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Thoughts on Happiness

Adoption, in General, Lyrics 5 Responses »

Jun 112010

I’ve been mentally mulling the pairing of happiness and sadness as they apply to my personal experience with adoption (and others, really, but I’ll speak for myself right now). I’ve been chastised in the past for being happy even though I placed my daughter for adoption. I’ve been chastised in the past for being sad even though we have what everyone calls a perfect open adoption. I’ve been chastised for my ambivalent moments, ridiculed for not being able to choose one feeling or the other.

Can’t a girl catch a break?

And so I was listening to the Wicked soundtrack. I know, you’re surprised. I’ve never done that before. As it’s coming to Columbus this summer, I’m on yet another big kick. I digress. I was working while the soundtrack kept me tip-tap-typing away. And all of a sudden, Kristen Chenoweth made me cry. I skip songs sometimes. I have favorites. We all have favorite songs in musicals; don’t judge me. I normally skip Thank Goodness because it’s such a train-wreck change from Defying Gravity. (That would be because one is the end of the first act and the other is the start of the next. I digress again.)

Anyway, it had been awhile since I had listened to the lyrics and heard the soaring notes near the end of the song. You know, before it got all sappy-happy again. I “rewound” my iTunes and started at the section in which Glinda starts to question whether or not she’s really happy with how things have turned out. And then I cried a little bit more.

That’s why I couldn’t be happier
No, I couldn’t be happier
Though it is, I admit
The tiniest bit
Unlike I anticipated
But I couldn’t be happier
Simply couldn’t be happier
(spoken) Well – not “simply”:
(sung) ‘Cause getting your dreams
It’s strange, but it seems
A little – well – complicated
There’s a kind of a sort of : cost
There’s a couple of things get: lost
There are bridges you cross
You didn’t know you crossed
Until you’ve crossed
And if that joy, that thrill
Doesn’t thrill you like you think it will
Still -
With this perfect finale
The cheers and ballyhoo
Who
Wouldn’t be happier?
So I couldn’t be happier
Because happy is what happens
When all your dreams come true
Well, isn’t it?

I am expected to be happy because I chose adoption. I am expected to be happy because I still have contact with my daughter and her family. Good contact at that! A wonderful relationship! I am expected to be happy because I have continued with making something of myself, my life. I am blessed with an amazing husband, two awesome sons and a (busy but rewarding series of) career(s). I am expected to be happy because I have all of this! Which wouldn’t be possible if I wouldn’t have placed! Right?

Except… it’s the tiniest bit unlike I anticipated. It’s most definitely different than how I was “counseled” it would be like; it’s not even remotely like I was told it would be. I was told that I would “get over it.” That I would “go on with my life.” That it wouldn’t hurt as much some day. That I would forget the pain and the grief. That I would be happy and content with my choice.

But it’s more complicated than that, isn’t it?

Happiness with the relationship I have with my daughter’s mom and my daughter doesn’t magically erase the fact that there was a cost. There was a loss. The loss doesn’t go away. The hurt is still as intense though I have been lucky enough to receive personally-funded therapy so that I have better ways of coping with said loss. The peace I feel most days doesn’t mean that the hurt of missing her isn’t still all-consuming when it washes over me. Suddenly. When I’m listening to musical soundtracks in the wee hours of the night. When a little girl goes running by and launches herself into her mommy’s arms. When my oldest son prays for his sister. When I get anxious about upcoming visits (two weeks). It’s very real.

And, so, yes, I identify with the line that there are bridges you cross you didn’t you crossed until you’ve crossed. There are days that I’m not quite sure how I got here. And I’m aware of the fact that I am grateful. But I’m also confused. And happy! And sad. And occasionally kind of mad! And peaceful. And full of questions! And answers.

The point being that the myth that adoption is all happiness or all sorrow is that: a myth. I won’t apologize for being a mostly happy individual. I won’t apologize for voicing my sadness. I will attempt to live through my full emotional cycle every time it spins. I learn something with each up and down, each ebb and flow of the tide. Today I am happy. But I always miss her. Is it really that hard to understand?

Well, isn’t it?

Sideswiped by Music at 70mph

Adoption, in General, Lyrics 1 Response »

Mar 112010

A friend introduced me to the band Mumford & Sons earlier this week. Last night I downloaded the album knowing that I’d be out and about in the Mustang with the windows rolled down as I ran errands today. I burned the CD as I got ready this morning and then set about my errand running. After singing along with one song three times in a row (amazing harmonies!), the song Timshel came on.

First it talked about death which, as you might know, is a hard concept for me right now as we have lost two family members this winter. I didn’t skip the song though. Again, amazing harmonies tickled my ears and I kept listening as the wind rushed through the open window.

Then the second verse smacked me in the face. I’m lucky I didn’t wreck the vehicle.

And you are the mother
The mother of your baby child
The one to whom you gave life
And you have your choices
And these are what make man great
His ladder to the stars

I kid you not. I can’t make these things up.

I had to restart the song, breathe my way through the death part and give it another listen. I cried a bit. As I do. I’m a crier. The chorus that follows is equally moving, especially considering what was just sung.

But you are not alone in this
And you are not alone in this
As brothers we will stand and we’ll hold your hand
Hold your hand

Oh, so many meanings tied up in that chorus following that verse. Not alone in what? In any choice? If I had chosen to parent, would my hand still have been held? As a birth mother now, still making my way through this journey, will someone still hold my hand? I felt hopeful and despondent all in one thought process.

I know, of course, that I am not alone. I also know that I am her mother, her first mother, who gave her life. But sometimes, still, it gets lonely. Even with support at every turn here on the Internet and in my real life. But the dark days are dark. The lonely days are lonely. The hard days are hard. I assume they are for all of us, no matter our choices, our journeys. Being reminded that I’m not totally alone, despite choices and the like, is nice. But to be caught off guard like that by a song was… wonderful and heartbreaking at the same time.

The song ends with this gem.

And I will tell the night
Whisper, “Lose your sight”
But I can’t move the mountains for you

An important point, I think.

I do believe that’s why I have such a difficult time with certain blogs, especially those of newer birth mothers. I want to make it easy for them, to help them transition into a life journey that they never could have imagined for themselves. I want to walk with them through that egg-shell-like first year. I want to hold their hand when their defenses come crashing down. I want to help them rebuild their lives as they make their way through the rubble. But I can’t, really. I can only offer a kind word, a shoulder and my own story. Our stories will never be exactly alike. They will live their own journey. They will climb and move their own mountains. I’ve climbed so many of my own, tunneled my way through the darkest of days. I can only pray that they make it through or over to the other side where the calming streams of peace await. It’s hard to watch.

And yet I know, as I do most days, that they are also surrounded by those who do care. That’s why I’m here. I’m here for me, for my healing. But I do care, even when I don’t have the words. We’re never alone.

By the way? Totally awesome band. They’re coming to Columbus in May. Going. End of story.

Edited to add: Have a listen. Have a tissue near.