Birth/Firstparents are not Adversaries

Do you ever feel that this whole adoption thing is a battle?  First, there is the battle for the possession of the child.  Then, their is the battle for the loyalty of the child.  From my own personal observation, it seems that adoptive parents are the ones starting the wars and picking the battles (not all adoptive parents).  First, there is the battle for the physical possession of the child.  Adoptive parents who choose domestic adoption must first be nice to potential birthparents.  Some adoptive parents skip this part of the battle by choosing international adoption.  Don’t deny the truth of this.  Do you know how many times I have heard, “We chose xy country because we did not want to have to deal with birthparents.  We did not want to have to have contact with the birth parents after the adoption.  We want OUR child to know who his/her REAL parents are.”  Those comments are the subject of an entirely different post so they won’t be dealt with at this time.  Once the adoptive parents have won the initial battle and the child is in their possession, their true motives become evident.  Maybe they promised to send pictures and letters but they do not fulfill their obligations.  Maybe they send “pictures” but they make sure that they are out of focus or tops of heads are cut off.  Why?  Because they view the birthparents as the adversaries!  The birthparents are trying to steal the loyalty of the child.  Which brings us to the next battle, the emotional possession of the child.  This battle is “won” by making sure that the child grows up understanding that their loyalty must be with the adoptive parents.  Adoption discussion is tolerated only on a superficial level.  Searching would be a treacherous act.  After all, the birthparents are evil enemies who would only corrupt the child.  Seems to me that if these adoptive parents could only understand one basic fact, birthparents are not adversaries.  In most cases, birthparents are making the difficult placement decision because they want to provide their child with the best possible life.  They enter into the adoption process with good faith, and sometimes they are slapped in the face.  Why wouldn’t they be bitter?  Why wouldn’t they be on the defensive?  If adoptive parents would just realize that it is in the best interest of the child to honor that large part of the child that comes from the birthparents.  If adoptive parents would just realize that by honoring birthparents they are honoring the child.  Maybe then they would begin to realize that the honor and respect that they show to the birthparents results in a closer bond to the very child that they are so fearful of losing.  Maybe if they would stop viewing it as a battle then a wonderful period of peace could occur.

Disclaimer:  There are many wonderful adoptive parents out there who truly honor the child and the birthparent.  This post is not aimed at them.  There are birthparents who are abusive/neglectful and contact would not be advised.  I am simply speaking about many situations that exist.

 

The Reality

I frequently meet with adoptive parents who are in the process of adopting a child of a different racial and/or cultural background. Many of these adoptive parents are of the mindset that love is all it takes. They are ignorant of the importance of helping their child learn about their birth culture or their racial background. “Race does not matter to us.” That is a frequent quote from these parents. It may not matter to you, but it will most definitely matter to your child. I believe that it is important to open your eyes to the racism that exists around you. My 7 year old came home the other day singing a song that basically stated that Chinese people were dumb. He sang it in front of a mom who was driving carpool that week. We had a quick educational discussion in front of this mom. I then asked my son where he learned that song. Guess what, he learned it from that mom’s children. She obviously heard it and did nothing to correct it. I am glad that she heard me correct him because maybe it dawned on her that she should be teaching her children differently. Just a small example. Anyone who thinks that racism does not exist is living in fantasy land. If you are going to adopt a child of a different racial background then you must be willing to open your eyes and to be willing to help your child learn how to deal with the racism that he/she will face. Don’t believe me, read some of the blogs written by adoptees who were adopted transracially. They are powerful and eye-opening if you allow them to be.

 

The Most Emotional Day

Sorry for the long drought of posts. We just got back from a long vacation.

I remember driving with my husband to the town that I was born in to attend a wedding of a friend. I was born in a very “country” town and my husband liked to tease me in a very loving way about my “hick” roots. As we were driving into town, a tall, run-down building loomed on the horizon. My husband joked that I was probably born in that building. We stopped laughing when we got closer and realized that I had been born in that building. It was strange to see the last place that I was with my birthmother. I would love to go and walk the halls. I want to stand in the spot that we were last together. It will never happen.

