To be Known

Recently, sitting down to work through a project (specifically a Bible study), I faced this assignment–and opened a whole can of worms:

“Fill in the diagrams below describing both the positive and negative influences from your grandparents and parents.  If you never knew your parents or grandparents, substitute the caregivers you have experienced.” (italics mine)

Trouble.  The directions kindly make room for someone who “never knew” their parents or grandparents, which would be a sad burden to carry throughout one’s life.  I started to think about kids who lost their parents to death, divorce . . . foster kids.  And how about adoptees?  We fit into this category of never knowing . . . I am an adopted person who “never knew” my parents or grandparents (my biological ones); and, the directions suggest I “substitute the caregivers” I experienced.

Ick.  “Substitute”  “Caregivers”  The words do not taste good in my mouth.  My biological parents are definitely in the category of parents who I “never knew.”  But, my parents who actually raised me are NOT in the category of “caregivers,” and I am not filling in this diagram with “substitute” parents.   I am filling in this diagram with my Family.

Ponderings.  Did I need/have “substitute parents?”  What was wrong with me that I couldn’t keep my first set?  And how do kids treat and view their “substitutes?”  A teacher cannot/chooses not to be in class one day, so the students all get a “substitute?”  All these words/thoughts mingle around in my head together . . . .

In a deep emotional place somewhere inside of me is the feeling that my birth parents left me because I was too much, too much to handle, too much trouble, too embarrassing, too . . . , and substitutes were then called.  If that pill is too hard to swallow, consider my daughter Naika instead of me.  We brought her home from Haiti (which is her first home) when she was 2 1/2; we brought her here because her birth mom (birth dad unknown) had to leave her/couldn’t provide basic nourishment for her.  It was “too much.”  So, my husband and I are substitutes.  Caregivers.  And not only are we substitutes, but we are obviously the “wrong” color, so everyone can tell she has a substitute.  Ugh.  Kind of raw, I know.  But also a fact.  The first ones couldn’t, so now we fill in.  Hmmm . . .

So back to the assigned work.  Here is the diagram . . .

“Maternal Grandparents

Grandfather                                                                          Grandmother

Positive Influence                                                                Positive Influence

 

Negative Influence                                                              Negative Influence

 

Paternal Grandparents

Grandfather                                                                         Grandmother

Positive Influence                                                               Positive Influence

 

Negative Influence                                                              Negative Influence

 

Mother                                                                                 Father

Positive Influence                                                                Positive Influence

 

Negative Influence                                                              Negative Influence”

I set out to fill in the diagram with the knowledge of my family and the limited knowledge I have gained of my biological family over the recent past 4 1/2 years.  As I do so, I recognize that perception skews reality.  However, I also recognize my perception is my reality.  So, I set out to “fill in the diagram” from my own memory, reality, and perception.

Here goes:

I have hard workers in my family (adoptive), people who remained in one field of work for their entire adult lives, remained in one home/town for their entire lives, a grandma who preferred order over chaos in her home–and one who preferred just the opposite it seems.  I have a grandpa who I’ve only heard stories about because he passed away when I was a baby, people who are good savers, who try to do “the right thing,” who are loyal, and people with a sense of humor–just to give a brief overview.

On my biological side, I find dancers, a grandma who “loved babies” I’ve been told, a grandpa who had a tender spot for “little girls,” military people, people who are emotionally frail (so I’ve been told), people who sever relationships, some very welcoming family members, and people who keep secrets.

My pervasive response to this exercise?  As I look back over my diagram, I see on my biological half several family members who never knew me, don’t know that I exist, maybe suspect that I exist, or refuse to know me.  And this is where I am stuck emotionally–in a place of not wanting to be known.

Over the past three years or so, I have been fighting the feeling of not wanting to be known.  A ha.  I have been jumping through hoops and crossing all sorts of boundaries to be known.  Strangers, family members, long lost friends, all sorts of people–I reach and I reach and I reach.  This is my reaction to being told by people I wanted to know and love (my birth family)–“We don’t wish to know you.”  😦

Now that I recognize this, I know what I am supposed to do; and, it’s not easy . . . .  I must sit with the realization/feeling that some people just don’t want to know me.  I am NOT comfortable with that.  Can I face not being known potentially for the rest of my life by people I biologically care about?  Given no choice right now, I have to (?) accept this.  And, can I recognize that the people who do want to know me are the ones worth spending time with and chasing . . . ?  What a switch.

