The Irony of a Broken Humerus
So this past Saturday evening, the phone rings and Rye gets it.
It's his mother who goes to tell him that she didn't want me to feel so alone, so on the way to Walmart to grab coffee, she trips over her feet and falls, and yes:
A Parcel of the Past: Remembering Relinquishment
A few weeks ago, my dear friend Lena hit me up on Facebook with a question:
Of course, the answer was yes, because as much as I lived through being 19, pregnant, away from home, alone and about to have my first child and relinquish him for adoption; I still have very foggy memories of that time and wonder now, with hindsight, WTF was I thinking!! The parcel came today and mixed in with some pictures of Garin as a baby that Lena must have taken on long ago visits, there was a bland letter form when I was first married to the ex ( I didn't even read that one), a Sonny and Cher post card from 1990, a weird print out of a shark from the precursor of fax machines.. I think they were called teletype?? I forget.. I was just talking about the same machine the other day!)..and then, two letters written from when I was pregnant with Max and living in Boston. The first letter is dated 8-23-87 and must be mere days after my arrival. I am immediately struck by my handwriting. It has been the same for years. Longer than I have realized I guess. Somehow I managed to convince myself that my habit of all capitalization was from years in the interior design biz and my drafting education, but no.. I was writing the same way at 19. I have no memory of writing this note, but it is unmistakable from me. It is perversely chipper considering the situation."I was going through some stuff and found some old letters you wrote while you were in Boston. Would you like to have them?"
"Hi, Helo and what's up? All is fine here in Boston. Got here OK and either everyone here is cool or they are great at acting."
I then comment about how I finally get to go to the doctor, but then describe the city "It's like NY only prettier..no scum, trees and flowers! Sadly, my commentary is about how I would love to be able to really check out the city but "aka when I am not a Hippo"
There is talk of a visit from friends, but no visit very did materialize the entire time I was there. Then I basically plead for Lena to make me a cassette of various Cocteau Twins and wonder about them playing a concert upon my return in December. That never happened either.
The next letter is from September 26, 1987. Dark earthy gray is the stationary and I comment once upon my frustration with my choice of pens. I am a pen snob, always have been, and a plain ball point has always made me cranky.
Almost half of it is commenting on the asked for and received tape, though I bitch that it took too long. There is one comment about the music reminding me of "happier times". In between the lines, yes, I hear some sour grapes, some resentment,"I guess school is in full swing again. You are very busy working, commuting, and schooling."
"I really don't have very exciting news from Boston. I am very Fat. I assume I'll be fatter for there is still more than a month to go ( due Nov 12ish). I finally bought some preggo clothes, but I don't really wear them. Asia ( that's her name - God help us if she has a little peni for then she'll be a nameless boy) kicks me constantly. They say that means she is healthy ( something I do worry about). I say it hurts at times...
My mother is still a very large smelly doodie. I have not heard from her in 5 weeks now. Such maternal love!! I'm going through a big loss type of therapy at the moment. I think it is actually helping me in a painful -healthy way. Having to face the fact that and mourn that I don't have a father OR a mother to speak of. It sucks, but hey, that's life!.."..then I moan about wanting to go shopping for something with a belt an the size of my pregnant breasts...
"and guess what? I am NOT bored!! Everyone seems to think that I am going insane because I do NOTHING- but is is fun to do nothing. I watch TV, I weave bracelets, I shop, I play with Kari and she spits up on me, I try to understand life, and I write letters."
Then more about one visit that never happened and another plan that won't come to pass.. and then back to wondering about the Cocteau Twins concert.
At first, I was discouraged by the shallow flippancy of these letters, but it's almost too much even for a much younger me. And inside, I know it was all a good front. Twas my encouragement to those back home that I was still the same me, that I was not changing, that I was going to be OK.
I don't recall being so focused on that concert, but it feels now like I was looking for something past the inevitable to think about and look forward to.
I am angered by my own mother's actions so many years ago. She angered me then by cutting me out and it still hurts. It angers me that the counselling at the agency was more focused on me and my folks, my loss issues, but never quite made that connect to my child and his soon to be loss. It seems so obvious to me now. I know I could not see it them, I was 19, I didn't want to see it, but the professionals? With degrees and training.. how happy I was just to hang around a house caring for a baby, but yet it never even entered my mind that I would be happy with my own child.
I often think of my 16 year old self during introspective moments. She was so ready for anything, so idealistic, so full of dreams, so opinionated. I think of her and question, if I could go back in time and show her where we would end up, the ultimate question is: Would 16 year old Claud think I was a poser? Would she think I had sold out? Would he be em brassed by what I had become? And usually, I think she would still be happy knowing we ended up here, where I am, this life, this city, this husband, these friends, this job, me...