This day, this most emotional day, I am driving with my brother into the town of our births. I used to come to this town fairly frequently as a child. My grandfather was a preacher and he preached in this town. I would visit my grandparents during the summer and Sundays and Wednesday nights were spent in this town. I vividly remember that during these visits I would look out at the rooftops and wonder if my birthmother was out there somewhere. By the time I was doing that, she was already deceased, but my birth grandfather was just blocks away. The house that June grew up in and lived in was just blocks away. My brother took me to that house. It was so odd to be looking at the house that my birthmother lived in for almost her entire life. My brother shared with me his memories from the past. They were so important for me to hear. They helped me piece together a picture of what June was like and what her life was like. He told me the story of when he tried to karate chop the window. Bleeding profusely, he tried to hide the evidence. Like no one would notice his bright red, bleeding foot. He told me about going to parties with June, definitely not the best place for a child. He learned how to cuss and he drank beer. He told me about the time that he and his grandfather had a hard time waking June up. He later figured out that she was under the influence of drugs at the time. He also told me about her fun-loving side and her free spirit. He remembers when she took him to the grand opening of the McDonalds in town. He remembers when they were in a car wreck. She was so worried about him. He recalls that she let him pick out their new car. He tells me about how much he loved his grandfather. Our grandfather died in the late 80’s. He does not really remember his grandmother, she died when he was 3.

We bought a couple of simple flowers. We then made the journey to her grave. It took my brother a while to find it because he had not visited her grave for years. It was a jolting feeling to see her name on the stone. We left the flowers on her grave. I remember that I later cried and cried about her death while my husband just held me. After visiting her grave, we stopped for lunch at a cafe that my brother used to eat at with our mother. There we saw his paternal grandmother. They are not close. She did not know of my existence, although she had heard rumors. That made me feel bad for June. Who wants rumors to be going around about them? We later went to her house to visit for a while. I left feeling that she was a horrible, horrible person – very shallow, racist, and narcissist. I could see why my brother did not desire to have a relationship with her. She talked him into going to visit his dad, which we did. His father also did not know of my existence. He looked at me very strangely – I know it was because I strongly resemble June. We then went driving around town. My brother was remembering June’s best friend who lived in a house covered in hubcaps. Right after we talked about that, we drove past a house covered in hubcaps. We went to the door and June’s best friend’s mother answered the door. We had a wonderful talk. She was a lovely woman, until the end of the visit when she spewed racism. My brother and I still talk about that. She did give me the phone number and address of her daughter so that I could contact her in the future.

My brother and I headed back to my house soon after that. That night was a pivotal night in my relationship with my parents. I stupidly thought that I should be open and honest about everything. I was making plans to go to visit my brother in the next week or two. I shared that information with my parents. BIG, HUGE, GIGANTIC mistake. We had the worst blow-up of our relationship. It still hurts my soul eleven years after the fact. The gist of it was that they were not happy that I was meeting my biological relatives. They made some very hurtful comments. The one that really bothered me was they said that I was making the same bad decisions that my birthmother made and she ended up dead. It was a horrible “conversation”. They also dragged my husband right into the middle of it. My brother saw what was going on, and it made him feel bad which made me feel even worse. What still upsets me to this day is that my parents were given the opportunity to support me, love me, and be there for me and instead they chose to only think of themselves and to push me away. I had brought up searching before and they had never been supportive so I do not know why I expected it then. It affects our relationship to this very day. Here I was emotional, grieving, and trying to make sense of all the information I was receiving and they made the choice to not be there for me. Painful.

 

