Anyway. Watch it. And pass it on.

I have to admit that there was a time that I was threatened by D’s existence. Let me get ahead of myself and say that is not currently the case. Now I can go back and talk about it without people flipping out on me. Or, I should be able to.

Truth be told, when I allow myself to be totally honest, I was threatened by D when our relationship began. Not as a human being; goodness, she’s no bigger than I am! She’s also not confrontational or overbearing. That said, she’s also not a doormat so don’t try to walk all over her. But when we began our match, I was threatened and/or intimidated. Here was this woman. The woman who was going to be parenting my daughter. What did she think of my meager apartment? If I chose to parent, which I obviously didn’t, would she say nasty things about how the child that she had grown to love would be raised? Was I “good enough” to be her daughter’s birth mother? Did I say stupid things? What if I said something that made them not want to have me in their lives? The list went on and on.

And then that threat kind of subsided for awhile after placement. I began to fall into the place I was meant to have in our family unit. I viewed D as a friend, not just the mother of my daughter.  We fell into a nice give and take and things were easy.

Then Munchkin began to talk.

Then I heard her call D “Mom.”

And man, if the big green-eyed monster of jealousy didn’t rear his ugly head.

Not that I let it get in the way of our relationship. But it did take some adjusting. And I did feel threatened for a few months as I tried to figure out what my “role” really was for the Munchkin. It was hard to hear Munchkin verbalize her understanding of Mom and not know, exactly, where I fit in to her perception. Heck, I didn’t even know where I wanted to fit in or should fit in! The not knowing, the uncertainty, is what really killed me.

Thankfully, after I got involved with my current therapist, I was able to work through those emotions. I do not feel threatened when Munchkin calls D “Mom;” she IS Mom. I am one of her mothers and I have my own unique role in her life. I don’t do the everyday things. No. And sometimes that sucks and fills me with some regret. But, no, I’m just not threatened. I’m not jealous. It’s really, plain and simple, not D’s fault that I am not Munchkin’s everyday Mom. It would be completely out of line to place those feelings of resentment, frustration and fear onto D’s shoulders. It would be unfair. It would hinder our relationship.

So, yes, I’m in a good place. Does that mean I don’t expect to feel any of those feelings again? No, I probably will at some point, won’t I? Continuous milestones will probably bring up some issues that leave me feeling exposed and without knowledge of where I fit into the scenario. But now that I’ve had therapy to help me realize my own role in her life, I hope to get past any issues like those with relative ease. If not with ease, at least with an understanding of what I’m going through and what’s available on the other side.

In short: I’m beginning, however slowly, to empathize with adoptive mothers who may feel threatened by the existence of their child’s first mother. However, like me, I really think it needs to be worked through, as soon as possible, if we really want to keep the best interest of the child at heart and hand. Continued feelings of jealousy or fear towards D could have greatly hindered our relationship. I’m glad I was able to see my own fault and deal with it before it became anything serious in nature.

(Be sure to hit up my long-winded post on personal regret on the birth/first parent blog from this afternoon. It was an emotional chore to write.)

And so, in conjunction with the chapter review posts on Monday and Tuesday, I’ll be talking about how birth parents in today’s world (which includes closed and open adoption mothers and fathers) are dealing with that regret, how the adoptive families involved with such people are dealing with it and how it doesn’t have to be this huge, scary thing that sends everyone running for the hills.

A quote to get some minds going:

Regret is no stranger to birthparents. It is, of course, a reality for everyone, but it is an especially common and prominent companion for birthparents. It may be as modest as a sporadic twinge of forlorn longing or as oppressive as a lifetimes of relentless remorse.

-James L Gritter, Lifegivers

So, no, I don’t want to hear, “Oh, I have no regrets.” Look up the definitions. If you’ve ever wished that things could have gone differently or that your child could have been present on x-day or that their birthday wasn’t such an emotional drain, you’ve experienced some form of regret. We train people to think that regret is totally negative, something to be avoided at all costs. I come to argue that regret, while not always a pleasant feeling, can motivate us in better directions. Regret doesn’t have to rule our lives; sure, it’s present but it doesn’t have to take over every aspect, every corner, every nook and cranny.

