Secrets No Longer

You won’t be able to access this story by LINK>Mindy Stern if you are not some level of “member” at Medium. I no longer have a paid membership but they allow me a few stories per month and I am careful not to use them all. You can still read what Mindy writes about adoption at her website linked above. I will simply excerpt some of the LINK>Medium – story “I Found My Father On The Internet” here.

It begins with her revealing – Two days earlier, I found my biological father and two half-sisters on the internet: pictures, addresses, phone numbers, Facebook profiles. My cell phone vibrated. Holy shit. It was the number I called two days earlier.

“Oh my god, its him,” I said to my daughter relaxing on my bed. “Pick it up!” I picked up my phone and my daughter picked up hers and opened her camera to video, aimed it at me and hit record. I found some words to say out loud.

“Hi yes, thanks so much for calling me back. So, you knew my mother, Gloria Gerwin?”

“Yes, of course I remember Gloria,” said this stranger on the other end. I covered my mouth and fell to my knees.

It’s him. I know it’s him.

Two weeks later in Madrid, she notes – let me tell you, until you have spent 26 fucking years searching for your father and he says, “I would have raised you if I knew,” you do not know your capacity to be moved.

She writes about viewing – The Garden Of Earthly Delights (in Madrid, which) tells the story of human’s struggle with morality. It admonishes the sin of lust and celebrates the joy of pleasure. It is fear and abandon; seeking and finding; risk and failure; creation and destruction. It is humanity in all its flawed magnificence and it is the story of life. In its complex beauty, I saw myself and my long, painful search for healing.

And back to how she found her father – I hadn’t checked my Ancestry account in months. My DNA had been there for a decade, and for a decade I got nothing more than distant cousins. No one who could help me find my father so I stopped checking it. But for some reason, that Sunday morning, I decided to check my account.

I had a 1st-to-2nd cousin match. Henry Minis. He had been there for six months. With trembling hands, I Googled his name, then searched his Facebook friends for someone who looked like me. I didn’t find that face or blue eyes or brown hair like mine, but I discovered everyone with the last name Minis lived in Savannah so I Googled “Minis family Savannah” and then, well.

The Minis family were the first settlers of Savannah, Jews like me, and the world wide web had a lot of information about them. Two hours after I began sleuthing, I found him. My first father. My God, I have younger sisters who look just like me.

I spent the day anxiously scouring the web, texting friends, asking what to do. Call? Write a letter? Reach out to my sisters first? My birthmother died before I found her, I didn’t have to contend with these questions or anxieties, didn’t have to strategize my introduction like it was the war plan of a conquering army. But now there were real live humans who might tell me to fuck off or might tell me hello, welcome to the family. So now, every choice felt like life or death, war or peace.

Late that afternoon — evening on his east coast — I impulsively called him. I left a duplicitous message on his voice mail. “Hi, this is Mindy Stern, my mother was Gloria Gerwin, she passed away, I found your name in her papers. I’m writing a book about her and wondering if you remember her, you might share your memories.”

The following day, I reached out to my sisters, messaged them on Facebook. I told them I believed their father was mine too, that I didn’t think he knew. My mother died not telling anyone about me, I wanted nothing more than health information and to know where and who I came from. I made all my social media public so they could see I was not a serial killer. I was a respectable human being any right-minded person would want to know.

Adoptees have to explain, qualify, reassure and beg for mercy from strangers we hope will understand our need and want and treat us with dignity.

That night, my sisters responded. They said they were shocked but thrilled, and open to a relationship. We corresponded for hours, exchanging family photos and life stories. Their kindness filled my soul like a prayer sung loud in a crowded church. We all agreed that Hal would never respond to the bananas message I left him.

And then he did. He denied having sex with my mother. Then, I said – DNA.

He remembered their nights together and said yes, I must be your father. He asked what I wanted. I assured him nothing more than information. He was so kind. I then told him I made contact with his daughters. He then said mean and angry words. He told me because I did that, I may never hear from him again.

My daughter stopped recording when she saw my face shift to despair. I hung up and sobbed. I then composed myself, got my shit together. I reminded myself I am an imperfect human and maybe I made a mistake. Or maybe I didn’t. But I was okay either way. I had a loving family and fulfilling life and fuck, I hated having to do this. This reaching out. This risking and falling.

