What Will The Future Bring ?

I’m not good at predicting the future. Sometimes I misread my intuitions. Even so I trust a kind of momentum and tendency in Life to bring about whatever my heart desires the most as well as protect me from my fears and misunderstandings.

I’ve been writing this blog daily for almost a year now. It amazes me that I usually find something to say. Certainly, my journey over the last two years has been remarkable. Not everyone affected by the erasing of their personal history is able to make the progress I have. My compassionate sympathy for all of those who like my own mom have been rejected when they have made the attempt.

What made the difference for my own self ? I believe it has been a combination of undeserved luck and persistence not to give up. Doors have opened in almost miraculous ways at times that I did not see ever coming into my own reality.

What kind of advice can I give others ? One is to educate yourself as close to reality as possible for stories and delusions do not serve the individual or collective good. Another is to be gently persistent. Furthermore, if someone becomes upset with you, try your best to understand where they are and allow them to work through their own wounds and traumas at their own personal speed and willingness to accept.

I am grateful for all the progress I have made so far. I have no idea where I will find myself next on this journey but I do have some hopes, goals and dreams. I wish you all the best of good fortune and protection for your vulnerable parts as we journey together into the next new decade and the next yet best to be and hopefully with not too many hurts and disappointments.

I’m OK With It

The truth is, some adoptees will tell you they are okay with having been adopted. Far be it from me, to say they are not sincere. My own father was like that and my niece and nephew probably were as well.

With my niece and nephew, they did want to discover their own origins and both were able to do that. And it was their own initiative. One can be okay with how they were raised and even come to understand the reasons why it may have been for the best in their particular circumstances.

That does not deny the reality that separating children from their parents causes deep psychic wounds. It simply does.

And that doesn’t dismiss the possibility that as a society we can do better than we have in regard to children’s welfare – because I also sincerely believe we can.

For one thing, there is no justification for taking a child’s identity away from them and for falsifying the information on their birth certificate. That is simply wrong.

There is also no reason for keeping adoption records sealed and locked away from adoptees after they reach adulthood. There are real reasons – such as family health history – for an adoptee to know their background.

And it is every person’s right to know their true story, even the sad stories, even the hard stories. No person has been handed a perfect, comfortable life. Even if it appears they have. There are always issues, even when we don’t know they are there.

Infertility Grief

Regarding choosing adoption after giving up on conceiving a child, it appears that all the screening in the world isn’t going to heal infertility grief. It isn’t going to magically turn a stranger’s child into the one you couldn’t have. It can’t predict how well you can actually love an adopted kid, even though you *really, really* think you can. It’s not going to account for a genetic mismatch between adoptee and adopter. Most importantly it doesn’t turn the adoptee into a robot, capable of bonding to any old genetic stranger at will. That’s the one thing I find never, ever gets talked about.

My husband and I tried and failed and did consider whether adoption was the way to go. At that time I knew nothing about the wounds associated with adoption. Yet, we felt we would rather begin from scratch than take on the unknowns of a pre-exiting child. So we turned to assisted reproduction.

I will always believe that this was a better choice than adoption. I already had a child that was genetically related to me and grandchildren too. My husband wanted that for his own self and I was sympathetic and understanding to his own need to become a father – even if he really waited way too long.

The advent of inexpensive DNA testing has brought it’s own unique reality to deal with but I am okay with it. My sons seem to be okay with it. They simply would not exist otherwise. Any other children that my husband might have conceived would not be these children. I believe in dealing with realities.

Turning to assisted reproduction meant these children were implanted and grew within my womb. The bonding of mother and child begins in the womb. These children nursed at my own breast for just over a year each. No one can be more their mother than I am.

I do see our donor and her own genetic children mirrored in my sons and we do not withhold access to that family though our sons seem disinterested in pursuing it at this time. Since we are older parents, someday they may reach out to establish a new genetic connection, just as I have in discovering my own.

I remember encountering my own infertility grief when I fully realized the natural method simply was not going to happen for us. I regretted my husband had married such an old woman. Even so, we have a good marriage and it would not have made good sense to simply throw that away to allow him to become a father. He is a good one because he waited until he was actually ready to commit himself to parenting.

An Un-fill-able Yearning

Now my adoptive grandparents did love us. It is true and I’d never say they did not. My adoptive grandmothers were both deeply religious too.