It’s such a big topic. There’s so much to say. So much to learn. So much.

It is not an easy read. However, that said, it is an absolute necessary read for every birth parent, closed through fully open adoption. It is an absolute read for every adoptive parent, international and domestic alike. You want to know the range of emotion? You want to prepare yourself? You want to feel what it would be like if it was your child asking you these questions? My mind spins.

A few snip-its of what leaves me absolutely immobile inside:

Did I cry? Did I understand the totality of the
decisions made on my behalf? Did I latch on to
anything that was willing to comfort me, or did I know
you already in my inner being and long for you with an
invisible bond? Do you know what I felt when you
left? Not even I can know the pain of separation from
a love at that vulnerable age.

Oh. Oh. I’m taken back to the day of discharge. Being wheeled from the hospital, holding my Munchkin, as eyes… my own eyes on her little face… stared up at me. With questions. I had no answers. I didn’t know what I was doing. Or why. But it was being done despite the lack of complete understanding. And all the time I’ve focused on that unbearable pain that I felt… at the core of my being… and I’ve never stopped to wonder, beyond that look in her eyes, if she missed me when I walked out the front doors of the hospital. If her heart was torn in two like my own. Oh. Oh.

If you knew me would you do it all over again?

Oh. Oh. No. And yet, I wonder what the protocol is for voicing a regret like that to an adoptee. Is there an appropriate age? What if she voices this question early on? “If you could go back and change things, would you?” If I say yes, and she’s too young to process, does it make her resent her parents? Does it make her resent me if I say no? Do I avoid? Do I try some politically correct speech? And if she’s an adult when she asks? A happy, well-adjusted adult like I can only pray for? Does she really want to hear that I’d take it all back? What is the protocol? I’m so lost.

To answer this question I must know that moment, in
your deep unconscious when you knew, really knew, that
I would not be yours, but given to another. At that
point my psychic connection to your psyche felt a
rift.

Was there a slight tremor, shock, or disturbance that
alerted me to set up a defensive wall. When was it,
before I was born or at the moment of my birth?

Was she already defensively against me when she was born? Did she know my plans? I was bonded to her, deeply, especially considering everything I went through during the pregnancy to keep her safe thanks to my health. But could she feel the effects that coercive language was having on my psyche? Did she feel that I was actually believing that I meant nothing to her? That she wouldn’t need me? That there would be no problem in transition and therefore no grief or loss for either of us beyond saying goodbye? Was she thinking, “Oh, for Pete’s sake, woman, gullible is written on the ceiling. LOOK!” She could have been; she would have been right. Oh. What did I do?

At the same time reading the words that are so moving, I know now a few things: between now and then, I need to let go of the anger, even towards the adoption agency from hell. I’ve forgiven just about everyone else but them and I can tell you as I sit here tonight, having just read that post that brought me to tears, I’m still not ready to forgive them just yet. In time, I hope. I pray. And secondly, I need to be ready to answer ANY question she throws at me. Any question, even if it sucks the life out of me to answer it, honestly, without reservation. That causes me to pause now, dig deeper. It’s hard. It’s big. It’s scary.

It must be done.

I will love my Munchkin no matter what ; nothing she can do or say will sway the love I have for her. Nothing she can become or be will change that unconditional love. Having read that, a few times now, taking a break in between reading to collect my thoughts and my seeping eyeballs, I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, my consistent and loving presence, whether she says “I love you” or “I hate you” will be something that I’ll lay my life down to offer her. Knowing that I’ve left her once kills me. I won’t do it again.

I would rather die. I would rather die.

(Read the post. Seriously. Read it and try not to be moved. I triple dog dare you not to question yourself in some form or fashion.)

I’m frustrated. I’m beyond frustrated. Background story: forums are discussing a biological mother who kidnapped her child. Somehow turned into a discussion about revocation periods. I tried to avoid it. It was my kryptonite. I clicked. And the first thing I read was this:

Personally, after reading some of the posts on this thread, I feel that this story shows that major reform needs to take place as far as when the bmother has a right to change her mind. I feel sad for the bmother that she regreted her decision and wasn’t able to reverse it, considering she changed her mind only one day after placement.