Two hours later, as I pulled into the parking lot of the grocery store and blue skies shone through my windshield, my phone vibrated again and with it my body. I answered his call on the first ring and he said he was sorry. He told me he was just shocked. “If I knew, I would have raised you.” Three hours later we hung up.

My story is one of hope and perseverance. My story is also one of great grief, profound emptiness, and the struggle to reconcile with what could have been. Who would I be if I grew up knowing who I looked like or why I love writing or have fat toes and a genetic predisposition to psoriasis and anxiety? Who would I be if my life was defined by answers rather than questions? I don’t know — can’t know — all I know is this:

We are here, in this Garden of Earthly Delights, to find a way to embrace the contradiction, to embrace our contrasting parts, to accept our beauty and ugliness and the beauty and ugliness of humankind.

We are not here to compartmentalize, although we do that so well. We are here to overcome. To thrive, grow and flourish. To love and to mourn. To stick it out as best we can, having some fun and debauchery along the way.

blogger’s note – I share her story because I’ve had similar experiences hunting down my own genetic relations. It can be fearful and exciting – all at the same time.

Threats To Send Back

I don’t know why foster and adoptive parents make these cruel threats to a child who has already lost so much but sadly, it is NOT unusual. The miracle I realized when I learned about my adoptee parents (both were) was that when my teenage unwed mother became pregnant with me at 16, my dad was 18, that I was not given up for adoption. Thus, today’s story.

I was taken from my natural mother at 18 months. She was a teenage mom in the 80s. My natural mother was 16 when I was born. My natural father was 17. I was taken due to allegations of neglect. I don’t remember my natural mother. I can’t even picture her face. The only memory I have of her is sitting on the floor of the agency, and coloring with her in a coloring book. I remember putting a orange crayon up to my mouth and thinking about what color I wanted to use next and I remember her saying “No, No hunny. We don’t eat the crayons, we color with them”.

Anyways, I was in the foster care system for years, as they tried reunification, but my foster parents (later on adoptive parents) always fought it. I was always with the same foster parents, but other kids were always in and out of the house. Some for weeks and some for months. I would go to bed at night and the next morning, my foster sibling would be gone, usually reunited with their parents (I found this out later). I always cried, cause I would never see them again.

Eventually, I was adopted at the age of 6 by my foster, then adoptive parents. I never knew what it meant. I remember every February, they would throw a party, they would say it was the day they knew they’d get to keep me (I later found out February is when my natural father died in a horrible car crash at the age of 19). I eventually got 2 more adopted siblings (sisters) and thought my life was normal. But it wasn’t.

Everyday after the case workers stopped coming around (about 6 months after the adoption) my adoptive parents would threaten to send me back, if I didn’t act the way they wanted me to. If I got a bad grade in school, they would threaten me with the same. They would say I was no better than my natural mother and natural father. That I would never amount to anything in life. At 17, I ran away from them and never returned. I cut contact and have never spoken to them again. They were physically, mentally, and emotionally abusive.

At 18, I petitioned the courts for my adoption records, and my request was granted. And I found out so much. My adoptive mother was infertile, and adoption was the only way for her to have kids. They were also Christian and considered any unwed mom unfit and therefore, fought with my natural mother to keep me, because in their eyes, she couldn’t possibly raise me. They made allegations of abuse against her, said her family tried to sell me for $10,000, and that my natural mother’s younger brother tried to drown me in a pool. None of it was confirmed, but was put into the report by the social worker and used against my natural mother in court.

As for my natural father, he was gonna get custody of me until he tragically died, and my adoptive parents had fought against him every step of the way. There is much more as well, but that’s the summary.

I have never felt like I was good enough growing up and even now I still don’t. I have 2 kids now and everything I do is for them. I just want any hopeful adoptive parents and potential adoptive parents out there to know, don’t do this to any child. Even though you may get a child at a young age, they will still have memories of their natural family. And your words and actions will hurt them.

I Just Want To Know Why

The story of LINK>Penelope Cumler from the Right To Know website.

She was the youngest of 6 children – her father an ordained minister and her mother a housewife, then a teacher, then a nurse. Her parents “fought a lot. There was little affection, considerable distrust, and a general sense of chaos and hopelessness. Resentments and anger always seemed to simmer close by. Financial hardships that didn’t make sense for educated, middle class parents, and the shame of this that must be hidden.”

