New Year, New What?

As the new year begins, we once again look at our lives and our new year and try to make it better than the year that came before.  Often that means looking at our lives and deciding what needs to be changed.  For me, that's going to include attempting to come to terms with certain parts of myself.

If you're wondering why this launch into self-discovery, it's because I've found out that my son has inherited some of my qualities and conditions I'd rather he hadn't.  Thus far, he has shown signs of anxiety and problems with sensory overload.  My father had these problems as did I.  My son's adoptive parents are getting him an occupational therapist and getting him the help and care that my father and I never got.  For that, I am glad.

I wasn't sure why the school suggested they get him a therapist at first.  After all, my father and I had gotten along just fine without one.  But looking back I realize that both I and my father could have benefitted from help like that.  This past year has proven to me unequivocally that I am not done learning how to handle my problems.  And I think that finally addressing them now will help me help my son's adoptive parents and my son as well.

I've already formed a plan and will be putting that into action soon.  I won't lie and say I'm looking forward to this.  Examining one's self is often a painful and frightening expedition.  But I have been down this road before.  And as this will help my son, I'm determined to go through with this.

I hope you are all having a good day and stay safe!

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Times We Couldn't Share

Every time another special celebration comes and goes, my heart feels a little empty, despite the joys shared with friends and family. I always stop and think about what it would be like for my son to be apart of these celebrations. As I write today I am particularly focused on this idea, because my family is on their yearly vacation to the lake house. Each member of my immediate family, along with their spouses and children gather in one home and share a week of fun on the lake in my dad's boat. It has always been one of the highlights of my year, and has been a large part of my life since I can remember. It is hard not having Aidan here with the rest of us. It is hard knowing what we all are missing.

For me I miss seeing Aidan with all the other kids running and playing. I see my two girls play together and can't help but feel like something is missing as I long to see him there as well. I miss seeing him play with all of his cousins, and enjoying the special bond they all share. It is hard to accept that he will not experience all of these things as he grows. It goes even deeper at times as I see the way of life that he is not experiencing. So much of what I learned about myself was learned on these trips. It provides a chance to escape the realities of life and experience life as a family unit without the distractions. It taught me strength and determination as I learned to ski and do other water sports as a young child. I learned how to really enjoy the company of others, and to deal with disappointments as they come. I know all of these things can be learned in other ways, but for my family these special moments are often shared alongside the water. It is hard knowing this is not a central part of my son's childhood.

I must believe that he will find these things in other places, and maybe someday I will have the opportunity to share these special moments with him. Each time I think of the moments we are not able to share I am forced to accept the reality, and to be honest, it is extremely difficult. Each birthday party we do not share, each holiday that passes, every family gathering: all of these are bittersweet. I want so deeply to fully enjoy all of these things with the ones who are present. It becomes especially hard when I see my girls, and I want to be fully present for them in those moments, and I do the best I can. I choose to love life as it is, and work through the sadness as it comes. No matter what I do those feelings are always there, very real, very strong. I honor him and my girls through those moments and live life to the fullest. Someday he will understand the pain I CHOOSE to feel was always for him. These times we couldn't share simply remind me of the real love I have for this little boy and the choice I made for his life. For all of us birth moms - we must remember how heroic our choice was!! How many people willingly take on the most difficult pain imaginable for the love of another? We know sacrificial love, and our children will be blessed by our love.

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How I Picked My Son's Family

I realized that I haven't talked that much about my adoption story. So I wanted to start with how I picked the couple who would have my son.

I was in my parent's house.  I was sitting in front of my mother's computer.  And I had finally gotten up the courage to look at the list of prospective adoptive parents on the adoption agency website.  The list was two pages.  And it went in order alphabetically by the husband's first name.  I looked at the first profile written by the couple.  And I felt nothing.  Just felt like, nope.  Not the ones to have my kid.  At this point I'm already berating myself for turning down a perfectly good couple.  I didn't know what I was looking for.  But I had to find a couple who would take my son.  The second couple on the list made me smile for one reason: my boyfriend's name and the husband's name were the same.  At the time I said out loud,

"Wouldn't it be funny if both his dad's had the same name?"

