I had a major epiphany last week. Not like the time I decided my calling in life was to build dollhouses, or when I seriously considered going to clown college, but a real deal epiphany. What was it you ask? Only that the Star Wars trilogy is one of the most touching stories of a birth parent/adoptee relationship ever told! I’m not crazy…I swear!
I received a letter a couple weeks ago from Bee’s mom. She was nice enough to include a few of Bee’s school projects. One of which was a drawing of him rocking out on guitar hero with a caption that read, “When I come home I like to play video games”. Me too, Bee!
While I know it’s no crazy surprise that an eight year old digs video games, it still made me happy to know we share a common interest. Being a birth mom I have to deal with the fact that Bee is no longer mine. He won’t grow up with my family traditions. He will never call me mom. He belongs to an entirely different family all together. So I take comfort in knowing that there are things that he and I share that can never be taken away from either of us. He has my smile, my nose, and my crappy vision (much to my disappointment on the latter).
Luke Skywalker is Darth Vader’s son. Even though Luke stays true to himself and the good nature of his adoptive family by rejecting the dark side, he can’t deny his bloodline. His biological make up is the reason why The Force is so strong within him! Watching Star Wars from a birth mom’s point of view makes it so much more than a super rad space adventure. To me, it’s the story of an adoptee finding the balance between nature and nurture.
Of course I never want my son to have to struggle to find himself. I want him to grow up knowing exactly who he is. I want him to feel secure in knowing that he is living the life he was meant to live.
Still, if Bee turns out to be an awesome Jedi, I’ll take the credit for that one!
Cheers!
--Lacy
When I was about eight years old I went with my mom to visit my uncle. I loved visiting my uncle. He worked on a railroad and he always had great stories about all of his many adventures. This particular visit to his house he had a video for my mom and I to watch. It was a video of a vacant building being imploded. For whatever reason, he was invited by a friend of his to watch (and record) this spectacle. I was captivated. I sat and watched the camera zoom into the structure. I waited patiently for the crowning moment. I listened intently to the hustle and bustle of the workers as they prepared to detonate the structure. Then just like that, it was done. What was once a tall building was now a pile of dust and rubble.
Looking back I can’t help but wonder why I was so captivated by such an event. Maybe I was just a little kid who wanted to see something blow up, or maybe it’s just human nature to enjoy watching things fall. Either way, I can’t help but wonder. What purpose did that building serve? I was never told what it was actually used for. Even if it was just a warehouse used to store items, surely someone somewhere had fond memories of it. What about the people who built it? How would they feel if they knew I took such pleasure in watching the fruits of their labor crumble to the ground?
As birth parents we face unique challenges that other parents do not. While other parents are watching their children take their first steps, we will watch this moment from a distance and some of us won’t watch at all. We also face spectators who want to see us fall. People who are so put off by the idea of adoption what they write us off as dead beat parents, lazy, or just plain heartless. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not claiming that we’re the only group of people out there who face these spectators. From my experience, however, it certainly seems that these people are allowed to stand a little bit closer to the front lines.
As I move through life as a birth mother, I look for reasons to stand tall every day. One look at the photo of my son that sits on my desk can turn an otherwise crappy day into the day I decide to live life like it’s my last day on earth. The thought that one day my son will possibly be proud of me can give me the burst of energy needed to pull myself through the week, month, or even the year. Most recently, I’ve decided to think of the spectators. That ugly little group of people who stand on the sidelines, waiting for me to fall. I will never let those spectators see me fall.
Besides, whenever a building of some significance is scheduled to be demolished, there is always a whole other group of people fighting to preserve it.
Cheers!
-Lacy
Hello, my name is Lacy, and I am a proud birth mother.
I was 16 years old when my life changed forever. I had been going through a very rough patch. My father had just split, my mom was working well over 60 hours a week to keep our heads above water, and the world as I knew it was crumbling around me. Then I met a boy. A very charming boy.
It wasn’t long after I started dating this boy that sex came into the picture. Six months after we started dating I discovered I was pregnant. Getting pregnant at the age of 16 was certainly not something I had planned on. Being that I was 16 years old and facing an unplanned pregnancy, I was forced to make a decision. My very first decision was to have an abortion. I even made an appointment at a local clinic. Needless to say, I never went through with it. My son’s birth father was very insistent that we keep--and parent--our child. He reassured me that he would step up to the plate, and take care of us.
After a few months passed my relationship with my son’s birth father began to fall apart. He became both physically and mentally abusive. He refused to get a job, or even attempt to get a job. On top of all the problems I was having with my relationship, I was also facing a change in my living situation. My mother’s house went into foreclosure and she was left with no choice but to sell it. We were forced to move in with my grandparents. Reality was starting to hit me.
I started thinking about adoption when I was about 5 months pregnant. I had finally got the nerve to break it off with my son’s birth father, and things between us were worse than ever. I came to the conclusion that the environment was just too toxic for my child. After all, we always want what is best for our children. I certainly couldn’t provide for this child, and his birth father was beginning to show his true colors. Adoption was the only viable option. My son’s birth father, however, was absolutely not on board. As arrogant as it may sound, I am convinced he wanted me to keep the baby so he could have a link to me for the rest of our lives. If he truly cared about our baby, he wouldn’t have physically abused me while I was pregnant. After I discussed the idea of adoption with him, things between us became much worse. He harassed me, threatened me, and taunted me with promises of signing away his parental rights. “If you get back together with me I will sign away my rights, but if you leave me I will get that baby” he would say.
I went forward with planning an adoption in spite of the birth father‘s objections. I met a couple through a close family friend. They were everything I wanted for my son. They were fun, energetic, good-hearted people. I decided to go through the agency they had been working with. I was assigned a case worker and things were moving forward.
The entire time I was planning the adoption I never stopped to worry about myself. All of my worries were focused on the uncertainties of the situation. I was never quite sure weather my baby would leave the hospital with me, his birth father, or his adoptive family. The stress was overwhelming. By the time my due date rolled around I was ready to get the ball rolling. As I previously mentioned, I never actually stopped to worry about the pain I might feel handing my baby to someone else.
My son was born on the evening of October 3rd, 2002. We gave him a name (which I assure you was lovely), but I will refer to him as Bee. I didn’t spend much time with him in the hospital. I was sore, stressed, and still racked with worries over his future. His adoptive parents were able to take him home from the hospital. Though I didn’t have him in my arms when I left the hospital, I still left feeling like a proud mother. I felt joyful and hopeful for his future. “He will accomplish great things one day” I thought.
The joy was short lived, however. A few days after leaving the hospital I was served with court papers. Bee’s birth father was going through with his promise to pursue full custody. A court date was scheduled, and off I went. I testified in a court. I spoke of all the turmoil between Bee’s birth father and myself. It was painful, and nerve-racking.
Fortunately for Bee and I, the decision was in our favor. Bee’s birth father had his rights terminated. I officially placed my son into an open adoption weeks later. And so it began…the life of a birth mother.
I’m 25 years old now and while I’m pleased with the decision I made 8 years ago, each day is a challenge. I look forward to sharing my story with everyone, and here’s to hoping I learn a thing or two along the way!
Cheers!
-Lacy
Photo by: Hilde Vanstraelen / biewoef.be
I had a major epiphany last week. Not like the time I decided my calling in life was to build dollhouses, or when I seriously considered going to clown college, but a real deal epiphany. What was it you ask? Only that the Star Wars trilogy is one of the most touching stories of a birth parent/adoptee relationship ever told! I’m not crazy…I swear!