At 32, she begged her father to tell her why he didn’t like her—had never liked her. He became angry. He denied that he treated her differently, and told her to grow up, adding “What’s wrong with you, anyway?” And then, her father dropped dead of a heart attack, and then she was blamed for “causing trouble”. She just wanted to know why the whole family shunned her. It never seemed to be about her, about who she was, or her behavior. It was just her existence. Her presence.

Ten years later, she remembered visiting a cabin by the sea and playing with a little boy who was 3 years younger than she was. She asked her mother, “who that man was that we visited at his cabin by the sea. Why did we visit him?” The first time, she said he was just a family friend. “But…”, she began to say. And then something entirely unthought came out of her mouth before she could even consider it. “Was he my father?” Without meeting her gaze, her mother answered, “Why would you think that? That is crazy. You’re crazy.”

Several years later, she was in her fifties by now and her mother was in her 80s. She tried asking again but this time her mother surprised her by how strong her reaction was – “You’re abusing me! Stop abusing me!” Before leaving her after that visit, she couldn’t even look at her mother, couldn’t give her a hug goodbye. Then her mother died.

Then, she shares how she finally got her answer – Four years later, working in the garden on an autumn day, the name of the son of the man in the cabin by the sea, with whom I had played as a little girl, fell into my head like the whisper of a ghost in my ear. Within minutes I found him on social media. Within hours he responded. Within ten sentences sent back and forth he asked, “Can I be honest with you?” and then, “You are my half-sister.”

All she had ever wanted was the truth, a truth she had the right to know, a truth consciously and aggressively denied her. She notes – The universe seems to be tapping more frequently and insistently lately, “Tell your story, tell the truth, get it out there…and let it go.” She admits – “I feel surprisingly unaffected by the shame my parents must have felt. I attribute this to the sense that I never felt cared for and didn’t trust them and, because they showed me no mercy, I have no sympathy for how their reputations may suffer.” She believes that finally knowing the truth has in many ways saved her life.

Double Whammy

An adoptee writes – “My birthday was a few days ago, and with Mother’s Day this weekend, there are a lot of complicated emotions flying around.”

Some background from the adoptee – I was adopted at birth by my aunt (my genetic mom’s sister) and uncle, and moved several states away. I was given a new name, new Birth Certificate, the whole works. My adoptive parents had been trying for a baby, and since my original mom didn’t have the resources (job, place of her own) they asked to adopt me. A month after I was born, my adoptive parents ended up pregnant with my brother. My sister followed a year later. I do not look like anyone in my adoptive family and I never felt like I fit in or belonged. I was treated way differently than my siblings. My adoptive mother passed away when I was 19. Since then, I’ve had a mediocre relationship with my adoptive dad, barely there communication with my brother, and my sister won’t acknowledge my existence.

I was a rebellious, angry teen, and my issues carried over into adulthood. I caused my family a lot of pain, but had no idea that any of my issues were likely caused by trauma. That said, I take responsibility for my decisions, own up to them, and have repaired relationships where possible. Still, I have lived most of my life filled with shame and thinking I am defective and a bad person regarding some of the choices I’ve made.

After years of therapy for depression and anxiety, a wonderful therapist suggested that my lifelong issues could be a result of adoption trauma. I brushed her off, saying “My adoption happened a long time ago. I’ve dealt with it. I’m fine.” And she gently replied, “No, I don’t think you are.” And so it was, that I started coming out of the fog five years ago, right around the time I turned 40.

I have always known who my mother was, but never got to know her and have only met her three times. The first was when I was 3. She visited with her new husband so that she could come clean about her “past.” The second was when I was 15. I was in the throes of angsty adolescence and started having issues around my identity. The whole purpose of my visit was to talk to her openly about my adoption, but…although her husband knew I was her daughter, she would not acknowledge that I was his sister to my half brother, who was 10 years old at the time. I had to tiptoe around for a week while he called me “cousin.” More shame. The last time I saw her was at my adoptive mother’s funeral, almost 26 years ago. We talk here and there, mostly on Facebook, but I literally don’t feel anything for her. She still talks of giving me up as being “the best thing” for me, without acknowledging the harm. I realize she was in an impossible situation, but just to have her see me, acknowledge the hurt I experienced and continue to deal with, would mean so much.

