2

Knowing the Love

I’m missing Grandpa.

As with any death, the week spent at home was mostly spent talking about and remembering the man that was my grandfather, my Papau. All kinds of stories were told. Lots of laughter was had as he was a man that was always smiling. In the midst of these stories, I was remembering a discussion I had with Papau this past September. Without vocalizing that story, I learned another that recently happened between my mother, my grandma and my grandpa.

The topic was adoption.

My grandma was the first one to whom I mentioned adoption. I stayed with them after the surgery on my kidney as my parents were away in Las Vegas. (You know, because I can’t have an emergency when those who need to help me are available. As further evidence, my husband was working when the call came that my grandfather died. I digress.) I asked her about it since I had just been told I would be on bed rest, unable to work for the duration of my pregnancy. I was only 18 weeks pregnant. I panicked. She said the typical things like it would be noble and everything would work out.

The discussion that was had recently went back to that very first discussion. My grandfather, who got to see the Munchkin last May, said, “She never asked me.”

He’s right. I didn’t.

He went on to say that he would have probably told me not to place. That’s neither here nor there. I can’t change the past. The point of this post is that I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that my grandpa loved the Munchkin, too. He let me talk about her where other family members, without malice, will often change the subject. He asked after her, after her parents. He always loved when I showed him a new picture. And when he saw her this past May, he talked for conversations after conversations about how beautiful she was/is every single time I would call. For months. He loved her. He loved me.

And I am glad that I am able to know that in light of his loss.

I miss him. His love was so wonderful. And I know that. I hope that someday I’m able to share that love he had for her properly so that the Munchkin knows as well. I hope she’ll know. I know but I hope she’ll know.

3

Why It’s Not a Memoir

As the new contract(s) listing both me and Dawn as co-authors are being sent out by our agent (!), the book is in the front of my thought process. I think of it when showering and when I’m driving. It’s just there, making itself known. We’re starting to work on some things individually and attempting to schedule time to work together. Perhaps we need to employ Skype with video and voice conferencing. You wouldn’t think an hour distance along 70 would be a huge deal. You’ve never seen my schedule or Dawn’s; we’re busy women.

I’ve received some questions (polite ones) via email as to why I’m not writing a memoir. And, similarly, why Dawn isn’t either. Originally we thought we could pair our memoirs together, making an interesting dual story as our timelines are so close but we struggled. I don’t know why she struggled but I just recently, during one of the above mentioned drives, realized why I was struggling so much. Music helped me figure it out as music often does.

Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten

-”Unwritten” by Natasha Beddingfield

And that’s my problem. The rest is still unwritten.

I read a book (Thinking About Memoir, Abigail Thomas, 2008) before Dawn’s agent approached her/us about pairing up. It’s always been my goal to write a book but I had been struggling with the topic, subject, genre and other associated issues. Everyone has always assumed I would be writing a memoir and so I spent a large chunk of time researching memoir writing. One of the things that I took away from that book was that a memoir wasn’t and/or didn’t have to be an entire life story. Just a glimpse, one story or a few stories that made up a bigger story.

But I can’t seem to wrap my head around how to do that with my story.

And I had so many questions for myself. Did my story start with the two lines on a stick? Or the conception? Or the emotional turmoil that sent me to New Jersey in the first place? Or earlier? And when did it end? I had more concise answers as to when it didn’t end. At birth, as some in society would assume? No. After the first visit? No. Her first birthday? No, though that would make an easy ending, most of my healing occurred after that point. After my oldest son’s birth? Again, while easy, so much more came up after that point. After their divorce? No, because that’s overly negative and D and I have strengthened our relationship so much since that time. There’s no good ending to my story.

And what’s a story without a good ending?

Don’t get me wrong. I’d really love to write my story someday. But it’s still being written, both in everyday life and here on the blog. I don’t know what the story is going to say about me or adoption just yet. That’s what I keep getting hung up on. I expect our story to take a few more twists and turns over the years. I expect us to have a disagreement or twelve. I expect us to have some really wonderful moments. I expect (and hope) to continue to grow, change and really push myself towards maintaining my inner peace. The story isn’t over.

