Why I Count My Blessings

Given that being adopted or giving up a child for adoption was the most natural (or is that normal ?) thing in my childhood family, it was not until I finally learned my original grandparents stories that led to both of my parents ending up adopted in the 1930s, that I truly realized the minor miracle of my own life that I was not also given up for adoption.

I was conceived when my mother was a junior in high school. My father had only just started his university studies in a nearby city but in another nearby state. I don’t really know how I came to be there in my mom’s womb but I guess it happened either just before my dad went away to college or during some brief visit home.

One of the joys of my discoveries was a letter a friend of my mom and dad who sent a letter to my dad when my mom died. He was also a good friend of my mom’s adoptive older brother. In it, he described taking her to a party and that after meeting my dad, the two of them left the party, leaving him bereft of a date.

My parents were married for over 50 years after their hastily arranged marriage to confer upon me legitimacy. Still considering they both had adoptive parents who must have believed in the value of babies given up for adoption to other people to raise – it will always amaze me that I was not given up as well (both of my own sisters ended up giving up babies to adoption).

The author, Barbara Bisantz Raymond, of the book The Baby Thief (about Georgia Tann who was involved in my mother’s adoption) found this blog. In a phone conversation with her, she said, “I’ve never met anyone with so much adoption in their family tree.” It’s true, there is a lot of that. Even so, I had a wonderful childhood with good enough parents and siblings. Therefore, I will always be grateful I didn’t end up with that fate of being adopted as well. The unhappy ending stories I’ve absorbed about adoption go very far towards making me exceedingly grateful for my own good fortune.

Without Secrecy or Shame

The mom’s group related to my youngest son once divided ourselves into tell/don’t tell. After that, we could no longer discuss, within the whole group, the medical technology that had brought all of us together. Our children were all born within a 4 month window of time. We’ve only gotten together once (and not all of us made it to the event) when our children were 2 years old. One woman who gave birth to twins developed a rapid breast cancer and is no longer with us. As to the others, I often wonder how the ones who were “don’t tell” will manage the reality of inexpensive DNA testing and matching services that are ubiquitous today. Though I never ask . . .

My family was always open about the truth but also did not make a big issue of it. Locally, I really didn’t think it was anyone else’s business. After our egg donor did 23 and Me, I got my husband a kit. Then we got both of our sons kits. That gave us an opportunity to talk over one Sunday night dinner about the whole circumstance of how we came to have them. They seem to understand that they would not exist any other way. As their biological mother (though they don’t have my genes – at least not from the egg that became them – who knows what all goes on in the womb ?), I don’t detect any difference in our relationships with one another – thankfully.

So, yesterday, I read this story that, of course, spoke to me in very personal ways. I suppose part of my own reasons for honest transparency had to do with the fact that I am a child of 2 adoptees and until after they had both died, I knew next to nothing about our origins. My only regret is that I didn’t uncover those details while they were still alive.

The story was part of LINK>Huffpost Personal and was submitted by Julee Newberger titled – My Parents Hid The Truth Of My Birth From Me. I Almost Did The Same To My Own Daughter. It is subtitled – “The longer we waited, the more anxious I became. If we didn’t tell her soon, I feared it could do lasting damage to our family.”

She explains – “When I was my daughter’s age, I believed I was the biological daughter of my doting mom and dad, who said they tried to have children for more than 10 years until, at last, I arrived. But I always sensed that something was amiss. There were no pictures of my mother pregnant or stories about my birth. Nobody in the family had my crooked smile or blue-green eyes. I’d overheard some whispered conversations about adoption, but whenever I asked my parents, they shut it down.”

“By the time an older cousin confirmed that I was adopted, I was in my early 40s and both my parents had passed away. This midlife discovery left me with tangled emotions and no way to work through it with the two people I’d loved and trusted most. It’s possible that my parents thought they were saving me from stigma or that they feared I’d abandon them in lieu of my biological family.”

Regarding the conception of her daughter, she notes – “I also experienced something I hadn’t anticipated ― a sense of shame, as if I had cheated nature. At 44, maybe I wasn’t supposed to be a new mother, and by extension, this beautiful baby wasn’t truly mine. . . . feeling like an imposter, somehow less ‘legit’ than the other moms.” Up until her daughter’s questions about ethnicity, she had told herself that it was too soon to explain donor conception to a child who was too young to understand how a baby was made.