I was joking.  But then I pulled up their profile and started reading.  He was an English professor and a musician.  She was a painter.  They wrote a letter directly to me saying they couldn't imagine what I was going through and how hard this decision must be.  They each wrote a letter about each other and described one another.  By the end of it, I said out loud,

"His life just might have to be funny."

But like every girl in the world, I couldn't settle for the second dress I tried on.  I went through and read every single profile on that list.  Every one.  But none of them spoke to me the way theirs did.  None of them said to me, "Yes, these are the one to have your child."

Over and over again I went back to their profile.  When my boyfriend and I finally decided adoption was the best idea, I told him about them and about who they were.  He read the profile and without reading any others he agreed, it had to be them.

I went to the adoption agency to get set things in motion.  And I was given a binder full of profiles to look through.  I calmly paged through each one.  But at the very end was the couple I had mentioned before.  Now I got to see pictures of them with family, in their home, what the nursery looked like.  I saw them dressed up and ready for church.  And I saw them dressed down and playing with the dog.  And I knew, these were the ones to raise my child.

This July it will be five years since my child was born.  And I have never second-guessed my decision to place my son with his parents.  I may question why I did it and if it was the best idea.  But choosing them I have never second-guessed.

There is no one way to pick the people who will have your son.  I've heard multiple stories, and all of them different.  Some knew from looking at the profile because of a butterfly picture or something else that spoke to that birthmother.  I know some who had it down to two, but once meeting them they knew exactly which couple was going to have their child.  There is no right or wrong way about this.  You choose who you think will do the best job at raising your child.  I high suspected mine was going to be a creative creature from the very beginning.  As it turns out, I was absolutely right.  So I put him with a painter and a writer/musician.  Whichever way his creativity takes him, I have no doubt that he will be supported in his endeavors.

I hope you're all doing well.  Those of you who will be at the retreat, I will be seeing you soon!

Gifts from my Son

So, last weekend I had a visit with my son.  And something happened at the very beginning that I have to share.

They arrived and I walked through the back door to the back gate that we keep shut so my parents can let the dog out to play in the yard without worrying that she'll get out.  I opened the gate and J walked up to me holding a washed out honey jar with the two double daffodils you see in the picture here.  I reacted much the way my mother would upon seeing a child with flowers,

"Oh wow!  Those are really pretty flowers you have there!"  He looked up at me very proudly, held up the jar and said,

"Yeah, and they're for you!"  Yep, that was when my heart that totally leaped out of my chest.  I've given my son presents.  His parents have given me a couple things over the years.  But J has never given me anything until now.

"For me!  Oh, thank you J!"  I think I was grinning from ear to ear.  Not even joking about that.  I have been given flowers very few times in my life.  And those times were roses and carnations.  These were flowers I had never seen before and had never been given before.  And out of all the times I have been given flowers, I count these as the most precious of all.

I have them at home now.  And much like my mother did when she was young, I am pressing the flowers so that I can seal them up in packing tape and make them into bookmarks.  It's a mildly long process that takes some patience.  But so far they look good.

As he gets older, this may happen again.  I'm wondering what other good things he might give me over the years.  But this was the first time and I know I will never forget it.

I hope all of you who may be having visits soon that they go as well as mine did.  Has anyone else gotten an unexpected present from your child at a visit?  I'd love to hear your stories.

Nature vs. Nurture

Today I thought I'd post a little something I've noticed about my son lately.

My son looks like me.  Now, that's easy to explain.  That's genetics.  I have two male cousins and one female cousin who all look like me.  We all look like our grandmother.  So as he's gotten older, we've compared to pictures of me and my cousins at the same age.  The funny part is that he often looks nearly exactly like the pictures of us from long ago.

