Because society wants our grief to be suppressed, many people do not in the least fathom that our pain feels on occasion unbearable. They think: well, she survived, she's getting on with her life, she has moved on. Of course, that is partly true. Unless we end up on the floor somewhere writhing in pain, we have moved on. We have survived. But there is more to it than that simple thought.
THE FAMILY'S MISSING LINK
Today if someone wants to engage you about adoption today, and you don't feel up to it, do what I have done many many times, say: This is a social event, it's too hard for me to talk about adoption lightly (or calmly), some other time I'll be glad to talk to you. Today let's talk about politics, Project Runway, the sorry state of publishing, the melting ice cap, Robert Pinsky, Afghanistan and Taliban's treatment of women, the Dark Sky movement, a possible ban on leaf blowing in our town, the worrisome future of the Detroit Art Institute, possible Oscar nominees, Hillary for president, the existence of God, your children, our husbands, the night I was raped--anything but adoption. Anything else is a piece of cake.
Holidays are the worst time: our family is gathered around the table--but where is she? The missing daughter, or son, the missing link in your family--is he having a good Thanksgiving? Is he thinking about his other family? Having lived through this many times, I can only say, find a way to mentally acknowledge your missing child (or other family, if you are an adoptee) and silently wish them well across the expanse of the unknown and the reality of miles--or if you can, raise a toast to him or her with the members of your family who you can trust with this part of you. That intimate circle is not going to include the parent, or parents, who encouraged--or demanded--that you relinquish your precious infant. To respond to Cherry in the last post, we understand completely, the hurt and distance you feel towards your father who did not give you the support that you needed to keep your child. I'm thinking of a line from Camus in reference to your father: Life is a sum of all your choices. Your reaction to him today is the result of the choice he made. You can, in some way, forgive him--you need to for your own mental well being. But you do not have to forget.
THANK YOU FOR BEING A PART OF MY LIFE
|Just fabulous is this book|
My alternate universe daughter's birthday is today too. But at some time during the day, at some quiet moment, but I will be thinking about you, my daughter, and salute you in my heart and raise a glass of wine to your being part of my life, for however long it was.--lorraine
So now, tell us about your Thanksgiving plans, your thoughts about your daughter or son, or natural mother, on this day.
Previous posts referred to above:
As with same-sex marriage, difference of opinion on adoption is way beyond 'disagreement'
People say the rudest things to first mothers
Love The illustrated book above--it is out of print and available for pennies--is something I bought months before I met my daughter's father. It is an incredibly beautiful book--and oddly enough about being an orphan. It warmed my heart when I first read, it still does. I have given it to many people. It's sweet, heartbreaking story is told on pages of vibrant colors and uneven widths, pages with cut-outs and stripins, pages with peepholes--pages of all shapes and colors. The story is about a little girl who parents went away when she was nine, and she had no relatives to care for her. She is taken in by an orphanage. Lonely and unusual, she stares at people with her big eyes. She often does things that aren't very nice, and people aren't very nice to her. They want to send her away. Until, one day....