While not in direct reply to the questions I posed yesterday, a blogger has answered everything I asked, and more, regarding the hard questions adoptees can throw at birth parents. His post goes hand-in-hand with what I wrote about yesterday. It leaves me even more speechless, less prepared, for anything the Munchkin might later dish out over coffee, tea, telephone wire, internet cable or snail mailbox.
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.)
My name is Jenna. I blog here, 
