Broken Can Be Beautiful

I read a blog once about a young mother whose newborn had died shortly after birth. She was racked by grief and loss. At some point in her story she felt compelled to shatter a water pitcher that she had and slowly glue it back together. To her, that pitcher is more beautiful now. It will still hold water, but now the light shines through the cracks. That pitcher is a representation of her life and her healing.

You can take something broken and make it beautiful. Adoption is broken. There is coercion. There are unethical lawyers and social workers. There are adoptive families that believe they are entitled to your child. There are birth families that are not supportive. There are even birth parents that are selfish.

My attorney was unethical. My agency was non-existent in all the ways they should not have been. I remember the social worker coming to my house one time before the placement. She asked a few questions and was on her way. After 5 minutes with me she gave the green light on my placing my son. The lawyer, the most dramatic thing she did was insist to me that the post-placement agreement was legally binding. That if it was notarized and we both signed it was now a legal contract. Each page of that agreement is initialed. The document is notarized. It's not legal though. Not even a little.

I met with a dear friend, a lawyer, several times. I was so angry. How could she lie to me like that? Did she not see how important that agreement was to me? That agreement was my sanity. That was how I made it through those first few months. My friend started attacking me with questions. Asking about all these personal things. About my son, finances, my job, my friends, where I lived, my family. He was relentless. Then he asked about the adoptive family. He asked about my choice to place. He asked about my feelings. It was one of the longest evenings of my life. I cried until I could cry no more. Then he asked me one last question. "Do you want Frogger removed from R&P?" I was horrified. Of course I didn't. I just wanted my lawyer to pay for her lies. I wanted my lawyer to burn in hell. It was then that I realized what he had done.

The defense would have torn me apart. I was a grieving mom that changed her mind. Oh no, wait, I wasn't. I was just bitter and angry and out for blood. I didn't pursue going to the bar. My wounds were to too raw and too deep.

This is why I say we, as birth mothers, need to speak out. We need to change the way adoption is handled. If it wasn't so hush-hush then the laws would be known. Open adoption would be the norm. Everyone would know what an ethical, moral, upstanding adoption looked like.

Take something broken and make it more beautiful then it was meant to be. Fix it. Don't trash it. Someone may need it one day.

Hard Love

One of my main goals for telling my story is to change the perception of adoption. Unfortunately, unplanned pregnancies happen. Why is the main stream so tied to Parenting vs Abortion? Why is there so much shame and stigma towards Adoption?

I believe I knew in the beginning, while still pregnant that I was not equipped to parent my son and provide for him as he deserved. But, I fell into the trap thinking that my choices were parent or abort to be accepted by those in my life. If I had an abortion no one had to know. And, well, if I parented then “I stepped up”.

I tried. God knows, I tried. I parented for 2 years, 6 months, and 5 days.

I think my life would have turned out differently had I felt confident that adoption was a viable option from the beginning. I believe the healing process would have been easier had the shame and guilt not hung over me like a cloud on a stormy day for so long.

We, as birthmothers, do not love our children any less. We, as birthmothers, are not looking for a way out from responsibility. This may sound a little self-righteous, but when people look at me in horror when I tell them about the adoption and say things like, “I could never GIVE my child away, I love him too much.” I want to answer back, “Maybe I loved my son MORE than you and that is why I did everything I had to, to make sure he had the best life possible.” It is not that I truly feel that way. I just cannot grasp why others believe that is what adoption is about.

I was excited when the movie Juno came out. Finally a movie about a birth mom. They did a good job, overall. But, I was angry. I was angry that they did not show an accurate portrayal of the roller-coaster this teen mom would go through. I had not heard of the movie that Natasha just reviewed, Like Dandelion Dust, but I'm disgusted with the portrayal of that movie as well. 

Adoption is HARD, but it also BEAUTIFUL. Adoption is not weak, it is BRAVE. Adoption is not selfish, it is SELFLESS. Adoption is not shameful, it is INSPIRING. Adoption is not indifference, it is LOVE. These are the key words that need to be used when discussing adoption.

No one wants to find themselves in an unplanned pregnancy. None of us want that for our children, family members or friends. But it happens. It will continue to happen. I wish everyone who found themselves in that situation immediately thought parenting or adoption. I may be pro-choice, but I do not believe anyone should feel that is their only choice if they are unable to parent.

I want to educate others to be pro-active regarding adoption. I want the media to build adoption up, not tear it down. I want us, as birth mothers, to be able to hold our head high, not be tempered by shame or guilt. We chose good things for our children. We planned more promising futures for our children. We should NEVER feel bad for that.  