Being Fatherless

From Huffington Post LINK>I Was Told My Father Was A ‘Deadbeat.’ After He Died, I Found Out Everything I Knew About Him Was Wrong. “In the foster care system, being a fatherless daughter was the status quo.” by TJ Butler.

Growing up, all I knew about my father was that he was a “deadbeat.” My parents divorced when I was 4. He was a musician, playing bass in rock and country bands ― the only job he’d ever had ― and child support payments were always contentious. I remember Mom complaining that Dad would show up to the court hearings wearing torn jeans and T-shirts. In one hearing in the ’80s, she was awarded less than $70 for two children, based on his income. (blogger’s note – I remember being awarded $25/mo, when I didn’t ask for child support at my divorce because I knew he would never pay it and I wasn’t going to spend my life in court fighting for it.)

When I was a few years older, my younger sister and I spent an occasional weekend with him. I have little recollection of the infrequent visits, but I have colorful memories of his apartment. Framed Beatles albums covered the walls, sharing space with antique Civil War memorabilia and his many bass guitars. My stepmother, who I thought of only as “my father’s new wife,” was beautiful; the coolest adult I’d ever met. When I got my first period at 10, she was the one who explained how to use tampons.

Like my father, my mother entered a new relationship shortly after my parents divorced. But her boyfriend was an alcoholic, prone to verbal abuse and physical violence. At 13, I ended up in foster care, living in group homes and residential children’s centers. There was little talk of family reunification during those years; the night I left my mother’s house at 13 turned out to be the last time I ever slept there.

The group homes and children’s residential centers where I lived during my teens focused on independent living. As I neared 18, I learned about adulting: grocery lists, budgeting money for rent and utilities, and how to write a resume. In the system, communication with family members is regulated. Since I didn’t grow up with him and he didn’t seem interested, none of my counselors or my social worker encouraged me to have a relationship with my father. Being fatherless was just another box to check when I filled out questionnaires for therapy.

When I aged out of foster care, I was angry, but it was directed inward. Rather than hurting others, I hurt myself. There were drugs and alcohol, body piercings and tattoos, and years of nude modeling. A decade later, I had an epiphany that I couldn’t continue the way I was living and quit the adult business. I took out my piercings and had my most visible tattoos removed. I finished a BA in management, secured a corporate job with good benefits, and married my wonderfully supportive husband.

When my father died in 2011 of Parkinson’s with Lewy body dementia, I didn’t go to his funeral. My feelings were confusing. Why was I sad that a man I hardly knew passed away? It took some time to realize that I wasn’t crying over the loss of a father. Instead, it was the realization that now he’d never be able to change his mind and become my dad.

Moving forward, she decided she wanted to meet her half-brother. Rather than admit that she planned to drive 700 miles to see him out of the blue, she told him she had “a writing thing” near him and asked if he wanted to meet for coffee while she was in town. He agreed. She was excited and nervous, and eager to learn about what life was like growing up with their father. He began to fill in the blanks about their father. The person she’d known little about transformed from a deadbeat into a man. She learned how good-natured he was before he got sick and about how their house had been the magnet for kids in the neighborhood to hang out. He told her that he could see a lot of their father in her face. Since she felt she didn’t resemble the people on her mother’s side, she was thrilled to finally look like someone she was related to. (blogger’s note – this is a common experience among adoptees in reunion as well – having a genetic mirror.)

She goes on to share – I began seeing a therapist to work out some issues with my mother. Although it wasn’t family therapy and we didn’t connect, my perspective changed dramatically. I saw her as a flawed human, rather than simply a bad mother. This new way of thinking answered many questions about why I ended up in foster care and why she chose not to let me come home. This clarity has brought me some closure. She ends with how meeting her half-siblings was “about connecting with a family who welcomed me with open arms. Spending time with them gave me something that wasn’t even on my radar to wish for. For the first time in my life, it felt like I belonged somewhere.”

Messy Complicated and Beautiful

The joy and heartache of friendships. We love our friends and they can break our hearts – just being the messy, complicated and beautiful human beings we all are. That said, some lives are much more challenging than ours. And when our dear friend has such a life, out of love, we do our best with the reality. This is one such story.