My security blanket? . . . Remembering that God was present through “every single day” of my heritage.  “He was there . . . .  He knows every detail.  He knows exactly how you’ve been affected, and His expertise is reconstruction.”  He does not and cannot make mistakes.

 

 

 

 

 

Ignorance is Bliss? The Truth Will Set You Free?

Ignorance is Bliss.  Is it?  It can be, I suppose . . . for a time.

My Ignorance.
Growing up, my ignorance regarding the identity of my birthparents seemed okay.  It left me room to imagine.  I used to imagine that maybe I would just see her on the street one day, we would cross paths, and I would know she was my birthmom.  I imagined her as pretty, but faceless.  I can’t remember any particular features I had in my mind when I tried to imagine her.  I just thought she was probably sweet and pretty.  The non-identifying information reported my mother as being interested in dance as a hobby.  I felt connected to her because I loved to dance, too.  I even imagined that she went to the University of Illinois (because I was born in Champaign, IL), and I imagined that she might have even been an Illinette.  Turns out I was right about where she attended college.

My thoughts rarely wandered to my birthdad in those early days.  The non-identifying information told me he was interested in aviation.  I was afraid to fly.  Maybe I didn’t feel connected to him because of that–not to mention that fact that he didn’t carry me in his tummy for nine months.  His outside features (height, weight, hair color, eye color) were listed in my non-identifying information, but the only detail that described his personality was aviation as a hobby.  I was ignorant about the kind of man he was.  I was told that they were not financially ready to get married when they had me, so I kind of pictured him as a young, loving, scared boy.  I was Ignorant.  Admittedly, when I did start flying more regularly as an adult, I looked carefully at the pilots each time–searching their faces to see . . . ?  I don’t know what I thought I would see.  That I would see myself in his face?

Another layer of my ignorance surrounds my mother carrying me in her tummy, the circumstances surrounding my conception, my gestation, my delivery, my foster care (for three days–I think), and more.  My ignorance ends to some degree once my parents got me (when I was 7 days old).  Then, they have memories and stories to tell of their own about the three of us; we started making memories together as a family.  But in those days, they were taught that ignorance was bliss for them too.  They knew little to nothing about nine months plus seven days of my life.

No.  That’s not bliss, I argue.  That’s ignorance.

It’s medically ignorant.  Genetics play a part in a person’s lifetime health.  It’s not bliss to be ignorant about what you may face as you age.  You yourself want to know what family genes you carry that predispose you to heart conditions, immune system compromises, cancer, or even just where you will tend to gain weight as you age, don’t you?

Well-meaning individuals have said to me–the adoptee, “I could never adopt . . . how do you know what you’re getting?  I don’t think I’d like that”  I always feel like I’m out of a grab bag when people say that.  Actually, I’ve only had two people say that to me.  But, it didn’t give me a good feeling; it made me feel like a mutt, and it made me want to defend Naika.

It’s emotionally ignorant.  Spending my life separated from and ignorant of my birth family and then trying to reunite without any shared experiences was not bliss.  We lived ignorant of each other for almost four decades; how to blend experiences, lives, forge relationships now, . . . how?  I have six half-siblings who cannot (or will not) integrate their lives into mine.  Ignorance of each other put us here.  Had I known they only lived 45 minutes away, or 2.5 hours away . . . things could have been different.  The adoption community handles this so differently now; truth so often reigns.

My Birthparents’ Ignorance.
Oh, what they must have gone through.  Can you imagine the pits in their stomachs?  It was the fall of 1969 when I was conceived.  They were both seniors at the University of Illinois–on track to graduate.  In those days, having a baby before marriage carried such a different weight than it does now.  They hid it.  They hid everything.  They hid it all very well–as far as they knew.  And, probably, based on the history of how birthparents and adoptive parents were educated in those days–they believed and were told ignorance would be bliss for them.