The Meeting

Today was the day I was going to meet a biological relative, my brother!! I could not believe that I was actually going to see with my own bluish-green eyes a blood relative. I remember stressing about what to wear, but I don’t remember what I did wear. I remember it was cloudy and overcast. My husband and I drove to the bus station to pick my brother up. We drove up in my husband’s car. I could not stand that car. It was an older model, 4-door, Oldsmobile. It always reeked of gas and it “floated” on the road. It was so very ugly. I did not want anything ugly on this day. I cared about the impression that I was going to make on my brother. I wanted him to see how well I had turned out. In the end, it really didn’t matter. He was just thankful to meet me and to know me. I remember seeing him for the first time. He had very long, blonde hair. He was a musician and the long hair was a part of his image. We hugged, no tears then. What a strange sensation to be hugging someone who was really related to me. He could not stop looking at me. He finally told me how strange it was for him to see someone who looked like his mother. She was not much older at her death than I was at the time that I met my brother. I guess we looked like siblings, but the similarities were not striking. We do share very similar eyes. We stayed up until the early hours of the morning just talking. He told me about my grandparents and about other relatives. I spent a lot of time trying to sort out who was related to whom. My grandfather was married to another woman before he was married to my grandmother. His first marriage produced a son, L. L grew up, married, and proceeded to have 3 boys. The same time that L was starting his life, my grandfather and his first wife were divorcing. My grandfather later married my grandmother and they had my birthmother, J. Because of the large age difference between J and L, she was the same age as her nephews. She was very close to her nephews and to L. By all accounts, J was very treasured and very spoiled by my grandparents. They loved her dearly and they probably did let her get away with too many things. J became pregnant with my brother while she was still in high school. She married my brother’s father. Later, she went back to school and earned her degree. After her marriage ended, she moved back in with her parents. Then one December she became pregnant with me. Her mother became very sick and died a month later. Her father was very old and not financially well off. She was struggling to care for my brother and did not know how she could give me what I deserved. She placed me for adoption. He had just turned 3 when I was placed. He does not have any memories of that time. I wanted him to remember things about her and that time. I really needed to know that she was sad. Not that I wished her any pain, I just wanted to know that it was not easy for her and that she did love me. Oh, how I wanted to talk to her. How can it be that I can never, ever, ever talk to her? After my birth, J continued to live with my grandfather. She did go to school and while there she earned her LVN. Unfortunately, she could not hold a nursing job because she had a drug problem and she kept getting caught stealing drugs. She was driving home one night around 2 in the morning when her car broke down and she was murdered. I was 5 and D was 8. This happened in a February. D lived the rest of the school year with our grandfather. Our grandfather was elderly and almost completely blind. He could not properly care for D, even though he wanted to very badly. One of J’s nephews who was married and had a son took D into their home. Our grandfather was very upset about that, but he honestly could not care for D. D does not remember a lot of things between the age of 8 and the age of 16 (when he was told about my existence). He was raised by T and C. They provided him with a good and loving home. They had 3 sons and they always treated D just like one of their sons. But it was very difficult for D in many ways. For one thing, his personality is so different from everyone he was around. He is nothing like his “brothers”. He also left a household with no rules and entered a household with a lot of rules. He had the pain of trying to process his mother’s death while enduring so many radical and difficult changes in his life. He made a few wrong choices, he drifted a lot with no direction. He graduated high school and took some college classes, but he had no focus and no drive. He went to counseling and the counselor happened to know someone who worked at the agency that facilitated my adoption. That connection is what led to the letter which led us to each other. I went to bed that night but I had a very hard time sleeping. I still could not believe how quickly all of this happened. I was in awe of the fact that my real flesh and blood brother was sleeping in the bedroom right next to me. So strange but so wonderful. The next day was one of the most emotional days of my life. I can still feel the emotions inside of my chest and it has been 11 years.

 

Finding out the Truth

I cannot describe the anxiety and the excitement that I felt the first time I called my brother. I was shaking and pacing and fidgeting. It was awful and wonderful all at the same time. I called, and he answered. I explained who I was and he was caught off guard. He had just requested the information a few days before and here I was calling. It was awkward at first because what do you say? The first thing I wanted to know was whether or not he was raised by my birthmother? He told me how odd it was to be talking to me about this because I was the first person he was telling this story to who would really care. He then proceeded to tell me about my birthmother. He was raised by her until he was 8 years old. She was married to his father for a while but they divorced. My brother, D, had very little contact with his father after that (his father had a wreck and was never quite right after that). I came along after the divorce. D did not know about me until much later. After the divorce, he lived with his mother (our mother) and his grandfather until he was 8 years old. One night, my birthmother was driving home late when she experienced car trouble. Her body was found the next morning. She was brutally murdered. Wow! This was a punch in my gut. She was dead! She was young when she had me so I never dreamed that she would be dead. Dead, I could not even grasp that concept at first. How could I meet her and find out about her? How could I let her know that I was okay? How could I show her who I had become? I really did not feel a lot of emotions at this time, just shock. Everything that I had envisioned in my head was gone just like that – POOF! I wanted to know her NAME; he had forgotten to tell me. Finally, I knew the name of my birthmother. That was a strange feeling. D told me that he went to live with cousins for the rest of his childhood. I don’t remember a lot about the rest of the conversation. He did want to come meet me and of course I said, “Yes”. He was going to try to make arrangements to come the following weekend. That evening my husband and I were babysitting my year old nephew. We loaded him up in the car and went to the local library to look up archived newspaper articles about her murder (her murder happened in the same town I was living in). We started looking through the old newspaper films when my nephew got very loud (he was a bullhorn baby). My husband took him outside while I continued to look. I found it! And there was a picture. And the picture looked just like me!!! For the first time in my life I was looking at a picture of someone who looked like me. It was so strange. It was also so hard to read about how she had died. It was awful to think about her last moments. D had told me that he did not believe that she was dead at first because he distinctly remembers her coming in and giving him a kiss early that morning. I have often wondered if maybe her spirit did give him a kiss. I gathered up my copies and left the library. The pictures were shocking to my husband. She really looked a lot like me. I must have read those articles and looked at the picture a thousand times over the next few days. This is also the time that I made the biggest mistake of this process. I thought that it would be best to be completely open and honest with my parents about everything then they could go through this with me. Pause for hysterical laughter. I will write more about this later because it still hurts me deeply. D called and we made arrangements to meet. I was going to meet my brother!!