One of those Facebook quizzes that goes around quite a lot asked –

14. If you could talk to ANYONE right now who would be?

My answer was –

My real grandparents – never got to know them alive

Hearing about them from newly discovered “real” relations does help these nebulous persons become more real for me but nothing can fill the deep desire in my heart to be in their presence, to feel their personal energies and to be held and in deep conversation one-on-one with them. That will have to wait for the great reunion that can’t occur while I yet live and breathe on the Earth plane.

The closest indications I have of their natures, is what my own two parents were like in life, and I do believe they embodied the deepest core characteristics of the parents that my own parents never had the opportunity to know because they were each given up for adoption and raised by strangers – even if the strangers were entirely well-meaning (which I acknowledge they were).

Abandonment

Is abandonment one of your core wounds? It is for most adoptees. This poem by Jeff Foster speaks volumes.

if abandonment is the core wound

the disconnection from mother

the loss of wholeness

then the most potent medicine

is this ancient commitment

to never abandon yourself

to discover wholeness in the whole-mess

to be a loving mother to your insides

to hold the broken bits

in open awareness

to illuminate the sore places

with the light

of love

When the damage has already been done there is really only one pathway forward – find the love for that self that you are. No one can change what has already happened but we can begin to refrain the experience to find something about it to be grateful for.

In learning about the wounds of adoption and separation in my own immediate family, I came to realize the miracle. When my mom conceived me out of wedlock, how is it with adoption so accepted in our family structure that my mom wasn’t sent off to give me up for adoption ?

I think I can credit my dad’s adoptive parents for preserving me in the family. Even if they had built their own family through adoption, I suspect they realized that keeping parents and their children together was the best possible outcome.

Transracial Adoptions

This is not a topic I’ve discussed here before because I really don’t have any experience with it but Angela Tucker, an adoptee (raised by the white parents you see in the image above) has been speaking out about her experience of growing up among people who did not look like her.

Angela was able to achieve what many adoptees hope for – a reunion with her original parents. She found her father on Facebook in 2010. He is known as “Sandy the Flower Man” in Chattanooga TN. His actual name is Oterious Bell. What Angela noticed first was his smile – which matched hers.

Born in Chattanooga TN, Angela was adopted as a 1-year-old by David and Teresa Burt in Bellingham WA. Eventually, this Caucasian couple would adopt seven of their eight children, drawing together a family of diverse ethnicity.

“I’m an African American who ‘fits in’ within Caucasian areas, better than in predominantly African American areas,” says Angela. “That is confusing and interesting at the same time.”

She wanted to understand her ethnic background, her personality and character traits. Where did her athletic skill come from ? Who did she look like — her original mom or original dad ? At the age of 12, she began expressing interest in finding her original parents. But her adoptive parents flinched at the thought they might be replaced.

“On my part,” says Angela, “there was a need to explain what my motives were — not to replace anyone, but simply to figure out who I am. What are my roots ? How did I get from Tennessee to Washington — and why?” This question mirrors my own mother’s question – how did I get from Virginia to Tennessee ?

I love that her original mother’s name matches my own – Deborah. When Angela first found Deborah, she denied any familial connection. That rejection was a devastating blow for Angela. Deborah’s resistance did slowly give way to acceptance and embrace. Eventually, Deborah spoke for the first time ever about the pain she experienced regarding Angela’s birth.

“It is wonderful to ‘not see color,’ and to want to adopt any race,” Angela says. “But there is a difference in parenting a child from another race. … If you aren’t Caucasian, then you do see color. You have to. You can feel it. It instilled in me an attitude of humility and a genuine openness towards accepting and understanding complex situations.”

Angela’s quest to find her birth family shows that reconciliation is possible, even when the deepest of hurts becomes an obstacle. Her husband, Bryan Tucker, has made a documentary about her journey titled Closure. You can watch a trailer at – https://youtu.be/g__N9YW78XU.

Knowing One Is Adopted

I believe, from the time they were old enough to even understand the concept, both of my parents knew they were adopted. Therefore, as their children, we also grew up always knowing our parents had both been adopted, even though we had no idea of what that really meant. I thought my parents were orphans until rather late in life when I learned that my mom’s adoption had been part of the Georgia Tann scandal and that my mom believed she had actually been stolen from her original parents. It is a fact, she died still believing that.

Adoption is not something that should be a secret or something that anyone should be ashamed of. It is how an adoptee came to be in the family they grew up in. If you always know, then it just IS. It is better to know that no one ever kept something really important from your knowledge.

Growing up, adoption seemed very normal to me. It has always been a core circumstance of my family’s life. Therefore, both of my sisters also gave up children for adoption. They never thought it was harmful or wrong because to think that would have been to judge how we ended up with the parents that we were born to.