But, has it been bliss?  Has it been best for them to not have any knowledge of me since shortly after I was born?  I can’t answer for them.  I can read what other birthparents say and write.  I find that a majority of them agonize over not knowing what ever happened to their baby.  Others talk and write about burying their pain of not knowing so deeply–just to emotionally and physically survive the loss.

And, to add to it, my birthparents’ did not allow their family members to help them carry their weight.  They kept them ignorant of me, also.  What a big scary secret to keep for a lifetime.

Which leads me to . . . The Truth Will Set You Free

Every one has secrets–things they would prefer others did not know or find out–including me.  But at some point, we face our Maker, and He knows what is true already–right down to our core; giving over our secrets to Him brings healing and peace.  So, I ache alongside those who carry secrets for so long–for too long.  Secrets are scary and heavy, and they chase us around.

Truth for the Adoptees.
Today, so many adoptees grow up with more knowledge of their beginnings in life–who their birthparents are, knowledge of and communication with their birth siblings, their ongoing medical information; and some even spend time blending their lives with their birth family little by little.  The adoption community is shifting from “ignorance is bliss” to “the truth will set you free.”  While none of this goes along seamlessly, there is freedom from ignorance.  Blanks are filled in for these adoptees.  No more imagining or wondering is needed for the adoptee when he/she has pictures of his beginnings.  Pictures of the hospital where he was born.  Pictures of extended birth family members (grandmas, grandpas, siblings).  Letters from birth parents expressing themselves to the child they are placing for adoption.  Life is not without heartache; therefore, embracing the truth of a birth family is much like embracing the truth of any family.  Know them as they are–the good, the bad, and the ugly.  But know them; they are real people.

Truth for the Birthparents.
Do you know today women who are facing an unexpected pregnancy report they cannot fathom placing their baby for adoption unless they can have some contact with the child over time?  The truth will set you free, dear mother.  Running to hide from the situation puts us in a place of captivity.  Freedom asks us to embrace the truth of the pregnancy, the baby, and the biological relationships included.

Captivity.  That’s an interesting word.  Those who will not acknowledge me as a person in their lives have placed me in captivity; they would prefer that I remain locked up in their closet.  Who is free?  Neither of us.  They have a closet door they are trying desperately to keep shut, and I just want to open the door–because it turns out, I am alive.

This doesn’t seem like bliss.

Full circle.  Some of my birth family members choose to remain in ignorance about me and my family despite my requests to be known and to know them.  So, much like I did as a young person, they have now developed their own stories about me.  They have described me as “sinister,” and “setting out to do as much damage as I can,” and “batting my teary eyes as I tell my tantalizing story . . . ” (some words might not be exactly the ones they used in their communication–but their meaning is in tact.)  For now, they are captive to their imaginations of what I must be like.

Oh, how I wish the truth would set us all free.

Mother’s Day Multiple Personalities

 

Sigh.  I can’t figure out all the angles surrounding this day in my own head.  As I start to list and categorize all of my thoughts surrounding the day, let me say this first:

My knee-jerk instinctual thoughts regarding Mother’s Day go straight to my mom.
My mom loves me.  I don’t know if she always likes me or understands me, but I know she loves me.
How do I know?
She has been there with me, for me, in spite of me, because of me . . . she has been there.
And, she loves and supports the people who I love and support–my husband and kids.
And, she sends me newspaper articles about family life, teenagers, drinking too much caffeine, how to clean my house better, adoption issues, money stuff, music stuff . . . .
And, she listens to me.
And, I talk a lot–but she still listens.
And, she sacrifices for me still.
And, she fed me, bathed me, changed my diaper, clothed me
And, she disciplined me, grounded me, made me do chores, made me practice my piano.
And, she drove me to dance lessons, piano lessons, theatre rehearsals, 4-H meetings
And, she worried and still worries about me.
And, she loves me.
My mom raised me.  I love her and I am thankful to be her daughter.

Angle #2
Will Naika say such things?  I do think she is feeling a little tender towards me–perhaps seeing and believing that I will take care of her.  I wonder if one day, when she is older, if she will count me as her mom–the one who raised her.  And, I realize that I am writing that history now.  I must do all of the above listed things that my mom did for me in order to “achieve” such status.  Can I?  Can I do it well?  I don’t know.  I am just going to rest on the saying that I am “doing the best I can with what I have in this time” for now.

