Immortal Words

We were driving to Baby Loves Disco. I was in the driver’s seat because JD broke D’s glasses. (Aren’t kids a blast?) D was riding shotgun. Munchkin was in her car seat behind D’s seat, BigBrother was in his car seat behind me and JD was in his car seat in the way back. We were listening to the radio. Children were making happy noises. D and I were chatting.

And then the song changed. Over the airwaves comes Evanesence’s “My Immortal.” It’s my ring tone when someone calls from any of J or D’s phones. It’s always been a song that I have highly associated with the adoption as it was a favorite of mine at the time, the lyrics are super emotionally tied into my thoughts at the time and, well, I just do.  So, I contemplate changing the channel. Instead, I turn it up a smidgen.

And then she starts singing.

And then I start to cry. D notices. I blink back tears. Munchkin sings louder.

And I just let myself cry, mascara be darned.

There are no words to describe what it feels like to hear your placed daughter sing the words:

These wounds won’t seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There’s just too much that time cannot erase

I’m crying again. And yes, this is one of the points when I realized that maybe I had hit my saturation point during the visit. So much went on during this visit, on levels of amazingness regarding openness, that I am just completely dumb-founded. More over, hearing her sing the words that I have associated with her loss… is confusing. Is heart breaking. Is overwhelming. Is amazing. Is unreal. Is sad.

And then, and then, you know, the chorus:

When you cried I’d wipe away all of your tears
When you’d scream I’d fight away all of your fears
And I held your hand through all of these years
But you still have
All of me

All. of. me. You don’t know. You have no idea. You have no inkling. What it’s like to hear the daughter that you placed for adoption sing those words. The words that you have sang ABOUT her for almost four years. I wanted to wipe away the tears. I wanted to chase away the fears. But I gave that right to another woman, her Mom. I do hold her hand, but not all of the time. And that hurts. And she will always, forever, have all of me. So to hear HER sing THAT? I’m surprised I didn’t wreck the car through my fog of tears.

And then… and then…

I’ve tried so hard to tell myself that you’re gone
But though you’re still with me
I’ve been alone all along

Just rip open my heart and pour some salt right into it. As she sat in the car with me, not mine but still mine, I’m always alone. But then, to hear HER sing it, sitting in the car with me, not mine but still mine, and have it flipped to HER perspective of being alone all along, I really thought I was just going to pull over and cry for awhile. I didn’t. But I thought about it.

No, she doesn’t realize what she’s singing. No, she doesn’t know all of the words. No, she doesn’t know that I attach that song to our adoption and it holds so many personal meanings and memories. No, the DJ at the radio station wasn’t trying to sabatoage my sanity. (Or, maybe?) But it was something I couldn’t have prepared myself for if someone had written this exact entry about their placed child and their adoption song.

How would I know to think what it would feel like to hear my placed daughter sing those words? How would I know to prepare myself for the role-reversal? How would I know how much it would hurt to hear her say that she’s been alone all along, if only because she’s singing a song in the car?

Oh, my Munchkin. I’m always here. And I love you, always.