You’ve. got. to. be. kidding. me. RIGHT?! You really believe that shortening revocation periods is the answer to this “problem” of mothers not realizing how much they really love and want to parent their children until “too late?” That’s what the world thinks? That’s NOT the answer, folks. Oh, it’s so far from the answer. It’s far too LATE in the process to be the answer. We need to start back at the beginning.

I responded with:

Or, ya know, we could have major reform that properly educates expectant parents as to the true extent of grief and loss PRIOR to the signing of the TPR as WELL as helping her find adequate parenting resources before a match is made so that things like this, ya know, don’t happen at all. Instead of removing more of their rights, which only leaves them feeling more helpless and possibly more desperate, perhaps we could protect the rights that they SHOULD have but are often NOT given because of high unethical adoption agencies, attorneys and practices.

Revocation periods are necessary whether certain people want to accept that or not. Parents are making a life long decision to let go of their child. It’s only after that name is signed that some mothers and fathers realize their error, that they 100% can’t let go.

(I did add that I don’t believe in kidnapping. I just don’t.)

And that’s the rub, folks. People want to believe that the problem is “lengthy” revocation periods where these mothers can “change their minds.” That’s not the problem. The problem is that we’re not educating expectant mothers OR FATHERS) considering placement that there’s a lot more to placement than just signing your name on a piece of paper. Agencies are doing NILL at educating these families about the life-long grief and loss that accompanies that signature. There’s no talk about how it can wreak havoc on your self-esteem, give you intimacy issues or basically traumatize you for life. There’s no discussion about how it will make you feel when you go to have other children, start a marriage or continue to live your life. There’s no talk about the hole in your heart, your life.

We tell women that they will get over it. That it will hurt for awhile but it will get better once you get through those five stages of grief. They don’t tell mothers or fathers that those stages of grief can be revisited with every new chapter of your life, leaving you experiencing everything all over again and over again and over again.

Beyond that, we’re not telling these expectant parents that they HAVE resources to parent. (Okay, some (and I mean, very few) have gone above the call of duty to point families in the direction of these resources and I commend their actions.) But most? Aren’t. Instead, we tell them that two parents are a requirement for a perfectly well-rounded child. (Newsflash: I had two involved parents and I am not well-rounded. HA!) We tell them that money (which equates to “stuff”) is important in parenting. We don’t educate them that they can actually feed their child for FREE for the first year of the kid’s life (hi, breastfeeding!). We’re not telling them any of this information. And they’re left feeling hopeless.

Even with that hopeless feeling, no one is telling these mothers about the Mama Bear instinct that kicks in almost immediately. I believe that’s why the number of mothers that do revoke their decision do it: Mama Bear instinct. When you’ve held a child that you’ve brought into this world, you’d do almost anything to protect it. Sometimes, for some women, that DOES mean placing. However, for others, it means keeping that child no matter the cost. Some of those mothers, unfortunately, feel obligated to sign the paper anyway because of the subtle coercions of pre-birth matches, whether that comes from an unethical family or an unethical agency (the latter of whom I blame the most).

Starting reform AFTER the Termination of Parental Rights is like trying to solve marriage problems by starting couples therapy AFTER a divorce. If you want to bring down the number of changed minds after the TPR is signed, you need to offer these women real and true accounts as to what placement entails. Yes, the happy stories are also needed because mothers who DO choose adoption need to know that, with work, they CAN succeed in open adoption and life. (You can. I still believe that you can.) However, we need to be fully educating these families as to what grief and loss can be like. We need to tell them about their resources. And we need to tell them about that Mama Bear instinct.

Until we’re being totally honest with expectant families considering placement, revocations are going to keep occuring at numbers that people find unacceptable. Shortening that time frame will do nothing to solve the problem.

I’m so discouraged. I need to go shopping. Retail therapy.

Dear 2003 Me,

I know you think you know everything right now. Twenty-one is that magic age where all of the knowledge of the world enters your brain thus making the rest of the world magically stupid and therefore useless to you in any way, shape or form. However, let me be the first to tell you: you don’t know jack. Your world is about to be turned upside down. Sit down. Shut up. And listen.

