A Black Hole of Identity

Today’s story is very much like my own dad’s perspective –

My Dad is an Adoptee (from birth). I knew this growing up and he knew his whole life as well. I know as much as he does about the circumstances of his adoption. And I never thought too much of it until I was older (teens) and he made a comment to me about me being his only blood. He never met his Parents, he never had a desire too (as he has stated). He was not kept from doing so and knowing my grandparents they do not seem like the kind of people that wouldn’t have allowed him to, if he had wanted.

As far as my Dad’s side of the family it was filled in with his Adoptive parents and adoptive family which made sense to me (and him). Here is where I am struggling. For a few years now, I’ve been very curious about my actual bloodline and where I’m from essentially. I know nothing about 3/4 of my ancestry/bloodline. Is it weird to have such a desire to know? I mean I can respect not knowing or seeking out people my parents have no desire to know themselves but I’d love to know where I’m from (I hope I’m saying that right). I’ve considered doing an Ancestry DNA type thing. Not sure if it would fully answer my questions and satisfy my curiosity. Am I being selfish being curious in the first place? I in no way want to disrespect my parents or trample on any trauma they have…which is why I haven’t yet to express this curiosity/desire to either of them.

Does anyone who is the child of an Adoptee or Adoptee with children have thoughts on this? Would it be wrong even bringing this up to them? Would it be wrong to do something like Ancestry DNA (should I tell them or just do it?)

blogger’s note – I responded. This is as close as I’ve gotten to anyone with a family history like mine and none yet with the same circumstances.

I am the child of 2 adoptees and my dad was a lot like your dad. It is not weird to want to know your heritage. After my parents died and I was already well over 60 years old myself, I finally uncovered ALL 4 of my original grandparents identities. I have connected with a few genetic cousins and one aunt. It has been an odd journey that did affect how I felt about my adoptive relatives. After several years, I believe I am somewhat reintegrating who they were during my childhood with the complicated understanding that I was never genetically related to any of them. HUGS. I do hope you find the information your heart is wanting to know. Regardless of how it has complicated my feelings, I am grateful to finally feel whole, without that black hole of not knowing anything about our heritage, just who my parents were.

PS I did BOTH Ancestry and 23 and Me. They were very helpful in my own journey. Go for it. You don’t need anyone’s permission.

Actually Not Related

This is the day my parents married in 1953 because my teenage mom was pregnant with me and my dad did right by her. They were both adoptees. As incredible as it may seem to the reader, it was only recently that I realized how miraculous it is that I did not end up given away and adopted.

Certainly, my mom’s adoptive parents could not have been happy about all their dashed hopes for my mom. No debutante ball, no marrying into the upper class. Instead her husband came from a humble and poor family. In spite of it all, they remained married for life, over 60 years, and died 4 months apart.

How to explain what it is like ? I chose to relocate myself to Missouri. Eventually, I would discover lots of connections to my chosen home state. Yet, they were not my own family connections, not really. There was the town in Missouri – Dittmer – founded by my mom’s adoptive father’s family. There was the town in Missouri – Eugene – founded by my mom’s adoptive mother’s family. There was the town in Illinois – Belleville – founded by my dad’s adoptive mother’s family. I could not claim any of these places had a real relationship to my family history. It is a weird black hole to spend one’s life within.

Now I really know what is important. Loss, betrayal and abandonment force us to let go of our attachments. When my parents died, I became an orphan. I also lost a close and loving relationship with my youngest sister, who’s mental illness that appears to be some kind of paranoid schizophrenia, caused her to distrust me as I attempted to close out our parent’s estate. I heard my mom’s voice in my head saying “finish the work.” That work was requesting the court to create a supportive situation for my sister since she could no longer depend upon our parents and was hostile towards me. A lifetime of being there for her was lost and abandoned by her. Sadly.

A Black Hole

Until recently, my family history beyond my two parents was a black hole. They were both adopted and died knowing next to nothing about their origins. After more than 60 years of living, I know now what those origins are.

Most people KNOW who their parents are. Even a parent who abandons his family may still be a known entity to his child but not someone who was adopted. It is all unknown, unless it is a modern, more progressive and supportive adoption – which thankfully, many of them are beginning to be.

People don’t want to hear that you have no freakin’ clue to your identity. Not knowing is both painful and unusual in our society. It is associated with negative stereotypes such as “bastards” and “mistakes”. You hear about “those people” but you never expect to be talking to one in the flesh.

I recently read about the child of an adoptee who’s coping mechanism with that unknown was to tell everyone he was Cuban. Until recently, I used to tell everyone I was an “albino African” because I could have been. There was no one to tell me I wasn’t. Then, I got my DNA tested and finally knew I was Danish and Scottish and English and Irish, even a little Ashkenzai Jew and Neanderthal.

It is wonderful to now have a universe of genetic connections out there instead of being the product of a black hole.