But my 19 year old self, alone in Boston. Trying so hard to make good for everyone, trying so hard to please, and so happy that these stranger, these unknown folks up there in a strange town seemed to really like me. I want to run back through time and save her, save us, save Max from what lies ahead. Yes, she too would be happy at what we are now, who we are, but I know that she would rationalize it... she would say that we have these good things now because of what she was about to do. That the sacrifice made her, me worthy of good things to come.
Living though the fire, hoping for a better day - pants with a belt, a concert to attend, a visit from friends, waiting for the adoption to be over.
Only, it's never over. It's never truly over. That's what is missing form the letters. The reality that it will never truly be over and no, I am not the same. Nor will I ever be again.
But thank you Lena, for this small bit of me. She was lost.
Who Really Has the Right to Judge Birthmothers??
Judgement. Choices. Lack of True Choice.
Variations of this theme have been running through my head for a long time.
To some the birth mother is a saintly figure.
Wise. Sacrificing. Selfless. A builder of Families. A deliverer of dreams come true. Adoptive families want to thank her. Poor girl, she is just in a sad situation, but through her wisdom she can make the best of the situation and all will be better off. That is, as long as she stays in the box where her title decrees she stays.Often the birth mother is the slut, the whore, the one who caused her own lot in life to begin with by spreading her legs and being irresponsible.
How hard is it, they ask, to know that having sex causes pregnancy? Stupid girl isn't smart enough to care for a child.So selfish, she is, by only thinking of her own pleasure and not planning for her future. After all, all the evils in this world are caused by the single unwed, mother.Every Birth mother I have ever met has reported of the amazingly insane stereotypes and statements that were thrown at them by both friends and foes, in all sincerity and hate.
You know how it plays out. You are at that point in a conversation with some one, it could even actually BE about adoption, and you think this person has the ability to "get it" somehow, or maybe you are just side swiped by something thrown out in midair, but out of no where they throw out some super loaded statement and, no, you cannot catch it and volley; it's such an atrocious hing that you have to physically step back. And it hangs there for a quick second, time stands still and you both realize the sudden awkwardness, but it's to late. And it falls; this awkward phrase, this stereotypical repetition of something you know to be generated and propagated by some profit through adoption corporation like Gladney or Bethany or the National Council for Adoption, this pure rush of hate and judgement, this snide underhanded comment that might sound like a compliment and you might even say thank you and mean it until a second later when it hits you, this pure ignorant banter that shows such a true lack of uncaring - it smacks down hard in the middle of the floor. And stands between you two like a sudden new Great Wall. This Judgement is not, purely, in Adoption.I think women are very judgemental of other women.
I think that by nature we are more libel to actually empathize with the horror of a mother and child being separated . I mean, if you have a child, or even if you can just imagine having a child and then imagining that you HAD to be separated from that child. And think about how you would feel. You don't have to go far into it and you feel pretty freaking awful. Luckily, you are only imagining so you can stop feeling this way. Because that is all you want to do is to stop feeling this way. That's a natural reaction. So really, yuck. Who wants to actually have to think about the birth mothers as real. It's easier that way, to differentiate ourselves from someone who truly suffers for something that on many levels is not necessary, is practiced unethically, essentially trades the parental rights of children for huge profits in "fees", has poorly defined risks, is riddled with false advertising and is based on a legal system that forges documents of lies and calls it legal. When you actually think about it, really try to wrap your arms about what it actually means to live the life of a birth mother, no, most will not be able to do it. Wait, let me rephrase it. I think most be COULD do it, but they either don't want to or they have just never ever even for one second thought about us like that. I mean none of us what to think about feeling like that. I know there are many times, that I have trouble imagining what it is , what it feels like..and I lived it. I do live it. I am a birth mother and I am horrified by feeling too much and have to remind myself that I know, I am living it. The desire to dissociate is so very strong. I don't want it to be real. I don't want this to BE my life. But it is and all I can do is live it. *** But getting back to really thinking about it and how that turns into judgement..., adoption has some pretty bad practices currently occurring, expected and sanctioned by general society. And that hard stuff to recognize and realize that you are basically powerless against. It's like the light bulb going off and hitting the brick wall all at once. Blink!BAM! I could quote my favorite Al Gorism:"There are good people...who hold this at arms length for if they acknowledge it and recognize it, then the moral imperative to make big changes is inescapable"So, women.. they really don't want to think about how it might feel to lose your child.. coz then you have to think of ways that you truly might lose your child and really, it's horrifying to think about, even for a second, we just don't want to. No one does. It feel really wrong. Who even wants to be reminded of the possibility? These women, these unwed girls, this slut, that whore, this child, the selfless; they are not like all the other women. They have to be separated out. Something, whether it be up bringing, or education, or money, or location, or social status, or looks, or choices, or drugs, or character; there is something that these people, these women, who suffered such a loss, must have done to bring this thing upon themselves. They cannot be on the same playing field as every one else or else the reality is that it could happen to you. I was looking for the quote, and found it with lyrics that fit...
