell. I asked her if she’d named me. She said yes, I named you Stormy.
Here’s my personal version. On my mom’s original birth certificate that I received with her adoption file from the state of Tennessee, her mom’s name is listed as Lizzie Lou Stark (her maiden name which is common on birth certificates, she was married, her married surname was Moore). I have referred to my original maternal grandmother as Lizzie Lou ever since I knew her name. Finally, met some of my mom’s maternal line cousins (my mom died in 2015 knowing nothing except that her parents were Mr & Mrs J C Moore – not a lot to go on, so common and vague), they refer to her as Aunt Lou. Well, my middle sister, born 13 mos after me was named Lou Anne. There was a sister in law of my dad’s adoptive mother we called Aunt Anne as children. But the “Lou” part ? My husband has theorized that as my mom wasn’t separated from her mother until she was about 8 months old and was physically present with her until she was 6 months old, deep in my mom’s infant memory was the name “Lou”. Therefore, this story this morning made me smile and I read it to my husband.
Another adoptee shares – I have a similar story, though not nearly as amazing because I wasn’t adopted until I was 13 months old. But I wasn’t talking yet, and in 1978, my parents were told I’d have no memories of my first year of life. Once I could speak, I asked what had happened to my dog, and about my yellow house with a fence. Both of those memories were accurate I found out when I found my biological family. Also, anytime I pretended to be someone else with my friends, I picked a name similar to Nicole. It turns out my first name was Tiffany Nicole, and I was called Nikki.
And one more for Foster Care Awareness Month – I was put in a temporary foster home from birth to two months when I was placed with my adoptive parents. From the time I could speak, every baby doll I ever had I named Amy. I found out at age 20 that my name in foster care was Amy.
Missing Mom 