But my son also acts like me in some ways.  And it's kind of spooky.  When he was two, he would insist on doing things over and over and over again.  My father said to them on a visit, "We had a rule, if you didn't want to do it a hundred times, don't do it the first time."

Now, many kids like to do the same thing over and over.  It's true.  But then it keeps going.

He makes up stories.  He likes to make up stories and tell them to his parents to see what they think.  I tell stories.  I write stories.  I wrote stories when I was little as well.  Not great ones, as you can imagine.  But I was writing then too.

He hates it when his things get messed up or you rearrange the words in a song.  Absolutely hates it.  Will get very upset about it even.  And yeah, you guessed it, I did that.  Still hate it when someone gets into my things.  I don't cry or scream anymore as you can imagine, but I still have to control myself when people start messing with my things.

He's musical.  He and his adoptive dad have been banging on the fridge and the cabinets and making music all their own.  I picked well in his adoptive parents.  I'm a musician.  And his adoptive father is too.  I can see the delight in his adoptive father's eyes when he talks about making music with Joseph and recording it.

If I added up the time that I've spent with my son, it would probably amount to about two and a half weeks all together.  But there are things I passed down to him without even knowing it.  There is one thing that puzzles me.

He's a practical joker.  I fail at practical jokes.  His biological father never did pull any on me or anyone else I know.  I don't know where it came from.  Maybe some distant relative.  Maybe he learned it from someone in his adoptive family.  I have no idea.  But we all delight in it.

As the years go by, I expect other traits of mine and his birth father will come out.  And traits he picks up from his adoptive family will come out as well.  And I can't wait to see what he makes of all of this.  Hope you and yours are doing well and let me know if you've seen bits of yourself in your own children.

To Be Brave

This week I finally did something I had been intending on doing since getting home from the hospital after giving birth to my son.

Those who have known me a while and know my adoption story know it all started with one thing: the bravery and honesty of a woman I already held in high esteem.  She was a former boss of mine, and it was just chance that we ran into each other in a parking lot and began talking.  At this point, I looked like I was hiding a beach ball under my t-shirt, and my boss was no fool.  So when she asked me how I was doing I was honest and said,

“Well, obviously, I’m pregnant.  Didn’t intend to get like this, but that’s what happened.  And right now I’m trying to decide whether to keep the kid and raise it or to place it for adoption.  But right now I just have no idea what to do.”

To my surprise she replied, “Well, I don’t wave it around like a flag, but I placed a child for adoption when I was about your age.”

She went on to tell me that she had gone to a home for unwed mothers, as many did in the 60s.  She gave birth, gave up her child, then a year later got married, and had a child of her own.  Her son would later track her down in his adult life and they have a fantastic relationship to this day.  And it may sound weird, but at that moment the first thought that went through my head was, “So, this is actually survivable.”

Don’t ask me why.  I don’t know to this day.  But before that moment, whenever I thought about placing my child for adoption, I just imagined my life stopping there.  I couldn’t fathom living past that day.  I couldn’t fathom what my life would be like without this child I had been carrying.  I wasn’t sure that I even deserved to keep going after doing that.  Obviously, I don’t believe that anymore.  But at the time, all manner of thoughts were going through my head and I wasn’t sure how to sort it all out.

Most of all, I was looking at doing something that none of my friends had ever done.  All of them, if they got unexpectedly pregnant, dealt with it in other ways.  I even know a few of their kids by name.  If any of them ever thought about adoption, none of them ever said it or just never said it to me.  But when my old boss told me that she had done the same thing and had in fact lived on, I was finally able to break the constant loop in my head that had been driving me crazy.  It was only two days later that my boyfriend and I would have the discussion in which we decided placing our son for adoption was the best idea.

