Neither injured arm, or computer malfunction, or deep emotionally draining adoption issues can keep a true adoptee activist, reformer, and blogger away for long. I think activism and education in some capacity must run in my veins. I was born to very conservative, unemotional, and quiet people. I am....well....NOT. I'll always wonder, and want to believe, there was a great leader out there righting social and civil injustices and or advocate for positive change in the world somewhere in my family lineage. And I will always question if I will ever get said information...ever.
I watch from the outside into the lives of my friends and others and their interactions with their family members. As dysfunctional as they believe they are, and yes some of them are, adoption throws a wrench into family situations that can add to any dysfunction that already exists. Sometimes, it even multiplies it.
No matter how hard adoptees can try adoption plays into almost aspect of our lives. What we think about ourselves, how we see ourselves, how we fit into our families and then the rest of the world or better yet how we don't. And just as important, how we react to all of it.
There are triggers that exist for adoptees at certain days and times of the year that for most people are happy and joyous occasions. Birthdays are celebrations but for adoptees just another day to ponder your navel and wonder who your biological mother is, or where she is at, or why she gave you up. Holiday and family gatherings are filled with traditions, recipes, stories, and history all something adoptees long to know, or be a part of in their biological families even if just to celebrate them outside of their adopted family gatherings.
I keep getting told to make my own Holiday traditions. Well, that's easy to say if you already KNOW yours and it was not taken away from you. And yes, I do reject the Scrooge and Grinchish practices I grew up with in the "unjoyous" season my Amother seemed to loathe, and have created some of my own. There is just so much missing, so many parts and portions unknown, so much to continue to grieve and question.
Although I did receive a hand written eight page non-identifying letter from my biological mother twelve years ago explaining so much and answering some of my questions, there are still hundreds left to ask. I still long to know what dishes, decorations, music, and religion or spirituality my biological family practices and cherishes each year. I wonder if my natural parents think of me when sitting down to holiday meals, or on Mother's or Father's Day they realize a part of the family is absent, or want to wish my Happy Birthday. I wonder if that will ever change. I always will.
Relentless
Relentless questions drive my soul.
How many hours have the wondering stole.
Like pounding waves that wear away the strongest rock day after day.
My weary bones nearly give in and let the persistent pounding win.
But there are those who lend me power where there is no sun in my darkest hour.
When the doubt hounds daily at my door and I feel I can't take anymore.
They whisper the truth into my ears with hope and love resolve my fears.
I hold the goal within my sight and remember the reasons I continue to fight.
To find what I lost so long ago the place from where those questions grow.
How many hours have been lost in days and years what was the cost?
The time I've spent in somber thought and sorrowful reflection perplexed about.
What I'm to do with all I feel, when unseen bonds remain so real.
I had a taste of reality when fractions of truth I was allowed to see.
Fate had brought us back together, the soul deep ties could not be severed.
To know the tragic parting was not in the end to be forgot.
And that somehow soon they'll find a way to share with me those missing days.
I'll wait until the time I'll know.
The place from where these questions grow.
I watch from the outside into the lives of my friends and others and their interactions with their family members. As dysfunctional as they believe they are, and yes some of them are, adoption throws a wrench into family situations that can add to any dysfunction that already exists. Sometimes, it even multiplies it.
No matter how hard adoptees can try adoption plays into almost aspect of our lives. What we think about ourselves, how we see ourselves, how we fit into our families and then the rest of the world or better yet how we don't. And just as important, how we react to all of it.
There are triggers that exist for adoptees at certain days and times of the year that for most people are happy and joyous occasions. Birthdays are celebrations but for adoptees just another day to ponder your navel and wonder who your biological mother is, or where she is at, or why she gave you up. Holiday and family gatherings are filled with traditions, recipes, stories, and history all something adoptees long to know, or be a part of in their biological families even if just to celebrate them outside of their adopted family gatherings.
I keep getting told to make my own Holiday traditions. Well, that's easy to say if you already KNOW yours and it was not taken away from you. And yes, I do reject the Scrooge and Grinchish practices I grew up with in the "unjoyous" season my Amother seemed to loathe, and have created some of my own. There is just so much missing, so many parts and portions unknown, so much to continue to grieve and question.
Although I did receive a hand written eight page non-identifying letter from my biological mother twelve years ago explaining so much and answering some of my questions, there are still hundreds left to ask. I still long to know what dishes, decorations, music, and religion or spirituality my biological family practices and cherishes each year. I wonder if my natural parents think of me when sitting down to holiday meals, or on Mother's or Father's Day they realize a part of the family is absent, or want to wish my Happy Birthday. I wonder if that will ever change. I always will.
Relentless
Relentless questions drive my soul.
How many hours have the wondering stole.
Like pounding waves that wear away the strongest rock day after day.
My weary bones nearly give in and let the persistent pounding win.
But there are those who lend me power where there is no sun in my darkest hour.
When the doubt hounds daily at my door and I feel I can't take anymore.
They whisper the truth into my ears with hope and love resolve my fears.
I hold the goal within my sight and remember the reasons I continue to fight.
To find what I lost so long ago the place from where those questions grow.
How many hours have been lost in days and years what was the cost?
The time I've spent in somber thought and sorrowful reflection perplexed about.
What I'm to do with all I feel, when unseen bonds remain so real.
I had a taste of reality when fractions of truth I was allowed to see.
Fate had brought us back together, the soul deep ties could not be severed.
To know the tragic parting was not in the end to be forgot.
And that somehow soon they'll find a way to share with me those missing days.
I'll wait until the time I'll know.
The place from where these questions grow.
Oh, Karen, I am so sorry. This post made me sorry...when you got to the part about wanting to know her tastes and preferences.
ReplyDeleteI know it seems sappy to say it, but enjoy what you have...
lorraine