Oklahoma Tragedy Hits Home

The tragedy in Moore, OK hits home for me as a birthmother in a closed adoption. How many of those children lost are adoptees? How many birth-parents will never have the opportunity to know their "lost" children?

On Easter Sunday in 2009 my son's Birth Father passed away. My first thought was relief. He could no longer threaten me. I was know longer scared that he may actually follow through with the promises he had made. However, seconds later, I was devastated.  I was devastated that my son, that Frogger would never have the opportunity to meet his father if he chose to. I was devastated that he would never have the ability to hear his fathers voice. I was devastated that Frogger would never have the chance to make his own determination of who his birth father is. Everything he will ever know is what others felt of him and remembered of him.

These are the types of things that make me feel so strongly that open adoptions should be the norm. I understand there may be certain situations where open is not an option. But, we are mothers. We love our children. We worry about them. Most of us have the utmost respect for the parents that are raising our child. But, just because we chose adoption, or perhaps were even forced into adoption due to tragic circumstance, is it really fair that we don't get to know that they are safe? Is it really fair that they don't get to know where they come from?

In spite of a closed adoption, I know more about my son and his life than most in my situation do. I am so grateful for a tiny slip up on the adoptive parents part by including a picture with their last name in one of the very first communications I received when our adoption was semi-open.

I know Frogger is alive. I know Frogger is safe. I know Frogger is loved. I also know that he is a Jr. Firefighter. This makes me proud. But, it also scares me. What would I do if I never get to know if he wanted to meet me or not. How would I feel knowing that opportunity was lost forever.

My heart goes out to all of the families that lost loved ones, their homes, their feeling of safe. But, most of all my heart goes out to the mother's that will never know their children. Not because of choice, but because of tragedy.

We choose adoption so that our children can thrive and grow. A tragic tornado is just a ruthless reminder that we have no control over the life our children will have.

Dump Trucks of Love

Sometimes life gets in the way... The last several days have been a whirlwind of unexpected road trips, ER visits, and simply trying to catch up and prepare for some things on the horizon. For this reason I simply have not had a chance to sit down and write a proper blog post. 

However, I thought I would share a letter that I wrote to Frogger 4-5 years ago about his placement day. I know I have searched out they way others felt on that day. Birth families, adoptive families, even family and friends. 

Next week I promise I will be back with "fresh" material! Until then...

Dear Frogger, 

March 15, 1998 you became a part of your new family. This date holds so much more significance for me than your birthday, or mother’s day, or all the days you are in my heart and on my mind. 

For some reason this year seemed harder than it has been in a very long time. I’m not sure why that is. The day replayed over and over in my mind as if I had gone back in time. I remembered things I had been afraid I had forgotten. I remembered things clearly that have become fuzzy with time. 

You were 2.5 years old. We had made it that far. We had a bond that was beyond most simply because it had always been just you and me. I want to share that Sunday with you. 

I had taken every step imaginable to make the transition as easy as possible for you. I tried to pretend that everything was good. That I was happy. That the changes that were going to take place were normal. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to be upset about. This was going to be a happy time for you. A time that you were being given the gift of a mom AND a dad. A time that would erase any memory of hardship and having to do without even the basic necessities. I made sure you were excited. I never let you see me when I was feeling the loss that was about to occur for me. 

On Saturday at 7:30pm, just as we had every day for the past 2.5 years. I tucked you in. I told you that tomorrow was the big day that you would go to your new house with R and P. I told you how it would be a big day, an exciting day and to make sure you got some “big sleep” (You always insisted it was big sleep, not good sleep). We said our prayers, we said goodnight to the moon, the trees, and about 25 other things. We had a routine and we stuck with it. 

You were always a good sleeper. You never woke up in the middle of the night. But that night you did. You woke up and called for me. It’s as if you understood that it was our last night together. The last night we would ever be considered mother and son to the world as a whole. When I walked into your room you asked if we could sleep together on the futon. We had never slept together and neither of us had slept on the futon. I told you no, that we both had to sleep in our beds just like always. You cried. You never cried over something so seemingly silly. You insisted that we “camp on the futon, Mummy, PLLLLEEASEEE”. So we did… 

You snuggled up to me and never let go of my hand. You woke me up on Sunday morning staring at me nose to nose. You didn’t want to get up and play like you normally did. You wanted us to camp some more. We had breakfast, we played, we did everything that we normally did. 

When it was time to go meet R and P, you happily put your coat on, you got your blanket and started out the front door. 