So, this is how it proceeded – “As soon as she started asking about her ancestry, I bought a book called ‘You Began as a Wish’ by Kim Bergman, which talks about all the different ways kids are conceived. My husband and I planned for all of us to read it together, but my daughter preempted that by pulling the book out of a box of Amazon purchases after school.” The author continues, “My whole body tensed as she began reading aloud and asking questions: ‘So all kids are made up of sperm, an egg, a womb’ … ” So, Julee came out with it – “Remember we told you that Mommy had trouble getting pregnant at first?” I said matter-of-factly. “Well, an anonymous donor gave us an egg so that we could have you.”

“After a while, I could see recognition in her warm brown eyes, different in color and shape than my own. “So, I’m related to somebody else,” she said. The author notes – “A recent study on third-party reproduction. Results showed families have better outcomes when parents tell kids about their conception early on, ideally by the time they’re 7 years old. The longer we waited, the more anxious I became. If we didn’t do it soon, I feared it could do lasting damage to our family.”

blogger’s note – I don’t regret any of our choices. The situation is simply my family’s reality and we are far from alone in our circumstances. It is a whole new world thanks to medical progress.

Why One’s Name Is Important

This is an actual homework assignment. Now, imagine you were adopted. How do you answer these questions in a classroom where most of the other children were not adopted ?

One of the reforms most mentioned in the adoptee community is the importance of a child keeping the name they were given at birth. My mother, really cared about her birth name, once she learned what it was. My father discovered his birth name when his adoptive parents died and was surprised by it.

Changing a child’s name after adopting them is taking away their legitimate identity in an effort to pass them off as having come directly from you – as though you gave birth to them. In fact, adoptee’s birth certificates are changed to further the false story of their origins.

Certainly, in a more morally judgmental time, the idea was that adoptees were bastards who needed to be protected from the cruelty of being outed. Now single mothers give birth to children intentionally. Times have changed and so should how we protect and nurture a child who’s parents are just not ready to be fully supportive of them.

Every child has a right to their authentic identity and to their actual conception and origins stories. The time is now for a good reform.

Real

Me in 1997 with Mom and Dad

For most of my life, this is as far back as I was able to know about my origins and my parents knew next to nothing because they were both adopted in the 1930s. I know that my own mom thought about her original mother. I’m certain she wondered what the woman looked like – I know now.

I don’t know about my grandmother’s interests or personality. I once talked to a nephew of hers who said she was kind and referred to her as Aunt Lou. I suspect my grandmother did think about her daughter from time to time. I can’t believe she didn’t and she kept that name active that was on my mom’s birth certificate, even having it put on her gravestone. That tells my own heart a lot.

I believe my grandmother would have fantasized about my mom finding her, as much as my mom fantasized about finding my grandmother. The state of Tennessee would have sought permission from my mom’s original parents when she was seeking them, had they still been alive. That is a tragic aspect to my own family’s story.

I wonder if my mom ever considered “searching” when she became pregnant with me. She never said anything about it until the scandal of Georgia Tann re-emerged into the national consciousness in the 1990s. That is what motivated my mom to try – stories on television and in magazines about successful adoptee reunions.

I wonder if, in the 5 decades that passed between her adoption and her actual effort, those feelings of wanting to know were stuffed deep down into some kind of guarded place of forbidden knowledge ? Was she paralyzed to some extent by a fear of rejection, disruption and disloyalty to the adoptive parents ? I believe my dad was. He wouldn’t even consider “going there” and encouraged my mom not to open that “can of worms” hidden behind the sealed adoption records.

When my mom’s adoption file arrived, I knew it’s precious nature, wanted no risk to its contents. I read each page with hungry eyes. My mom only knew from her attempt that her parent’s names were Mr & Mrs J C Moore. At least, she knew she wasn’t illegitimate !! With the arrival of my mom’s adoption file – I had full names – Jay Clinton (actually an error, Church was his actual middle name) Moore and Lizzie Lou Stark (her maiden name and youthful nickname to her birth name Elizabeth).