I’m taking this to the point where things are already somewhat out of our control. I’m not taking us back to 1997 in order to avoid meeting Lincoln. I’m not taking us back to 1999 to avoid reconnecting with him via e-mail. I’m not even going back to the decisions that lead us to sleep with him on that fateful night. Nope. Newsflash: You’re knocked up and you’re going to be alone. Here’s what you need to do.

For the love of all things everywhere, don’t call a single adoption agency. I know, I know. You think that simply contacting them for information won’t do you any harm. You think that learning about all of your options will help you make a better decision. Let me tell you, having lived it, you’re wrong. The agency that you are thinking about contacting is so highly adept at manipulation that you will have no ability to get out from under their grasp. Stay away. Don’t do it. As for what to do?

Please talk to Mom and Dad. Yes, they’re being angry, grumpy, sometimes down-right-mean and not really nice. Tell them that you want Matthew’s old crib. Tell them to help you buy a car seat. Because, here’s the fact: within the week, you’re going to be hospitalized with a kidney disorder that will put you out of function for the duration of your pregnancy. The agency that you’re kicking around in your mind will seem like the only option because you, Mom and Dad are not talking about any options available to you. Without money coming in, you will feel hopeless. But listen: so will Mom and Dad. By the time they get over their anger, you will have already contacted the agency and all will be lost. All that is wrong right now is a communication problem: a) you think they hate your child (they don’t) and b) they think you don’t want their help (you do but see point a). If you don’t make the move to fix the communication problem, neither will they. You won’t hear until three years after the fact how your mother regrets not fixing the problem herself. Be the bigger person and fix it yourself. You won’t regret it.

More over, don’t listen to stupid people on the internet who tell you not to involve TheHusbandMan in your decision. He is as involved in this pregnancy as anyone and truly, more that you will ever understand, loves that child. When he says, “Are you sure you want to do this,” say no. Don’t worry about what his family will say or think: like everyone else, they will come around to accepting you for who you are and what you bring to the table.

All of that said, by doing everything I have instructed you to do in this letter, you will miss out on having a great friend. Look up some blonde chick in Philadelphia. She has a lot of your interests and is, basically, your light-haired twin. I think you guys would be great friends.

Oh, and by the way, even if he says he doesn’t have money to pay child support, he’s still legally required to do so. Take him to court. Do what’s right for your daughter. She depends on you.

Sincerely,
2007 You

//

To my readers who aren’t 2003 me, obviously I understand that I can’t go back and change my decisions. But sometimes, you just need to say/type things out loud. What would you tell your pre-placement self?

My heart all ready breaks for the family that lost sons and a grandson on that day. Sons. Brothers. Friends. Grandson. Son. Each other. Lovers. Gone. For what? Reminders that hatred is all too prevalent in this world.

But my heart, my mind…

I remember reading about David’s story, his Dads and his death on the first 9/11 anniversary after I placed Munchkin for adoption. I don’t know how or why. I grive on September 11th for many reasons. Maybe I was searching for some kind of connection to adoption and the first day my life changed forever. Somehow, some way, I came across a different tribute. And I wept. So hard. I still weep.

I can’t imagine. I don’t want to imagine. When I try to imagine, my stomach turns and I feel as though I could vomit. To be forced to watch footage of the plane carrying my child into a building over and over and over, every year and even at random, without warning, seems like cruel and unusual punishment to me. Yes, I’m speaking of David’s firstmother.

The tribute linked states that she was a relative of one of the Dad’s. She had another young child all ready. A drug problem was mentioned. She felt as though she couldn’t parent. Didn’t we all feel that way? Yet the vast majority of us don’t have to deal with that choice and its horrific results displayed on our television screens day in and day out. I do believe I would get rid of my television. And the internet. And, even if I didn’t have a drug problem prior to the placement of my child and the events of 9/11, I might very well have one after losing my child. Twice. And in such an awful, horrid fashion.

I can’t imagine the guilt. I already feel as though I’ve failed Munchkin. I wasn’t able to be who I needed to be when she needed me to be that person. Whether you want to argue that I needed to be ready to parent or I needed to be able to simply stand up for myself against the “Powers that Be,” I wasn’t either person. I failed her. Say what you want, that’s my personal belief. But the guilt that accompanies that knowledge is minor compared to what it would be had I placed her with a family and she died on that horrific day. You want to talk about what-if-games? What if I had been able to parent? What if I didn’t contact that agency? What if I stood up for myself? What if what if what if?! Failure. Twice.