As you know, my son just turned 4.  And Wednesday was his first day of school.  Tuesday, I finally sat myself down and wrote the message I had been intending to write for four years.  My old boss and I are friends on Facebook and have been so for a long while now.  But I never did tell her what had happened after seeing her in the parking lot.  Tuesday I finally pulled together all my thoughts and wrote her a message thanking her for sharing her story with me.  I also told her that she was the reason I finally pulled together the bravery and courage to do what needed to be done for my child.  I even sent her a picture of him from his recent birthday party.  Unsurprisingly, she wrote me back a very positive message and was glad that I had told her and had likewise shared my story with her.  She agreed that at times, we each have to do what we think is best.  She also sent me a link to her son’s blog that details his search and finding of not only her, but also his birth father.

For the next half hour, I was glued to the screen, reading this man’s account of his happy life, always knowing that he was adopted and always knowing that if he went looking for his birth family, his adoptive family would be, and was, completely supportive.  Then he found them and reconnected with them.  The happiness and the joy and the connections that connected them without even realizing it were amazing.

The most amazing thing to me was the unshakable bravery I found in his words.  In their story, I just found mountains and mountains of incredible bravery.  They had both been searching and found each other.  Then they finally met each other and got know each other.  There were questions and finally answers for the both of them.  And to this day they keep in touch.

I’m extremely lucky in that my son’s adoptive family is so willing to have me around for parties and visits and going out to dinner.  I’m also extremely lucky that this happened to me in a time when open adoption is an option.  And yet, there is still a distance between my son and I.  That’s really what this made me realize.  While I won’t have nearly as large of a gap to travel to get to know my son and for him to get to know me over the years, I know there are going to be times that will be difficult and awkward.  I know that sooner or later there will be a reckoning for me.  There will be things I will have to explain to my son as he gets older that will be a little bit difficult.  And there will be questions for me that I will have to answer.  And they are answers that he has a right to.  I’m only hoping that I have half the bravery that my boss and her son did when it comes time.

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.

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.

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.

Can Your Pain Help Others?

Remember that woman I told you I ran into at work and had a great conversation with? I hadn't really seen her since, until today. We bumped into each other in the cafeteria (by bumped into each other, I mean I saw her and ran up to say hi. She's become one of my favorite people!) and walked back to our respective office areas together. She asked me how I was doing, and I told her I was doing well. Then she said, "how are you really doing?" which had an underlying tone of "how are you doing when it comes to missing you daughter?". I appreciated her questioning me, because most people accept "fine" as an answer or don't care to dig deeper. Sometimes, I'm fine with that. Sometimes, I don't want to talk about it. Others, I do. When it's coming from a place of real concern and care, I appreciate people asking questions like that.

Anyways, I told her I was doing okay, hadn't gotten any photos of my little girl in a few weeks but overall I am doing well. I asked how her girls were and she lit up while talking about them. I know some people (ignorantly) say 'you can never love a child that you didn't birth yourself as much as you can love one you adopted,' but that, my friends, is very untrue. How anyone could hear the happiness in this woman's voice when she talks about her daughters and make a statement such as that is beyond me.

She asked me to refresh her memory on how far along I was in school. I told her, and she asked me what I was majoring in. Behavioral Science. She asked me if I wanted to work with adoption in any way, shape or form - did I want to be a social worker, a counselor, go into foster care? I told her I'd always thought about being a psychologist or counselor, and only recently thought about working with adoption. It really got me to thinking. I don't think I'd ever work directly under an agency - for many personal reasons. I would, however, love to work with expectant moms who are considering adoption or women and men who have recently placed.


My co-worker told me that sometimes, the best advice-givers are those who have been through it themselves. I must agree with her. At times, I feel having a career centered around adoption might be too emotionally taxing. Even now, I can't read too much about it on the internet; I can't partake in too many discussions without being overwhelmed and just wanting to "shut off." But at the same time, I feel the best person to empathize and understand the struggles that these girls and women (and boys and men) are going though would be someone who has walked in similar shoes.

What do you think? Do you think having a career centered around guiding and understanding others would be too hard on you (if it was a sensitive subject, such as adoption, addiction, abuse, etc) or do you think those who have "been there" are the best helpers, because they truly understand? Do you think it's a good idea to use your past experiences to help others in the future?

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