 

The Phone Call

The day started out ordinary. I had not been married a year yet. My husband was at work and I had just returned home from classes. Our home was a cheap rent house in a not so nice part of town. My husband was working a not so great job hoping that it would lead to a better job. I was in grad school and was only doing a little bit of part-time work. We were poor, poor, poor. McDonald’s was a good date at that time! I am thankful that this day happened when it did. It happened when I was married to supportive man who was there to hold me and to listen to me. It happened before I had children so I was able to focus all of my emotional energy on myself. It happened when I was not living near my family – distance was needed at that time. It happened when I had been praying hard that it would happen. What happened? My dad called me that day. My dad is not one to call out of the blue. He is either coming into town ,or my mom has been traveling for longer than a week, or there is something up (sometimes good, sometimes bad). My dad started to tell me about the letter that he had received. The letter from the agency that placed me. The letter that came when my mom was out of town so she was unable to prevent me from knowing about it. The letter that my dad knew would change things. The letter that said that they had “updated” information about my file if I would like to call them. My dad gave me the number and the name of the person to ask for if I decided to call. I can’t recall the rest of the conversation. I don’t know if we talked another two minutes or another thirty minutes. I just knew that my heart was beating hard and that I could hardly breathe. I got off the phone and called my husband. Then I made the call that changed my life. I can’t remember the name of the woman who gave me the information. I should be able to, she held my file in her hands and gave me the knowledge that I had dreamed about for as long as I could remember. Well, almost. First she wanted to know if I had had a good life. Yes, yes I had (please get on with it). Then she wanted to comment on the picture of my family in her file. After describing what I was wearing I unfortunately knew exactly what picture she was looking at in my file. For the record, I was wearing a lovely light purple sweater, phone earrings that I deeply loved at the time and wore all of the time, and i had lovely feathered hair. After the small talk which was causing me immense amounts of anxiety was over I was able to ask her what the updated information was. I fully expected her to say that my birthmother had contacted them with updated medical information or that my birthmother wanted to contact me but what she told me was that my biological brother wanted to contact me. I did not expect that. Confusion entered my mind. Was this a brother who was raised by my birthmother or by other adoptive parents? I asked her. She told me that he had the same last name as my birthmother so she assumes that he was raised by her. She is holding my beginning in her hands. She is holding all of the information about me that I have always wanted to know. I am just fifteen miles or so from my file but I can’t have it. She can turn the pages and read the words that I want to read. I ask her my birthmother’s name, but she cannot give that to me because she has not been contacted by the birthmother. I am not mad at her. It truly is not her fault. I just want to know. She gives me the name and contact information of my biological brother. I hope I thanked her, but I just can’t recall. I was shaking. In my hands I held a piece of my past and a changing agent for my future. What did I do first? I called my husband.

 

The Beginning of My Story

There are actually 2 beginnings to my story.  For 23 years, I only knew one side of the story.  I imagined many beginnings to my story.  At one point, I imagined that Olivia Newton John was my birth mother and her career got in the way of her keeping me.  Nevermind that she lived in Australia and I was born in Texas.  The beginning that I knew was the story of my adoptive family.  My parents tried for a long time to have children. My maternal grandmother had worked at a children’s home which led to my mom always having a desire to adopt. Since they had tried for years to have a child with no success they began the adoption process. In February of 1971, they adopted my older brother (he was 6 months old at the time). In September of ’71, they were in the process of moving when the adoption agency called them to see if they would be interested in adopting me. Can you imagine that happening today with the waiting lists that exist? They said yes so they went from 0 kids to 2 kids in 7 months. In December, they found out they were pregnant. They started the year with no children and ended the year with 2 children and another on the way. My younger brother was born when I was 11 months old. They lost a baby at 7 months gestation (still upsetting to my mom) and then they had my sister when I was 4 years old. I truly had a wonderful childhood. My mom was very nurturing and I loved my brothers and sister (for the most part!). I can honestly say that I never felt that my parents loved me any less than they loved their biological children. I don’t remember being told that I was adopted. My mom tells me that we talked about it when I asked her if I was in her tummy (she was pregnant with my sister at the time). I don’t remember them ever saying anything negative about my birth mother. Just that she wanted to give me a better life than she was able to provide for me. My parents always talked about my adoption in a positive manner. You know the standard, God meant for you to be with our family. I did not feel bad about being adopted for the most part. All and all, I felt loved.  But that did not take away my desire to know my entire story and to meet my birth mother.