In my mom’s file were black and white negatives – my grandmother holding my mom for the last time – and my grandmother’s handwriting. I knew she had siblings and that her mother had died when she was young. I understood why, even though my mom was born in Virginia, she was adopted in Memphis, TN – my grandmother’s family lived there. Why Virginia ? I have theories. What I do know is the Stark family immigrated in from Scotland at Virginia.

It is hard to explain the impact of having so much information after 60+ years of living for my own self and the sorrow that my mom was denied such a comforting perspective on the events that caused her to become adopted. From there, it has been a whirlwind for me. In less than a year from receiving that file – I knew who all 4 of my original grandparents were. I was whole and it was an unmistakable feeling to know that I was – finally.

The pieces fell into place in an almost magical way. It was as though one door opening, unlocked all of the other doors. Not exactly but even so – the dominoes kept tumbling.

The first genetic relative I found was the daughter of my mom’s half-sibling, a sister who I barely missed seeing alive by only a couple of months – sadly. This cousin was able to give me so much information and share so many photos with me that I almost felt like I had experienced it all firsthand.

In reading between the lines of my mom’s adoption file as regards my grandmother, I am certain in my heart that losing my mom was heartbreaking and life changing. After all, it’s clear that she couldn’t face my mom’s father with the news. Finally, after 3 years of separation, he filed for a divorce and she did not contest it but re-married a short time later. A bit later, he re-married. At least they didn’t die alone – neither of them.

Every new piece of information I have received about my grandparents has contributed to my own self becoming more real and whole. That may sound strange if you have always known what I grew up not knowing. It has been life-changing for me.

Neither of my grandparents had any more children after my mom was lost to them. Her father already had 4 other living children (the fifth one had died before my mom was conceived). My grandmother only ever had one child – my mom.

Sometimes, I grieve on behalf of my parents and original grandparents. The severity of the loss for each and every one of them, even if it was normal for the Great Depression and the morals of that time, is something I really can’t do anything about. Yet sometimes the tears still come in my eyes – like now as I write this.

Sometimes, I am equally aware, that these genetic relatives I have been discovering are total strangers to me. I do work at getting to know each one of them better – it is a slow process that simply can’t make up for 6 decades of life.

I am genuinely happy for what has happened unexpectedly to me in my life since the doors began to open wide. I feel a completeness that I didn’t totally realize was a missing part as the child of adoptees who knew nothing about their origins.

Telling The Story

If at any age your child asks you about their adoption and they want to know why –
they deserve the absolute truth. It should be age appropriate.

At a very young age, “Mommy couldn’t take care of you.”, may be enough.

Kids know when their parents don’t want them. They don’t need to be told; they’ve felt it from the beginning. Babies can feel rejection in the womb and it affects their attachments.

The majority of adoptees feel unwanted – whether it is a one time thing, or episodic, or lifelong – the question is how accurate is that perception ?

A parent should not evade an adoptee’s question but they should be sensitive and gentle in their response.

Not answering with the real reason when they ask, can lead them to feel like they aren’t good enough to be told the truth. Or that what they want doesn’t matter. Or that they aren’t smart enough to understand it. Or that they ought to just be happy with whatever answer they are given. And that they should stop bringing it up because the parent doesn’t want to talk about it.

A competent, caring, informed Adoptive Parent can manage to put the child’s feelings first and provide an answer that meets that child where they are developmentally, emotionally and intellectually.

But never lie. There are many subliminal messages that get sent to adoptees. Children often see themselves as the problem. The Adoptive Parent may not really know the whole truth. It may be very complex.

My dad’s original mother had a love affair with a married man. My dad was with his mother for some months after birth. Even so, she may have come to feel that adoption was her only solution to what may have been primarily a financial problem in the 1930s.

My mom’s story was complex. Her mother didn’t intend to lose her. She was exploited by a woman who was stealing and selling babies. My grandparents were married when my mom was conceived. It is not possible to know the whole story now about why they were separated. They are both dead and the descendants don’t seem to know the details accurately enough to convey them.

Parents should know that their children are incredibly resilient. Whatever the adoptees story is, they deserve to have their history told to them honestly.