How do you explain that to the child you are already parenting, I wonder? It’s one thing to explain that Brother David will be raised by different Fathers. It’s a completely different ordeal to attempt to tackle the concept that we can’t see David anymore because he died. On an airplane. That he wouldn’t have been on. Had I not placed him for adoption. Which I wouldn’t have done. Had I been who I needed to be.

Is your mind reeling? My writing is jumbled. My heart is breaking. And I can’t even begin to grasp how much I would not want to wake up on this day every year. Every year. My decision would be thrown in my face. Every year. The absence of my child would be rubbed like salt in a wound. Every year. Every single year.

And you know what the worst part of it is for me?

That woman, David’s firstmother, has probably never been allowed to fully grieve his loss. As David was adopted by a family member, she surely must know that he died on that flight. I could bet with fair certainty that she has been told, by at least one well-meaning friend or family member that her grief is less than those who were “really involved in his life.” I don’t know if their adoption was open or not; from the sounds of things, it wasn’t. But that doesn’t mean that her heart isn’t broken and shattered.

It is every parent’s worst nightmare to imagine anything happening to their child. I have panic attacks when BigBrother has a cold. He recently fell and hit his cheek on the end table. He has a bruise and I want to get rid of the end tables. And to know that my life decisions eventually lead to the death of my child… would kill me. Literally. Again I would say it’s a pretty safe bet that David would not have been on that plane had his firstmother been able to parent. He would still be alive.

And that guilt, right there, brings me to my knees.

No, I’m not David’s firstmother. But my heart breaks as if he was my own. The only solace I find in this story is that all three (two fathers and a son) were taken together. If this was our adoption, I would know in my heart that as the plane was going down, J and D would be clutching my daughter with all of their being. I’d like to think that maybe, just maybe, they’d give me a thought in their last moments. A prayer that I’d find peace with the loss of everything. Everything.

And today, five years after that awful day in history, my prayers are with an unknown woman whom no one mentions with compassion. Understanding. Or love. Wherever you are, David’s firstmom, may you feel the arms of your beautiful, beautiful Son wrap around your soul today. I pray for your peace.

//

We’re getting family pictures taken this morning. Actually in almost exactly one hour. Neither J nor I are showered. And BigBrother is back in bed after waking up far too early for his liking this morning. Can we pull it off? Most likely. I’m not all that worried about it.

Instead, my mind is eight hours East, wondering what the Munchkin is doing this morning. Will she by some strange connection be dressed in red and blue today? Will she feel the same empty spot in her heart this morning?

Family things get to me. There should be another child in this family picture. She should be wild and crazy and have the most beautiful hair known to mankind. She should love and hate her brother all in the same breath. And if we want to get technical, my belly should all ready be swelled with fourteen weeks of Rose, but she’s gone, too. These losses in my life still sting.

Often we hear that firstmothers “complete” anothers’ family. Thankfully this is usually said by those less attached to adoption on a personal level. But even well-respected adoptive parents have said to me in casual conversation, “I’m so thankful that our son’s firstmom completed our family.”

At the price of her own.

My family will never be complete. There will always be a missing Munchkin in family pictures. On Christmas morning, there will be missing presents. On Thanksgiving day, we won’t have enough place settings on the table. Easter? One less basket. Halloween? One less costume to make. December 13th will never be spent, in Ohio, blowing out candles, unwrapping presents and snuggling my precious daughter to sleep.

I know, I know. I should buck up and be grateful for my Son. I am! November 17th is our celebratory day. This Christmas should be full of wrapping paper and squeals. And on Thanksgiving, I’ll even give him some table mashed potatoes.

But my family will never be complete. She will always be missing even though I know exactly where to find her.

I knew I had to work. Even after placing Munchkin, I had to work. There were bills that needed paid. I had to eat. And really, once I got into my career field, not even six months after she was born, I loved working. One thing that drew me to J and D was the fact that D was planning to stay home with the kid(s) for awhile. I wanted my child to have that undivided attention.