I’ve adopted two little girls from a childhood friend. They are ages 5 and 3. The five year old, I brought home when she was born, her mom was very ill at that time. The 3 year old came to me through the foster care system, when she was 9 months old at her mom’s request. My friend had stage 4 cirrhosis during both of the pregnancies, as well as substance abuse and varying illnesses and had been homeless most of her life, was suicidal and with a history of violent behavior. She was in and out of jail. She passed unexpectedly in December two years ago.

I knew the girls had 3 older sisters who were adopted out by the state years ago. I had promised their mom I would look for them but today, they found me. They are 16, 18 and 19. They were looking for their mom. They asked me point blank if their mom was still alive. I answered that and a few questions. I did let them know that she loved them and missed them and thought of them every day and wondered how they were doing. She had hoped to connect with them again. I let them know they had little sisters We exchanged photos.

I just don’t know how to navigate this. I don’t want to give them a negative image of their mom. I’m thinking of just letting them know that she had had a lot of trauma that led to her addictions and illnesses, kind of a negative spiral she got caught up in but that she was a beautiful, amazing person with a big heart and a brilliant mind who was funny and creative and one of a kind….

Some responses to this sad story about life’s more difficult realities.

You tell those sisters that she was a human being that battled a war. With her self, her world, and still loved her children. Even while she fought. There’s something terribly strong and loving about that.

Let them know the truth as much as age appropriate for them to grasp. The real truth is people are messy & complicated & beautiful all at the same time, and that’s something they can grasp at any age, regardless of depth of details.

Please tell the older girls everything – the good, the bad, the ugly. They can handle it and it’ll be valuable information as they navigate their own trauma and mental health issues (and questions about their lives).

The woman replied – I’ve talked to two of the older girls and answered their questions. I sent them videos of their mom telling her life story, about her paintings and stuff.

Figuring Out Our Story

Shannon Gibney

Today’s blog is courtesy of LINK>an essay at Today.com. Shannon Gibney is the author of The Girl I Am, Was, and Never Will Be. Her book is described as A Speculative Memoir of Transracial Adoption. It was published by Dutton just last month, January 2023. Her book details her search and reunion with her birth families, as well as the ongoing ripple effects of adoption intergenerationally. She notes – “For adoptees, figuring out our story requires work — scouring fragments of documents, stories and phone conversations. And sometimes, we still come up short.” As the child of two adoptees that basically had to do the same thing – I can relate and so, I share.

Shannon is a mixed-Black woman who was adopted by a white family. This is commonly referred to as trans-racial adoption. She writes, “In a culture that deeply values personal and family histories that appear to be seamless — at least on the surface — those of us who have little or nothing to go on can feel alienated and alone. Which is why so many adoptees search.” Certainly, for my mom and for my own self, we quickly became aware of the priority of genetic relationship in working with the DNA matching sites – 23 and Me and with Ancestry.

Shannon compares her own search to the more difficult efforts of international adoptees from countries outside of the US. Therefore, she says – As a domestic, mixed-Black transracial adoptee, my search for my birth family and my beginnings was far easier to navigate, although I didn’t know it at the time I began searching. I could say as much myself. My own search turned out to be surprisingly easy and relatively quick (within a year I knew who all 4 of my original grandparents were, something of their stories and had connected with living genetic relatives that I had not known about before).

Her birth mother had given the adoption agency permission to share her identity with Shannon, if she should ever reach out and ask for it. She goes on to describe what happened next – Thus began a long, complicated, on-again and off-again relationship with my birth mother, which ended with her death from a rare cancer in 2014. While initially getting to know her, she told me that she had had a very brief relationship with my birth father and couldn’t give me any real information about him beyond his name. She also warned me that he was “dangerous,” that she didn’t trust him, and that they “were both lost souls” at the time they got together. And, as it turned out, I did not have any biological siblings.

A therapist who specializes in adoption issues helped her to track down information about her birth father, though sad – In 1981, he had died from injuries he had sustained from a high speed police chase in Palo Alto, California. She was 6 years old at the time. She notes his family – “held the blackness that set me a country apart from both my white adoptive and biological families. This was a kind of racial and cultural damage I hadn’t anticipated.”