All of us met at PaPa’s office. You loved PaPa’s office… You ran around and laughed. You took turns giving all of us rides in PaPa’s desk chair. It seemed just like any other day all in all. 

I want to tell you more… but its too difficult right now. It’s to difficult to put my feelings into words. But, most importantly I want to tell you about that last moment that is so remarkably clear right now. I put you in your car seat in R and P’s car.You asked for an Eskimo kiss. Then you took those chubby hands on both sides of my face and pulled me down. You wiped the one tear that escaped in spite of my using every once of strength I had to not cry in front of you. You then said the words that will never leave my memories… 

“No cry Mummy! I love you fiffy building dump trucks every day Mummy.” 

I love you 50 Billion Dump Trucks each and every day too, Frogger! I hope that all my dreams for you come true. 

Love Always, 

Mummy

Please, share your experience of Placement Day! I would love to hear from each and everyone of you.

Twists and Turns

The journey of adoption is filled with so many twists and turns. There are many turns and forks in the road along the way.

One of the most difficult aspects of placement is that things change. The future you plan for your child is not set in stone. The expectations don't necessarily happen. The circumstances that led you to choose placement also, God-willing, change as well.

As I have stated before I made a plan for my son's future. I wanted Frogger to have a mother and a father. I wanted Frogger to not have a life defined by financial struggle. I wanted Frogger to have the stability that I was unable to give him at that time.

Almost immediately there were HUGE changes. Within a year of placement, I began my career. I immediately doubled my salary. Within two years, I was getting married. Three years and we purchased a house in a great neighborhood, with great schools. Not only were we able to not struggle financially, but we took vacations and had savings.

On the other side, the AP's adopted another boy within only a few short months of Frogger's placement. I was happy for them. Proud that Frogger would have a brother to grow up with. But, that was not in MY plan. I expected for him to be an only child for at least a year. I expected that he would have a chance to settle in and adjust to his new life before there was another massive change. My feelings were at odds with each other. I was happy, yet, I was disappointed. I had in my mind that things would go a certain way. It was a difficult adjustment to accept that expectations are rarely met.

Although R & P never mentioned it, based on the pictures I received in the beginning, they separated within a couple of years and later divorced. What? How could this happen? At this point my life was everything I thought I was giving my son with R & P. I felt overwhelmed with questions, with grief.

Although, I still did not regret my choice, I would be lying if I said this wasn't a difficult time to remember that. I had to remind myself over and over that I needed to remember the circumstance of then. Not now. I had to believe in myself. I had to trust that I made the best decision for that time. I had to believe that although things may not have been playing out the same way I planned, that I did OK.

When you make an adoption plan you find yourself in a fantasy world. The one where everything works out like you hope. The one where all your expectations are met. As you travel the road you realize you can't see what is around that corner up ahead. You don't know what fork in the road you will take or the adoptive family will take.

I choose to believe that Frogger is happy. That his parents continue to provide for him. That both of his parents continue to be a huge and positive influence in his life. I can not guarantee that. But, I hope. I believe. I have to. I have to believe in them. I have to believe in me. I have to believe that Frogger is living the life that was intended for him.

Mother's Day or Birthmother's Day?

Mother’s Day is around the corner. This is a difficult day for a lot of us, but I think that the difficultly is for a host of different reasons.

Each year I reflect on how special Mother’s Day must be for Frogger’s mom, P. It is a special day for me knowing that P is a MOM and I was a part of that.

The hardest part of Mother’s Day for me is that friends and family are afraid to acknowledge Mother’s Day for me (even though I have Ladybug). I understand that they are afraid they are going to hurt my feelings or bring up painful memories. But, honestly, the part that hurts the most is the avoidance from others on that day.

When Frogger was still with me I had a friend that went out of his way to make sure that Frogger got something for me (I was a single mom, so there was no one else) on Mother’s Day. This friend would slide a card under the door. He would leave a bouquet of flowers on my doorstep with balloons. One year he even arranged for bagel delivery at 8am so I would have “breakfast in bed.” Ladybug was born in 2001, 3 years after placement, and 12 years ago. Yet, I rarely get a card. I don’t think I have ever gotten flowers, and I most certainly do not get breakfast in bed.

I am a mom. I am a mom to a beautiful little girl. I was a mom to a handsome little boy. I am a mother.

I am curious how other birth moms feel about Mother’s Day. Do you wish others would acknowledge you on that day? Do you wish that you could avoid that day?

