I have always loved to dance. As an adult adoptee, a bio mom, and an adoptive mom, I dance between love and loss regularly. I dance with joy over small victories and small signs of acceptance. I dance to escape pain and to avoid obvious rejection from my family(ies). Let me continue to dance with the pain, the understanding, the surrender, His plan, and not faint.

I don’t know

I don’t know

There is so much that I don’t know.

I am just hanging and hovering today.

To be honest, I just wish that my birthmom, birthdad, biosiblings, birth aunts, birth grandparents etc. . . . were people who I could just call and chit chat with (or !! people who would call me?! even), or send funny/inspirational/encouragement/ask questions/whatever stuff to.  Why must there be this strange strange huge scary barrier between us?  Why can’t we be friends on facebook, know each other, be friends . . . ?  We are biologically related.  Does it make sense that (assuming I don’t want anything from them except to know them and vice versa, and assuming that none of us have malicious intent . . . which I don’t and never have) people who are biologically related are then separated for life?   I just don’t think so.

Although, as I reread what I just typed, I am aware more today than I was even three months ago that just because I have arrived at a place where I want to know them, care about them, and include them in our family does not mean that they have arrived at a similar place.  I don’t know.  Maybe they never will.  Perhaps I  represent such a difficult time in my birthparents’ lives, they may never be able to separate who I am today from the little baby that “caused” them so much anguish.  And, perhaps my reappearance and my choices along my journey to reach out to my biological connections was so foreign to them that they may never be able to separate how they view me from a distance from who I really am.  I don’t know.

I don’t know what brought on this little funk/dip.  I have processed and counseled through a good part of my search for reunion, and  do know that  I do not hang and hover forever . . . just sometimes for a day or two.  Or even, sometimes it only lasts a half of a day.

This weekend was my second spring dance recital.  It was an amazing experience–exhausting, required much energy and time.  My husband was gone for the weekend, and so my kids were just great at being OK with me being at rehearsal, dress rehearsal, the performance, etc.  They came to the performance also.  It was a beautiful production . . . moving emotionally to me and to others.  Perhaps this experience placed me at this funk/dip today . . . :

*intense focused effort (similar to intensely seeking to find my birthfamily members)
*emotional performances (meeting/not meeting/connecting with special birth relatives)
*an end to a season (a parting of ways with the sweet students/instructors . . . a parting of ways with people I love instinctually)
*watching some of the dancers graduate and move on, knowing that this is their/our “last”
*and now it’s over.

I don’t know.   I’m just not good at “last” and “over.”

Can you imagine what my birthmom must have been feeling when she gave birth to me, and then it was “over?”  How was her July 11th, 1970 (the day after I was born)?  Did she feel empty?  She had to have felt that something had ended, didn’t she?  How did she cope with her sadness?  Was she sad?  Did she say goodbye?  I don’t know.

I’m OK.  There’s just so much that I don’t know.  And, someone once told me that emotions are like a beach ball in the water.  If you try to push them down, they will bounce back up and bonk you in the chin.  So, what I do know is that today, I will not try to push the beach ball down . . . I will just roll with it and let it slow me down to feel some sadness today.

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