Then J and I made the decision to conceive BigBrother. And I said, loud and clear, I would be a successful “working” Mother. (Don’t we all work?) Well, to make a long story short, I just turned in my two week notice at a job I honestly love (minus some issues) to become a Work at Home Mom.

No one told me when I was pregnant with Munchkin that I could work at home. No one said, “Hey, you’re computer literate. You could do a thousand and one things from home.” I was constantly reminded what a bad Mother I would be to the Munchkin because I would have to leave her in daycare all the time just to go work.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m excited that we’ve found a way for me to stay home with our Son. I think it’s awesome and I’m thrilled to the max. I am, honestly, going to miss my job because it was something that I loved and something that I was darn good at. But I’m also a good Mother.

And I’m just frustrated. These things existed in 2003. But everyone told me I would be an awful Mommy for working outside the home. And now I’m working inside our own home. And I feel like I cheated the Munchkin. Again. Always. Forever.

I posted the following question(s) in an online community for first(birth)mothers in 2003.

I wrote a letter to the guy that I told we could possibly become a couple when he came home from Iraq to inform him of my pregnancy. I never expected to hear from him again. So when he called the day that he got the letter and said we would discuss it when he got home on Mother's Day… I was shocked. A) He wasn't supposed to be home until January. B) He called!

After his return, he stated that his feelings had not changed for me. We began dating and have been ever since. Originally, at the start of our relationship, I was planning on keeping Munchkin. [...] Now I'm starting to see and hear and feel the effects that my decision [to place] has had on him. He sometimes gets distant when I speak of the adoption and or the baby. However, he loves this child. He's constantly talking to my tummy and doing all those daddy like things even though this baby is not his at all.

I'm worried that he will keep all of these feelings inside and that post-adoption he will resent me for my decision even though he is not the father. I don't know if any of you have been in a similar situation, but advice here is definitely welcome. I don't want to lose him on the other side of this thing as it is hard enough. Thanks for your help.

And someone that I later came to trust as a friend, replied with this gem:

How do you feel? Do you want to be a mom? Are you ready to be a mom? Are you ready to go through an adoption? Your boyfriend's feelings are important, but they shouldn't be what makes or breaks your decision (one way or another.)

You two aren't married and if you decide you want to raise your baby then you need to be able to do it on your own, without your boyfriend's help (financially, emotionally and otherwise.) If he chooses to help, then that's great, but don't put yourself in a position where you can't do it alone.

Your baby is what matter's most. Do what is right for your CHILD – the decision has to be yours, not your boyfriend's.

I posted about finding this exchange a few months ago; it saddened me, deeply, to find that this idea had not been my own but, instead, had been planted in my head by people that I thought knew better. (I was so naive, so trusting. Is it any wonder that I don't trust even nuns now?) I had wanted to include J in the decision, the process. And, for the most part, he was. He attended the first meeting with J and D with me. He was, simply put, always there. I didn't want to make the decision without him, but, as all four of the other responses to that question, including the one from the woman who was to become my friend, told me that I needed to be a "strong woman" and "stick to the plan" and "do this on my own."

Stick to the plan?

Sigh.

I cannot explain well enough how sad this truly makes me. One of the issues that I'm dealing with in therapy is the overwhelming guilt I feel that I caused J undue emotional pain. He loved and continues to love Munchkin. He gladly would have parented her. I'll never forget the day that I told him that I was going to place her for adoption; it's stuck, forever, in my mind. I was sitting on the porch at my parent's house on a warm summer day. We were talking on the phone. He was at work (ambulance company). He had no response. I wondered why. I didn't understand how attached he had become to her until, weeks later, he had his head resting on my belly and she kicked him in the face. He looked at me with the most joyous face ever.

This is one guilt I'm just having a hard time letting go of… I'd do anything to protect my Husband from hurt. I recently became upset with a set of friends who unintentionally hurt my Husband. I don't want for him to be sad, hurt or feel neglected. I'd do anything for this Man. And… I hurt him on a level that no other person in this world was able or will be able to do.

And it wasn't even my own idea. Oh, J, I'm sorry.