I have mixed feelings about Birthmother’s Day, the Saturday before Mother’s Day. I feel as though in some ways it diminishes our role as mothers. We are ALL mothers, even if we do not parent our children. We may not be “mom”, but does that mean we are no longer a mother? Does that mean we are only entitled to the title of “Birth Mom”? On the other hand, maybe for some Mother’s Day is too painful.

I think that we need to speak out more. Stop being ashamed, or scared, or simply allowing ourselves to be diminished of the role we play in the adoption triad. Our children are real to us. Just as real as to the person who is parenting.

Perhaps, I am way off in my thinking. Perhaps, most believe, that as birth mothers, we should have a special day acknowledging the sacrifice, the hardship, the pain that comes along with our side of adoption.

What do you think, Mother's Day or Birthmother's Day?

Roller-coasters: Emotional & Circumstantial

My adoption closed almost 5 years post-placement from semi-open. I'm not sure if all the emotional aspects are the same for me or not as I reach one of the final milestones. But Frogger will be 18 this fall. 

It’s a struggle. I am so excited that I will finally reach that major milestone where Frogger can, by law, contact me. I am also afraid of getting my hopes up. Yet, I cannot help but to be excited.  I have done countless hours of research through the years, so I know that boys are less likely to seek out their birth-family, especially, early into adulthood.

Frogger is a part of my daily life. His pictures are throughout my house. My daughter, Ladybug, knows about her brother and has questions and expectations of a reunion as well. My family and friends remind me often that this is the year he turns 18, as though I forget.

Adoption is not only a roller coaster of emotion, but of circumstance as well. Will he want to meet me? Will he want to know me? Did he have the happy life that I had hoped for him? In spite of my believing in my decision, was it, in fact, the right one?

What about his parents? How are they feeling as Frogger’s 18^th birthday comes barreling towards us? Are they encouraging him to reach out or are they afraid of losing him?

It’s a roller-coaster  If he doesn't want to meet me is it because he feels that I abandoned him? Or is it because I truly did plan such an amazing life for him that he doesn't feel like a part of him is missing? And if he does not choose to connect, is the opposite is true?

I have had many people suggest through the years that my placing after parenting must have been more difficult than if I had placed at birth. I don’t think that is true. I had the opportunity to know him. I had the opportunity to be called “mummy”, by my son. There is no mistaking that I was his mom. It allowed me to know that my decision was because I thought he needed more than I could give. I have never felt that other’s made the decision for me. I have never felt that I was placing because of other people’s expectations.

All of the above is why I am here. I want to be able to help others on the “Adoption Roller-coaster . I want to tell my story, and maybe I can help someone. And most of all, I want Frogger to be able to find at least a small part of his story even if reunion is not his choice.

Who Am I?

My name is Bethany and I am honored to be one of the new bloggers for BirthMom Buds. But, WHO AM I?

I am a mother. I am a mother to my pre-teen daughter, “LadyBug”. I am also a mother to someone else’s son. I was “Frogger’s” mom first. I was his mom for 2 years, 6 months, and 10 days. THEN he became someone else’s son.

On some days, it feels like that spring day was just yesterday. Other days, it seems as though it was so long ago it never happened. Most days it feels just like it was, just over 15 years ago.

I was 17 when I found out I was pregnant. I felt as though I was so much older than I was. I had spent a long time living with a much older man and raising his children. He was physically abusive, but it was my mission to be there for his daughters. I was stable for them and I loved them. Then I was pregnant. That is when it hit me that ultimately I had no control over what happened with his children. But, I was ultimately in charge of what happened to the child that was growing inside of me.

I left one night to go to the “store”. In reality, I went to the airport to escape 1,000 miles away. My father was amazing. At the time I felt he was overbearing, controlling and so incredibly disappointed. While all of those things may be true, I now know it was because he loved me. He wanted to protect me.

Throughout the years, and especially in the beginning of the adoption, a lot of people asked me “How?”. How could I parent for 2 ½ years and then just “give” him away? I did not “give” my son away. I made a plan for his future. I made a choice for him that has been the hardest decision I have ever had to make. It was not about me. It was not about what I wanted or what I needed.  I made a choice to give my son a life less likely to be defined by financial struggle. I made a choice to give him two parents instead of one. I made a choice to give him love by allowing someone to raise him and parent him that could give more than just the infinite amount of love that I could give him.

I do not regret my decision in the least, although, at times it can be overwhelming how much I wish it was different back then.  I am excited to be able to share my story and to hear stories from all of you. I am sure I will cover the period of time that I was simply, mom, or “mummy” as Frogger called me, but also the roller-coaster I call life since placement.

So, WHO ARE YOU?