Today’s story by a grieving friend (not the blogger) but such an important acknowledgement – remembering Tam on the anniversary of her birth.
She cried for weeks after she arrived. Tam spent years in the orphanage back in Vietnam, it became her home and the other children her family. She played a cassette tape of all the songs they sang together. Each time it ended, the crying would die down as she flipped it to the other side. The crying would resume after she hit the play button. Profound pain and sadness. Grief.
Tam was blind, yet moved with ease, feeling with her hands, smelling with her nose. She took care of herself meticulously, especially her hair. She refused to use a service dog and reluctant to use her cane, never wanting to draw that kind of attention to herself. She had a good amount of self-pride.
I graduated from college in 2000 with a degree in psychology. I had also wanted to minor in social work which seemed to come to me more easily. Second semester senior year was just a bit too late to choose a new major, or even a minor. Since then, I’ve surrounded myself with social workers for most of my career.
Midterms are one of the last ways to boost your GPA, and I could have used a boost! I also received my acceptance letter from UConn to their master’s program at their school of family studies. I make the call back home from my dorm room to share the news. “Tam is in the hospital, call everyone to come home.”
The story of how she died has been told a number of different ways in the media over the years. What hasn’t been included in Tam’s story though is that as adopted people, we live with layers of pain, trauma and in a constant state of grief. Too often it is disenfranchised grief, to the point we aren’t aware our bodies still feel the losses we’ve endured. Too often an act of suicide is confused with wanting to stop the pain. To stop feeling. Sometimes, we act impulsively after a fight or argument as we register it as a threat. This threat triggers our fear response. Fear of rejection. Anger at ourselves.
Whatever it is, we just want the pain to go away. We are tired of feeling. We want it to stop. Suicide continues to be stigmatized, and those, like me, live with shame and guilt. It’s why there is a movement to normalize these thoughts and feelings, so people can share them to be seen, heard and validated. It’s powerful when someone connects with you and says “I see you, thank you for helping me understand your pain.” With that kind of connection, a life can be saved.
The truth is that Tam died in 2000. Both her life and death have profoundly changed me. I continue to turn my pain into purpose. To keep telling her story. Many people don’t realize how important it is when you’ve been adopted. Your story is told by others, often to shape a narrative. I strive to tell Tam’s truth. Even through her death, she deserves to be seen. Her pain and how she lived makes her human.
It was her birthday last week. I now call it the anniversary of her birth. Often it is a traumaversary for those who are adopted. I will never know what she would have been like at this stage of adulthood. I do remember her laugh. What a laugh!
Missing Mom 