 

The War of the Words

Positive Adoption Language.  That is a phrase that you will hear when you are talking to adoption professionals or to people affected by adoption.  The problem is that no one can agree on what words are positive adoption language and what words are not.  Currently the most debated term is “birthmother”.  Some would rather the term “firstmother” or “natural mother” be used.  Some argue that they should be able to use whatever term they want to use because of freedom of speech.  We are blessed to live in a country with freedom of speech, but that does not absolve us from the fact that words can be powerful weapons.  Words can sting.  Words can empower.  Words can oppress.  I understand why mothers who have placed their children for adoption what to have power over the term that describes them.  The problem is that other members of the adoption plane have to agree on the term that is used.  I struggle with this one because “birthmother” is the term that I like the most.  “Firstmother” bothers me.  How many mothers am I going to have?  “Natural mother” bothers me even more.  It feels icky to me.  I also understand that it makes adoptive mothers feel like they are the “unnatural” mothers.  “Biological mother” just feels cold and clinical to me.  “Birthmother” is the term that I have always used.  I don’t want to offend or hurt anyone.  And just because that is not my intention that does not mean that my words are not hurting someone.  What is one to do?

 

Picking Teams

Human behavior is an interesting study.  You meet someone new and you immediately begin the judgement process.  First judgements are made with physical cues – how the person is dressed, how they carry themselves, how they respond to others, etc..  When you get to know someone better then deeper judgements are made – are they religious, what political party do they call their own, what things are important to them.  People want to sort others into classifications and then they can use those classifications as an excuse to not associate with them or to associate with them.  “She seemed really nice but she is a Republican so I don’t think we can be friends.”  or “I know that we will get along great because we have so much in common (we belong to the same groups).”  That is one reason that I despise politics.  If a member of a political party votes with the other party on a particular issue then they risk being sacrificed for not holding the party line.  Shouldn’t people vote the way that they feel is the right way even if it is not the party way.  But I am off on a tangent.

Adoption issues are volatile issues.  How could they not be? If your life is touched in some way by adoption then it is profoundly, deeply touched.  If you are a mother who has longed for a child and you finally are able to have a child through adoption then you are going to have strong feelings about it.  If you found yourself in a situation which resulted in you making the heart-wrenching decision to place your child for adoption then your life is forever altered.  If your life was altered through no choice of your own because you were placed with a family through adoption then you will feel deep emotions about adoption.  There are so many emotions stirred up by the adoption issue.  Where there are a lot of emotions there will be a lot of conflict.  That is why those involved in adoption will meet you and discover you are part of the adoption plane and will quickly start to try to classify you.  Are you an “angry” adoptee or are you “grateful” for the adoption?  Are you a “searcher” or are you “content” with your “real” family since they are the family that was always there for you?  If you vary from the party line then be prepared to face scrutiny.  Adoptees, birthparents, adoptive parents – they all face this scrutiny.  Don’t believe me, read some blogs.  If the person in the adoption plane varies from the party line then they will face comments that are, how to put this, unkind.  Why don’t we try something new?  Why not really hear what someone has to say and recognize that they are expressing their feelings and their views?  Why not respect that even if you do not agree with that?  Why not try to take the pieces of the truth from everyone’s story to help better understand adoption and to have some empathy for others?  Why do people insist on trying to convert everyone  to their point of view?  It won’t happen and we should not try.  Personally, I enjoy reading points of view that are different from mine.  I may not agree, I may even present an opposing point of view, but I will treat them with respect.  I don’t expect everyone to agree with me, but I do want people to be respectful of me and of my opinion.  So don’t ask me which team I am a member of, I won’t tell you 🙂

 

Why I Blog

I am very blessed to have a loving husband and 4 wonderful boys whom I treasure. I am blessed to have a job that I really enjoy. My job allows me to stay at home with my boys. I am thankful that I am an adoptee and that my life path has led me here. There are issues with being an adoptee, but I am guessing that everyone in life has some issues. I don’t “need” to blog to get feelings out. My husband gets that job. The truth is that I enjoy blogging. I miss writing and using my brain and having a blog has given me the chance to write about things that don’t revolve around my family. I enjoy getting feedback on my thoughts. I really enjoy reading others’ perspectives on adoption – good and bad. I think it is important to listen and learn from everyone’s experiences. So I will blog. Those entries that I don’t want published to the entire world will be password protected. Feel free to email me to ask for a password. Please let me know how your life is touched by adoption. If you have commented on my blog before then it is a pretty good bet that you will be given the password. Happy blogging!

P.S.  Does anyone know how to add a Request a Password section?