There is such a pull for an adoptee–no denying it–we have two moms.  Naika and I have one mom who we resemble physically, genetically, and probably in more ways than we know because they have now become strangers of sorts to us.  And we have another mom who fulfills the roll of mom beyond the tummy.  Thank God for both.  It takes a mom who carries a baby in a tummy and a mom who cares for the baby’s needs for their lifetime beyond the tummy to produce a human being.  It takes both.  And Naika and I have both.  Thank God.  In a perfect world (haha), Naika and I would love/need the privilege of time with both mommies–time with our birthmoms to fill in the genetic blanks, and neverending connection to the moms who have raised us.  Yes, that is an adoptee’s plea.

Angle #3
How can I honor my birthmom, who I also love, but from a distance since she cannot bring herself to allow me into her life.  Last year, Mother’s Day stirred some depression into me.  Just for a couple of days, I felt that low low inescapable feeling of sadness and loss.  I missed my birthmom.  I am one of her children biologically, and I wanted to be able to pick up the phone, call my birthmom, and tell her Happy Mother’s Day–just like a “normal” child might like to do.  But I couldn’t.  Her other children she carried in her tummy could.  But not me.  I couldn’t send her flowers without upsetting her, couldn’t write her an email because I don’t know her email address,  . . .  My hands were tied as if I had a restraining order.  I just wanted her to know that I love her even without knowing her, and I wanted to tell her Happy Mother’s Day.  But I am too much–too upsetting–connected to too many memories .  . ???  I don’t know.  I am still guessing.

This Mother’s Day, I don’t know if I will go to that place or not.  I feel a little differently, although just writing about last mother’s day above draws my heart close to hers–admittedly.  But, over the last year, the people who actually know me and love me have made themselves very obvious to me.  And, the people who are choosing not to know me have also made themselves very obvious to me.  I am a little more exhausted from trying to know people who don’t want to know me this year.  It still makes me sad.  But not everything can be fixed.  And so, my sense of thankfulness for my mom and those around me seems to overshadow my sense of loss of my birthmom and those around her right now.

Yet–I feel tears well up because of what I stated in Angle #2–I have two moms.  I have been asked to let go of one–to “focus” only on one.  Could you do that?  If you were Naika, a Haitian little girl in a white family, could you  deny the fact that you have two moms and just talk yourself into forgetting about the other one?  I would never ask Naika to do that.  Never.

Angle #4
How is Naika feeling about her birthmom this weekend, and how can I help her honor her birthmom?
Status quo for territory that is uncharted for me:  We plant a flower in honor of her birthmom and mine every Mother’s Day.  This, we will do again.  And we will pray for both of them.

Angle #5
My heart is tender towards the hurting:  the ones who have lost their moms to death and the ones who long to be a mom but have yet to bring home a child.

The day, may it be far far away, that I cannot call my mom–I can’t imagine.  I remember one Christmas time when my parents were here visiting, and I was in the kitchen.  I absentmindedly wanted to call my mom to tell my mom (haha) that my mom and dad were here!  🙂  It was just a fleeting thought, and I laughed and told my mom what had just crossed my mind.  But I realized–anytime something good, bad, boring,–anything happens, I call my mom.  She cares the most about what I have to say.  I hurt deeply for those who are in the place on Mother’s Day weekend where they can’t call their moms because they have already left this earth.  You have experienced loss.  May you experience comfort this weekend.

And the dear friends of mine who (like my mom for ten years before adopting me) are facing infertility.  I am highly uneducated in the right and wrongs things to say regarding this issue, so my words will be few.  They may hurt this weekend.  I know hurt and most of us do–from one source of pain or another.  I am aware of their hurt.

And sigh, Happy Mother’s Day!  🙂

I am . . .

I am . . .

I am not a secret.  

I developed into an actual person.

I am not a baby.

I developed into an adult.

I am not a silent party.

I developed into a person who can make choices too.

I am not perfect.

I developed into a human.

Secrets and shame corrode from the inside out.