Yet, also a happy outcome – I eventually tracked down my paternal grandfather, and was even able to talk to him some years before his death. Likewise, conversations and meetings with my biological aunt and uncle on my father’s side have filled in many gaps in my story, and have given me the great gift of a fuller picture of my father. I may have never met him, but I can surmise so many things about him from the little information I do have.

Similarly to Shannon, I have had to accept – Adoptees will never have fully fleshed out stories of our origins, but we do have the conviction that we deserve far more truths than we ever receive, and we have a dogged determination to seek them out. All of this can make us feel frustrated. And yet, I too have discovered “talking to other adoptees we realize that we are actually not alone in our struggles, and that there are strategies and communities we can build to help mitigate the difficulty and disappointment. We also have imaginations that we can use to explore the people and possibilities that brought us into existence and with whom we co-create our identities.”

Conflict Induced Adoption

An interesting custody battle is taking place. I am going to summarize. You can read a more detailed account at this ABC News LINK>Baby orphaned in military raid now at center of custody battle with her relatives and Marine.

In September 2019, a weeks-old baby girl was found badly hurt but — miraculously — alive in the rubble of a raid by U.S. special operations forces. Both of her parents were killed in the operation and she was placed under the temporary medical care of the U.S. military to recover from burns and physical trauma. The military had targeted a home in central Afghanistan, looking to capture or kill suspected foreign fighters associated with al-Qaida.

Today, the 3-1/2 year old girl (known as Baby Doe) is claimed by two families who are fighting a complex legal battle over the right to raise her. On one side are her paternal uncle and cousins in Afghanistan, with whom she was placed by the Afghan government in early 2020. Her uncle’s son and his wife, referred to in court as John and Jane Doe, cared for her for 18 months. Baby Doe and her Afghan family fled the Taliban and came to the US. John and Jane Doe have now resettled in Texas.

On the other side is a U.S. Marine lawyer who was in Afghanistan at the time of the raid and who successfully petitioned a local Virginia court to grant him an adoption order. An attorney for the Marine, Maj Joshua Mast, has contended in court filings that the girl had no surviving biological relatives (which the U.S. government says isn’t true). Mast’s attorney described her as an “orphan of war and a victim of terrorism” and Mast used the adoption order in Virginia to take custody of Baby Doe in September 2021. Baby Doe currently lives in North Carolina with Mast, his wife and their children. In September, John and Jane Doe filed a federal lawsuit suit against the Masts, claiming that the Masts unlawfully took Baby Doe.

The case is being reviewed in both Virginia and federal courts. Also involved are the Pentagon, the State Department and the Justice Department, who say the child should be returned to her Afghan relatives.

Following Afghan cultural traditions, Baby Doe should have then been taken to her next closest relatives. But who was she? Who were those relatives? Was she even Afghan? The US worked with the Afghan administration of then-President Ashraf Ghani and the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) to locate Afghan relatives who could raise her as their own, in line with local customs.

Mast was serving in Afghanistan at the time, as an attorney for the government’s Center for Law and Military Operations. In that role, he was involved in discussions about what to do with Baby Doe and took a keen interest in her welfare. He advocated for her transfer to the United States, so she could be placed for adoption far away from the dangers of “a country known for child abuse, neglect and sexual trafficking of children,” as an attorney for Mast once wrote. Mast’s court filings have also stated that Baby Doe’s parents were likely combatants, not collateral damage from the 2019 military raid. In late 2019, when Mast and his wife, Stephanie, sought an adoption order, they claimed Baby Doe was stateless and needed continuous medical care. John and Jane Doe claim that Mast abducted Baby Doe days after he had helped them arrive in the US in August 2021, as part of the chaotic US evacuation from Afghanistan.

The Justice Department filed a motion that argued the case should be moved to a federal court. The motion also stated that the Masts’ adoption should not have been granted, citing a U.S. government decision that Baby Doe should be returned to her Afghan family. The State Department likewise said in a recent statement to ABC News that the baby should have been brought back to her relatives. “Reuniting the child with the family members in Afghanistan was the right thing to do,” a department spokesperson said.

“We need a full investigation on this case and how this child could have been adopted away from her relatives,” Lisa Lawrence, a Defense Department spokesperson, said. “The investigation could lead to loopholes that need to be closed within our system. There shouldn’t be anyone from any rank of military that can push something as significant as an adoption through without following proper protocol and procedures.”