I don’t know if it ever will be.

My biggest fans may just have to be content to read the blog when it comes to my personal journey. Dawn and I have chosen to go the non-memoir route both because of the saturated genre and because, really, we feel we have some important things to say on the topic. Open adoption can be great but it’s hard. It’s changing things both in the adoption industry and in society. The changes haven’t always been good or ethical but openness is changing things and we need to discuss it all. There are stories that need to be heard, sometimes as cautionary tales and sometimes as encouraging ones. People are still going to adopt, whether we tell a doomsday story or not. As such, what I think Dawn and I are hoping to accomplish is to provide enough information… the information we weren’t provided with prior to starting our respective journeys. That’s always been my biggest complaint: I wasn’t given the information.

And maybe that’s why I’ve always felt so compelled to write a book. Less about my story and more about what I need others to know before they walk this road. (Can you hear the gears clicking in my brain?)

Also, we have a dual twitter account, @YMObook. We’ll be throwing out requests for information and interviews as well as updates. Feel free to follow if you so desire. (Any requests for information will be retweeted by one or both so you don’t necessarily need to follow unless you want to watch the grueling process of writing a book.)

2

Green

I came across an interesting quote. I don’t know if it’s 100% true but I think it has basis in truth.

Jealousy is nothing more than fear of abandonment.
-Unknown

Wow.

I wonder if, perhaps, that’s why we see so much jealousy, back and forth, between adoptive and birth parents. I know I’ve felt a twinge here and there over the years when D got to experience something with the Munchkin that, had I parented, I would have experienced myself. Those little thoughts that poke at my brain and push the “what if” button. Not proactive thoughts, mostly reactive. Having read this quote, I’d really like to explore the concept of whether those jealous thoughts were just based on abandonment issues as attached to relinquishment. Maybe. Possibly.

I’ve seen adoptive parents become jealous of birth parents, too. Are they simply afraid that their child will abandon them for their birth family? It’s an interesting concept. Is that why some adoptive parents are hesitant to help their child in the search process? My mind is swirling with any time I’ve ever felt jealous. I don’t think it’s a foolproof quote but I think there’s some truth to it.

Jealous of my high school into college boyfriend’s new friend that was a girl? Total fear that he would leave me for her. (Which he said he didn’t. But he married her. So… I’m just saying! Great guy though. Great girl, too!) Jealous of my brother? Felt totally usurped after being an only child for eight years and was afraid my parents loved him more. (They say they love us equally. I trust them. Now.) And those are just two examples. So, yes, I can see some truth to it.

I don’t know how it plays out when you factor in material things though. I don’t see how being jealous of someone’s house/car/clothes/job/culinary ability stems back to fear of abandonment. I mean, I’m totally jealous that Ivory can sew really, really awesome things. (Though I’m re-teaching myself, folks! Kind of.) I don’t think that means that I fear my husband will leave me if I screw up the hem on his pants. I wonder then if this quote applies only to jealousy between people and relationships and not physical(ish) things.

Whatever the case, I rarely (rarely) find myself feeling jealous as of late. The truth is that, yes, D gets to experience some great things with the Munchkin. But I also have my own relationship with her. Maybe it’s learning not to compare apples and oranges? Maybe. I do occasionally get jealous about this one lady’s awesomely toned body at the gym but, if anything, that only makes me work harder and sweat more. Mostly. Every now and then it makes me want to eat an entire pizza but that’s probably a separate issue. I also am jealous of a co-worker’s really awesome camera… until I realized that most of my money goes to caring for my really awesome children and then my priorities straighten themselves and all is well again.

I’m going to try and keep this quote in my mind the next time a jealous thought pops in my head and see if I can stem it back to something of this nature. It’s all just very interesting.