A Little Bit Stronger

 Music  2 Responses »
Jun 292011
 

It’s summer. And summer means country music.

I remember riding with my Grandpa in his company station wagon. No air conditioning, the windows down and my long brown ponytail flipping behind me. The heat made everything hazy, casting that yellow-sepia tint to my memories. He’d have one country western station or another on and I’d hear the voices of the old greats: Johnny Cash, Patsy Cline. He’d sing along; his deep voice still echoes in my soul.

I fought my country music roots until middle school when I simply gave in one summer. And now, every year, summer rolls around and find myself seeking out country music. Mostly the older stuff, but I attempt to embrace the new country as well. When fall rolls around, I’ll go back to my normal music choices. But summer means country music.

I was driving the boys home the other day, listening to Highway on SiriusXM when I heard “Stronger” by Sara Evans. Now, Sara has a special place in my heart. In 2003, she released “Backseat of a Greyhound Bus.” In the summer of 2003, I was pregnant with the Munchkin. I would listen to that song and cry and cry and cry. So when she started singing to me in the car, I was instantly on emotional overdrive.

Now, the song itself is about heartbreak and love and the stuff of country songs. It’s about moving on without the person, which is not really my intention regarding my relationship with my daughter. But there was a line… that made my breath catch, as it does when I hear something that resonates with my soul.

Even on my weakest days, I get a little bit stronger.

This is really the way I live my life.

I know that junk has happened. I know that my heart will forever be broken in ways that cannot be repaired. I know that the loss I have experienced is forever. I know that there will be hard times ahead, both in adoption and the rest of my everyday life. On the days when I can’t see through my tears and my heart is broken and I feel so lost… I wake up the next day. I get a little bit stronger every time I wake up that next day. It’s just what I do. I don’t know how to do anything else. I wallow now and then; we all do. But once I get out of a funk, I’m stronger for it.

So thank you, Sara, for a line that I related to.

 Posted by at 2:35 am

This Is Not The End/This Is Not the Beginning

 Adoption, in General, Lyrics, Music  5 Responses »
Jan 272011
 

Driving last night, I caught the new Linkin Park song, “Waiting On the End.” It is quite obviously not a song about adoption, but so many little bits of lyrics spoke to me and I found a few tears on my cheek. For me, certain spots of lyrics spoke of both my pregnancy with the Munchkin and the subsequent aftermath.

Waiting for the end to come
Wishing I had strength to stand
This is not what I had planned
It’s out of my control….

That is exactly — exactly — how I felt while pregnant with the Munchkin. I felt like I was on a conveyor belt, waiting for the end to come. I felt that there was only one outcome — relinquishment. I not only physically didn’t have the ability to stand that much due to my health problems, but I felt emotionally unable to stand up for myself and say, “Hey!” Or anything. It was not what I had planned. And it all felt very out of my control.

Flying at the speed of light
Thoughts were spinning in my head
So many things were left unsaid
It’s hard to let you go…

And then she was born. And in a whirlwind of three days, she was gone. It was so fast (and weirdly, so slow as well). For someone who is used to verbalizing just about anything she speaks, I felt mute. I couldn’t say what I was thinking, not because anyone was forcing me to be quiet. I just couldn’t speak. Out of fear — fear of what might happen if I did speak up, fear of my own voice, fear of what I wanted, fear of what I didn’t want.

Sitting in an empty room
Trying to forget the past
This was never meant to last,
I wish it wasn’t so…

And after, alone in my apartment. After everyone had left. I was alone. Who leaves a four day postpartum woman alone? Completely alone?

know what it takes to move on,
I know how it feels to lie,
All I wanna do
Is trade this life for something new
Holding on to what I haven’t got

Mmm. Move on is always a tricky way to describe it, but it makes more sense when you add in the “holding on to what I haven’t got.” I never moved on without my daughter. She has come with me in each of my life changes. She moved with me to Ohio nine days after her birth. She was with me through each decision to get married, to take a different job, to build our family, to take a different career path, to be the best version of myself that I can be. I think, perhaps, that’s what people misunderstand about the relinquishment process. Yes, birth parents can and do “move on,” but they are forever changed.

And, at the very beginning:

This is not the end
This is not the beginning

Now if ever there was a way to describe the birth and relinquishment of a child, well, there it is. Some people would like to assume or really have it be the end for birth parents and the beginning for adoptive parents. But it’s really not for either group. It’s not the end for birth parents; there’s a lifetime of processing in different ways. Some are sad and some are happy. And for adoptive parents, the truth is that the child’s beginning doesn’t really start that magic moment that they are placed in their arms. It’s far more complicated than that. Far more complicated.

Those are my musings on a song that hit me in ways that I’m sure Linkin Park didn’t quite intend. Their video, embedded below, is interesting. Note: Not one of Linkin Park’s more laid back, quiet songs. It’s loud. And sometimes I need to be loud when I’m processing things, so this was quite perfect.

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