Never Ending Grief

Today’s story from an adoptee – Today I was told my biological half brother, who has been the most communicative of my first family, has terminal lung cancer. I’ve never met him, our younger brother or either of my sisters, in person. I do not have a good relationship with first mom and first father is deceased. I had knowledge this might be a possibility and thought I was okay. But I am grief stricken. I can not stop crying and left work today. My heart is broken for a brother I never got to have and now one that will never be. Suggestions for dealing with this grief are welcome. I probably should add I lost both my adoptive parents and brother already and a son to suicide 4.5 Yrs ago. This grief feels too much and never ending.

One respondent suggested – I’m sorry for his diagnosis. I’ve found writing a grief letter to be helpful to process thoughts and feelings. Let the feelings of grief come up within your body as you write.

Another suggested – I’m so very sorry for all of your losses- the pain must be massive. My heart aches for you. Please hang in there- the world needs your light. I would encourage you to reach out to your brother and prioritize meeting him as quickly as possible. Have the relationship you’re grieving. In the meantime, I would start keeping a journal (or a note on your phone) of all the things you think of to discuss with your brother. Maybe even write him a letter (that you don’t have to send) expressing the feelings you’re experiencing right now.

Another adoptee wrote – A grief counselor and therapist really helped me deal with the loss in my life. I don’t know if this is helpful but my therapist told me I have to grieve the life I will never have. For me, I will never have a family and once I can grieve and accept that fact, it will be easier to move forward and be clear on what I really want and need for my future. I know the circumstances are different in your case.

Another notes – I too have had so very many losses myself. It is a hard walk to travel through. I reach out when I’m feeling needy or I have feelings that are overwhelming before I am in what I call a crisis. For me it took time to learn how to do this (reaching out) and my triggers, what they are and which times I know I’m going to struggle the most – such as holidays, birthdays. I learned that it’s always up and down, and sometimes it can be easier by working on myself and embracing my journey.

Another adoptee wrote – Disenfranchised grief is real grief too. She also wrote – Virtual hug to you (cause physical hugs I can’t stand).

Disconnected by Fear

An adoptee writes –

I was adopted soon after birth in a very closed adoption. Through DNA testing and Facebook stalking, I found my biological mother in 2021. Though reserved, she agreed to meet in July 2021. I flew to her state (11 hours driving distance) and spent 4 hours with her in a restaurant, and then we went our separate ways. She was nice but said she had “memory issues” and couldn’t remember a lot of that time in her life. She has no pictures on social media and I didn’t take one when I met her.

In June this year, she said she wanted to drive the 11 hours with her husband and their camper to see me and my family. I was both ecstatic and very anxious, but made plans with her anyway. I checked in a few times between June and this weekend, because I knew she might change her mind. She frequently “likes” my posts on Facebook but we don’t talk much outside of that. She drove 10 hours in my direction and camped overnight on Friday in a town 1 hour away.

Saturday morning, she was supposed to come over to my house to meet my kids and husband and have breakfast. I scrubbed the whole house, bought a fruit and cheese tray, croissants, donuts, etc. At 8am, she texts me and says they need to bail and go back to their home state, because “storms” were in the forecast that night (storms were forecasted about 15 hours after she texted me, so not imminent.)

I’m struggling so much with feelings of abandonment and rejection resurfacing. I want to totally shut down and block her from my Facebook (where she gets daily insights into my life and my family, and I get nothing in return because she never posts and has no pictures on hers). How could she drive 10 hours in my direction and turn around with only 1 hour to go? I’m really having a hard time knowing how to navigate this. She hasn’t texted me since and I just told her I hope she has a safe drive home, because I don’t want to admit how much this hurts. Is it futile to try to have a relationship with someone so closed off and inaccessible?

One direct response was – She is afraid. She feels bad and she doesn’t want to hurt you more that she already has.

Blogger’s thought – it really is difficult to build a relationship, even with the advantage of genetic familial connection, when there is no physically shared family experiences and there has been no real relationship for so many years, decades even. This has been my experience in connecting with biological, genetic relatives as the child of parents who were both adoptees. It is awkward and so much is lacking due to the passage of time between people with no daily, monthly, yearly history together.

To make the point, another person commented – I’ve been in similar situation with my “biological father” and he never makes any effort. It hurts. I drove half way across the country to meet him and don’t hear from him unless I reach out. I’ve spoken to him maybe 2 times since 2017. My biological mother isn’t any different really, except she’s much closer.

Another person reaffirmed the earlier comments – I read your story. What I infer from it is that she is struggling mentally / emotionally with how to navigate a relationship with you, and unfortunately that has an impact on you, causing more harm. For her to want to make such a long trek and to get 10 hours into an 11 hour journey tells me that a motivation / desire is there, but stopping one hour away and bailing with a pitiful excuse indicates to me that she is overwhelmed or afraid, she doesn’t know how to handle the emotional toll and show up for you, so she ran away. Fight / flight / freeze; she chose flight.

A mother who surrendered a child to adoption wrote – She panicked. Maybe even had a anxiety or panic attack. She might also have PTSD from this whole situation and from being that close to you. I went up to DC so my husband could meet my family. It was the closest I’d been to my baby since his adoption finalized. I was on edge for two hours as we were leaving and even cried, while holding my second child.. It is truly so hard to navigate those feelings. Nothing can replace you and nothing can help that pain except for time. Give her time.

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.