Processing Grief

From my all things adoption group –

Posting for a friend who does not have Facebook. We are both adoptive parents. Her adopted daughter is 7 years old. My friend just found out that her adopted daughter’s mother passed away before Christmas. It was a fluke that she even found out as they did not have regular contact. Her adopted daughter has experienced 2 great losses this year (biological grandmother and adoptive grandmother) and is still struggling with these. They are very open about her adoption and biological family but her adopted daughter does not want to engage in any conversations about her adoption, so they tread carefully between offering information and following her lead.

The question is… when and how should they approach the conversation about her mother passing away. The adoptive mother and her husband have a bit of a different view. She feels sooner than later is best but also acknowledges the fact that their adopted daughter is already struggling with lots of grief and loss (naturally) and some other new challenges that have recently popped up. Her husband thinks they should wait until the adopted daughter asks about her mom but she doesn’t feel that’s appropriate. I would love to be able to offer some specific information and ideas, if possible. Though I told her about this group, she asked that I post this on her behalf.

First response was this – Her husband is 100% wrong. This child needs a therapist and a safe space, if she doesn’t have one already. They need to tell her.

From an adoptee – Life doesn’t operate at a pace that is necessarily easy for any of us. We can’t control that. But the thing that all parents can control is whether or not they prove to their children that they are reliable and transparent. I understand, wanting to protect this child- but it’s not going hurt any less to find out later. It would just complicate the issue with a lot of questions about the delay. I would treat this in the same way that any other death was treated. She has recently learned about two people dying, why should her first mother’s death not be an immediate conversation ?

From another adoptee – Transparency is extremely important in building and maintaining trust between adoptees and their adoptive parents. Further delaying this information can damage this trust.

So Very Sad

Disclaimer – image is unrelated to today’s story.

Also not my personal story. It simply breaks my heart.

I’m a kinship care provider to my nephew and I’m really struggling right now. There is no possibility of him going back to his parents because they both died over this past summer. His mom was my sister. It was a murder/suicide perpetrated by his father and I feel like that’s really relevant to the situation. Which is sort of complex and multifaceted, but I’m just looking for some guidance or opinions. Also I am white, my husband is Puerto Rican, and my nephew is mixed black/white. He just turned 2 at the end of December.

This past week he’s started calling me mom and my husband dad, and we’re both very emotional about it and not sure how to respond. We think it’s started because his friends at daycare all call their parents mom and dad and he hears that all the time. When we show up other kids will also tell him that his mom or dad is here. The teacher always corrects them, but toddlers don’t really get the difference sometimes. Anyways we don’t want to make him feel like we’re rejecting him by correcting him every time, but we also don’t want to erase his parents. My sister and her partner had a very rough relationship with each other, but they were both wonderful parents who loved him with all their hearts. We show him pictures of them, and have them around the house. Whenever he asks about them in the pictures we refer to them as mom/dad. I just don’t know what to do.

The other issue that I’m starting to worry about is him feeling connected to his paternal family. Currently, there is a no contact order in place against one paternal aunt. When everything first happened they couldn’t believe their brother would do it and started threatening me and my husband as well as my mom. I understand the initial shock/trauma response, so I don’t want to hold it against her forever but I’m also not sure if contacting would be safe. I also would text a different paternal aunt at first but she cut contact after the stuff with her sister and no one from that family has reached out to ask about him since. I know I wouldn’t feel comfortable with my nephew staying there alone, at least at first, just because I know several of members of that family were abusive to their own children. I also know that this is a cross racial situation and I want him to feel connected to his culture. I do my best to stay educated, listen to voices of people of color, and be aware of the situations he will face in life, but I will never have the lived experience. As a white woman, I’ll never get how it feels to face racism every day. The closest thing I’ve experienced is the occasional racist mad about my blended family, but even then the color of my skin means I can seek protection much easier than my husband or nephew.

One adoptee confirmed – its totally fine for children to call their permanent caregivers mom and dad even if they aren’t. Let him. You are the acting parents in this situation, and kids (especially kids with a trauma background) need to feel a sense of normalcy in their life. Regarding paternal family connection is important but so is safety. Regarding cultural connection – some of the big ones are going to be immersion in black culture, mirrors in that kiddos life, and making sure that your neighborhood and school has a lot of other black children.