The Chronicles of Munchkin Land

I am spent.

I went to the Birthmother’s Day event in Cleveland at Adoption Network Cleveland (who has no ties to ANLC, by the way, and is not an agency but an awesome resource). I didn’t want to go. Jaime made me. I drug my feet. I panicked a few times on the way up this morning. I felt in my shut-down daze as we walked in the door, unable to make eye contact with anyone as I waited for our group to get registered and seated.

But I put my brave face on.

I was a little weepy here and there as the ceremony started. I held hands with Jaime as her mom talked. I passed tissues. I wiped a few stray tears. But brave face was on. I wasn’t going to lose it. I’m eight years in. I am a voice in the adoption community. I am a strong, independent woman. I hate crying in public and will go to all ends not to experience it.

And then came the candle lighting ceremony. Each birth mother went forward to light their candle on the main candle and put glitter in the communal water bowl for our children. I was fine. I was fine. I was fine. And then I was not fine. I lost it. I sat back down and tried to stifle my cry. I am not a quiet cryer. When I cry, I make a low moan type sound and when I try to stifle it, it sounds awful. And I couldn’t make it stop. I wanted it to stop. I wanted to cry quietly. I wanted not to be crying. But I was.

And these two ladies held my hands as they cried too… for their own children, for our losses, for our joined sisterhood.

I have long hated Birthmother’s Day. Ever since that first one when I realized that the rest of society doesn’t recognize it and those that do, usually in the adoption community, want me to only have that day. That train of thought is the turn off. What happened today was not some bull created by an agency to put me in my place. It was not an alternative to Mother’s Day. It was about Us.

Today was about our loss. It was a communal recognition of our loss. It was the sisterhood of birthmothers standing together and proclaiming that we are not less than. We have lost. We grieve. We are sad. We are not silent anymore. We love our children. We never forget. That community, as we stood together reciting the Statement of Purpose together, was something that I needed. Again, I didn’t know I needed it. But I did.

I have always had a community online. I have always celebrated that community. But to have someone hold me — someone who fully understands the loss and the grief and the guilt and everything else — as I cried… that was something beyond special.

Tomorrow — Mother’s Day — is about joy. I’ll kiss my boys and call Dee and my Mom and my mother-in-law and all that jazz. I will get blueberry pancakes and a nice dinner. I will relax. I will revel in my day — for all of my children. But today? Today I stood with women and acknowledged the loss in a respectful, ceremonial way. They are separate days. And I’m okay with that … this year. I still reserve the right to not be in a place where I can participate at any given time/year, but yes, I needed it this year. (And, no, I wouldn’t have been ready last year.)

I wrote about Birthmother’s Day for BlogHer today and I maintain that the community aspect is what makes it a day for me. I’ll never say “Happy Birthmother’s Day” to anyone, because that’s not what it is for me. But I will wish birthmothers everywhere — whether they acknowledge today or not — peace for this weekend. It’s a hard weekend and it involves a realization of that loss whether you stand with others or not. You are all in my heart.