My family’s experiences are not unique, there are many many families that have been impacted by the process of adoption. It is important to me. I am grateful that my mom shared with me how she felt about her own adoption. I believe I am the only person she shared those feelings with.

The main reason most adoptees don’t talk about their struggles is generally the same. When they are young, they lack the ability to identify how they should or do feel about their origins. They are not able to articulate their feelings. As an adoptee gets older, if no one is talking about adoption, they get the sense that their feelings won’t be understood or validated.

What Was And Never Should Be

~ 1997 ~

Growing up, I had something my parents didn’t, my real genetically related mom and dad. I don’t know at what age I first learned that both of my parents were adopted. It was just a fact of life and one that I never judged to be good or bad for my entire childhood. Their adoptive parents were my grandparents and aunts, uncles and cousins I acquired in that manner were just that.

Adoption was so accepted in my family that both of my sisters ended up giving up a child to adoption. Parenting was seen as something any adult human being with good intentions could do. So my nephew ended being raised by his paternal grandparents and my daughter ended up being raised by her dad when he remarried a woman with a daughter and they had a daughter together, thus creating a family for her that I could not give.

Though I felt a piece was missing in my life – my cultural heritage that had been passed down by those unknown people who gave my parents life – it wasn’t until my mom started investigating her own adoption – after learning in the early 1990s, the story of the scandal that surrounded Georgia Tann’s work – that I became aware that all was not as it should be in adoptionland.

By the grace of a loving energy, I have been able to discover who all 4 of my original grandparents were since my parents died. It saddens me that they didn’t have the opportunity to know about these people themselves. I now know of cousin and aunts that I am genetically related to. I still cherish the family adoption brought to me as well.

What I never expected was the education I would receive along with learning my genetic roots about the damage done in the name of a profit-motivated industry taking babies from their mothers and giving them to the people who had money and could not have their own children for whatever reason.

What once was accepted and “natural” in my understanding – adoption – is now seen for the travesty it has been but thankfully, even that is changing in this world that continuously does.

Sunday Morning

I woke up this morning remembering going to church with my dad after my mom died. Growing up, my dad never went to church with us. He worked a lot, often double shifts at Standard Oil Refinery in El Paso Texas. After us kids left home, he started going to keep my mom company. Somehow it fed something in him that he continued to go after he lost her.

I don’t know what caused this photo to be taken or how it ended up in the possession of my dad’s original mother. I am intrigued by what appear to be several bed frames in the background. My dad was born in a Salvation Army Home for Unwed Mothers in San Diego California. After he was born, his mother was hired as a helper by the Salvation Army and transferred to El Paso Texas. It may be that my dad’s adoptive mother took him to visit her there. It may be that the look on his face is a disturbed recognition of his own mother. I’ll never know.

I know that by this point, he had been adopted for the first time. He would be adopted a second time after my Granny kicked her first husband, an abusive alcoholic, out of her home and then married a WWII veteran. So my dad was already 8 years old when he was adopted for the second time and had 2/3s of his name changed – again.

My dad looks healthy but not entirely happy here. I continue to wonder what that expression on his face means. It is serious and perhaps puzzled.

My dad simply accepted his adoption and never showed any interest in knowing about his original family. He cautioned my adoptee mom when she was seeking a reunion for herself that she might be opening up a can of worms. I think this epitomizes his perspective. Maybe he was afraid of learning the truth. I know he loved and cared for his adoptive parents.

It is a shame he didn’t know more about his origins, origins that I am fortunate to know now. He was so much like his Danish fisherman father and they would have had a great time in a boat out on the ocean doing what came naturally to both of them.

Every Adoptee Is Unique

We are all unique and so are our adoption stories. There is no one size fits all as to the experiences of any individual adoptee.

We should play close attention to our adoptions stories. Because being adopted is still relatively rare among the people of society, our stories matter as a window on a practice that takes the children of one mother and places them with a mother with whom they have no genetic connection.

As writers, we must polish the imagery with which we tell our stories so that they can receive the attention they are due.

In my own family’s numerous adoption stories, I seek to find their positive rather than their negative aspects, while not denying nor hiding from that. It is a reality and so, acceptance is an important part of healing any wounds that have occurred.

I search for the ways in which we have experienced life differently from those who without thought live the inherited version. As I discover the truths within my own family’s stories, I edit the plot accordingly because the truth has become even more important to me as a result of it’s having been hidden for so long.

I also keep my eye on the philosophical implications of the changes to the experience of having been adopted that reformers and activists seek to make.