Glad I Was

The author with her parents (both adoptees) apologies for the poor quality

My mom wrote about being adopted to me in an email “glad I was” but it was half-hearted because she died never knowing why. The state of Tennessee had rejected her request for her own adoption file while breaking her heart by telling her that her original mother had died some years earlier. In beginning her quest, my mom had said, “As a mother, I would want to know what became of my child.”

It is exceedingly sad that she didn’t receive her file. Her mom’s photo, holding my mom for the last time, was in it. Had she read through it, she would have known how much her mother loved her, wanted her and fought to keep her. My mom had defined her adoption as “inappropriate” in her letters to Tennessee. She was stating her belief delicately because she couldn’t reconcile having been born in Virginia and yet adopted in Tennessee while still an infant. And my mom knew all about the scandals of Georgia Tann, who’s agency my mom was adopted from.

The truth is that in the kindest of terms, my grandmother was coerced and exploited to take her baby from her for a woman who was willing to travel from Nogales Arizona to Memphis Tennessee to fetch my mom and then return to Arizona by train with an upset baby.

That remark from my mom came as I informed her I had gotten my DNA tested at Ancestry because both of my parents were adopted I didn’t know anything about my genetic origins. I had previously participated in National Geographic’s Genographic study of my maternal line (it was a gift from my brother-in-law for my birthday). The results were vague and minimal, only telling me my maternal line came out of Africa, validating my assertion that I was an Albino African – no one, including myself, could prove otherwise. The truth is I am very European, mostly Danish, then Scottish with a healthy dose of English and Irish to top it off. My mom had a smidgeon of Mali, I have a smidgeon of Ashkenazi Jew and Neanderthal.

My mom surprised me by telling me that she had also done an Ancestry DNA and had attempted family trees but they were based on the adoptive families for my dad and her self. She admitted that she lost motivation – “it just wasn’t real to me” she said – and I understood. Someday I will create REAL family trees for both of my parents. It just hasn’t been a priority nor have I had the time so far.

I recently went through a long exchange with some woman I didn’t know who had included my parents in her own family tree. She was really dense and it was difficult to get through to her that the people she was saying my parents were related to – they weren’t related to. Finally, she got it and said she would correct it when she had time. I never went back to look.

Someone recently described being adopted as being forced to play a silly game of pretend. I understand. My parents had to pretend to be the natural born child of the people who adopted them. My dad’s perspective matched that. He believed once you are adopted the people who gave you birth are insignificant. Only the people who raised you mattered. The pity is – unknown to him – at the time of his death a half-sister was living 90 miles away from him in the same state of New Mexico and could have shared with him so much about his mother and the family that came of her.

Disappointing Reunions

Worse than not having the opportunity at all to experience a reunion with the woman who gave birth to you is having one that turns out crappy. This story breaks my heart –

Feeling so lost and broken. Although a relationship can be built, it’ll never be the same as being raised by my mom. Currently stuck in Nebraska and waiting to leave the hotel at 4 am. No point in sleeping for 3 and a half hours. I’m stressed, hoping Uber shows up on time so I can make it to the train station in time with my 3 kids.

To make a long story short I got a ride to Nebraska last week. My hubby’s job traveled from Chicago to Nebraska. So I said, “Please take me with you.” We got a hotel after begging my mom to make the 3 hour trip from South Dakota to Nebraska to see us. I had to pay for her gas and give her the king size bed in our hotel. I slept with my 3 kids on the sofa bed.

Then, my husband’s job finished by the end of that same week. I said to him, “You go home. I’m gonna go back to South Dakota with my mom. She said she’ll bring me back in her van.”

I was there almost a week and the plan was for us to leave and go home today. She texts me from her room and asks me to leave on a plane. She can’t handle the kids. Their noise causes her fibromyalgia pain to be worse.

I reply, “Can we wait till you feel better and you can take us home?”

She said, “No, I really can’t take it.”

So I went online to check flights. A last minute effort is really expensive. So I try to rent a car but I can’t because my credit card is maxed out. The train doesn’t depart from South Dakota. I have to find a way to get back to Nebraska.

My mom’s husband drops us off at the hotel in Nebraska that my husband paid for. He also paid for (what feels to me to be unnecessary) train tickets, but that is the reality.

This trip to reconnect with my mom cost more than a real vacation to Wisconsin Dells.

Today I feel so alone and abandoned – once again. Sorry, but I really wish she had aborted me. Mine was a Termination of Parental Rights adoption due to neglect and drug use.

And – she has the audacity to tell me I need to parent better and get off of my phone !?! At least, my kids are alive, well fed and loved. MY KIDS ARE KIDS. THEY ARE NOT SOLDIERS!

I actually said, “Let’s not talk about parenting.” LOL I really wanted to add, “the nerve of you.”

So, I am just feeling completely broken. This is the first time I have ever actually cried in front of my kids. I just couldn’t control it.

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I’m just going to let this one speak for itself. I have no words to offer but lots of compassion for the heartbreak and disappointments.

Dear Mommy, come and get me

Even though an adoptee has no conscious memory of their natural mother, because the adoptee was there, because they did experience being “left” by their biological mother and handed over to strangers, it is becoming increasingly understood that there are wounds caused by what has happened to this child in separating them from their natural mother.

It makes no difference whether the child was a few minutes, a few days or even a few months old but still so young that they are pre-verbal.

An adoptee is always unconsciously aware that they were adopted. An adoptee may feel as though they never belonged in their family, that they were never truly understood. An adoptee may know they do not fit in but may not understand why.

Keeping an adoption secret does little to foster trust. There is a subtle sense of unreality and dishonesty in the relationship. Children are primarily creatures of intuition and sensation.

My mom always knew she had been adopted. When I look at those last photos of her natural mother’s last visit with her, I see how happy she was to be reunited with her mother all over again (she had been left in temporary care at an orphanage in Memphis, while her mother tried to get on her feet financially).

Her adoptive mother admitted after the long train trip from Memphis Tennessee to Nogales Arizona that it “upset” my mother. When she said the doctor had gotten my mom calmed down, I suspected she had been drugged with phenobarbital.