"....Lost was the child, we all once did hideIt's so much easier to judge something that is utterly foreign to us. Well generated propaganda can conspire to keep suspiciouns aroused and provide fodder for the masses. It provides someone to point a finger at. Plus we are more likely to accept even poorly placated sugar coated candy crap if the alternative is to feel pretty yucky and worried about our own children. I think it's tough to really care about someone who is going though a difficult time or does something that you feel is internally wrong and not judge them.There for the Grace Of God Go I"
We want to judge because it insulates us from other's failings and misfortunes.
We can't help but to see ourselves in other's shoes and compassion is a hard thing to manage and multi task this day and age. So we avoid it all together and drink the Koolaide. We don't have to feel for them because they are not one of us. So we make them different. I saw this act play out outside adoption in real life to mutual friends of mine. Friends for over twenty years and one friend had been going through a very rough time. In the end, the situation played out in a way that was sad and not perfect for all, but at least had come to some kind of closure. A blamed B for her supposed "choices" which caused the unhappy ending. B knew had happened and she knew how it effected all, it wasn't like she needed someone else to state the obvious. A seemed to think that B really had a choice and took some lazy or selfish turn when she had the ability to take another. And the friendship suffer for this judgement. A acted as if B really had a choice. She didn't. It was either break up a "perfect" family or die. She did the unthinkable, she did something insane and foolish, she mad situations uncomfortable, and conflicting emotions; this action affected others and caused us all to feel, much like a death, much as a loss. But I saw how she struggled. How torn. And while I am not her, and I have never worn her shoes ( well that's a lie, I have physically WORN her actual shoes) I know that this was not a light hearted quick decision. It really, almost killed her. It was not a real choice. It was life or death. But we are quick to judge. Even among friends who should be understanding, having known you, having seen your character over time. We separate from their action so we can assure ourselves that this terrible bad thing will never happen in our own lives and we won't ever have to feel like them. So, Irresponsible slut or Saintly family builder. Take a pick. End of story. *** Of course, that's not the case at all. We can list every birth mother known online and I don't think many of us would fall under either stereotype. Some might, but I am betting that it would be the same rations as the general population. The natural bell curve of human nature if you could imagine, please. Of course, during my pregnancy with Max there were times when I felt lie a slut and times that I felt like a saint and sometimes the two feelings co-existed and conflicted at the same time when all I wanted to do was feel like a mother, but that neither here nor there.What kind of women gives up her child to adoption anyway?
Overall, the truth be told is that the great majority of women who do end up relinquishing are, egagds, just like everyone else. We don't have horns, our DNA is not missing the mom strand since birth, we don't wear the Scarlett letter, and I have neither stigmata nor a crack pipe. I could generalize and say that without a doubt, every mother that you know who has lost a child to adoption was caught up in a bad place at a bad time and found themselves feeling powerless and unable to wade against the tide. And that she either fought with all her available resources against it or she was somehow convinced that it was the best thing for her child, but in her soul DID NOT WANT TO DO IT even if she managed to convince herself otherwise. I'm very comfortable believing that. I know it to be true of myself and I have heard that same loosely woven and similar version of our birth mother stories again and again. It the theme. What is different are the individual situations. Where they were in their life when this happened. This pregnancy. And that's just Joe normal stuff. College, working, just moved, at home, high school, first apartment; regular stuff that we all experience as part of life.Bottom line, it's not that hard to be THAT women who places her child for adoption.
Same places in life as you. Same stories. No one is immune from them. I mean really, think about it for a second...have you ever had too much to drink, suddenly realize that you were in a bad situation, out yourself in danger, make a stupid choice, make a bad decision, trust someone you should have, believed in something foolish, been taken in and played, drank too much? How about been raped, jumped, mugged, beaten, drugged, molested, abused, discriminated, tricked, deceived, cheated, ignored, lied to? Have you ever had the condom break? Forget to take the pill? Lied about it? Give in to the moment? Just one of the above. Just one instance, one time. That's all that stands between you and I. Just one single instance. One poor seemingly innocent choice, one falter, once misstep, one broken condom, one wile sperm and that's it, it all plays out. Are you innocent of everything listed above in every single instance in your life?I just do not think that anyone who has ever had sex outside of marriage has the right to judge birth mothers.
There, I said it. If you have ever had sex, just once, even just a little bit, and you were not married to your partner, then SHUT UP. Because you know what? Even that's all that makes us different and I the birth mother is that I got pregnant and you didn't. Unless you have lived a true perfect and saintly existence then you have no right to judge what you would have done in my situation because you were not in my situation. You were in your situation in your life where you, by some luck of the dice, did not get pregnant. You're not a better person because your birth control worked and mine failed. Not if you partook of the forbidden fruit yourself because if you did, then no matter how much you try to make your self separated from me and my kind, you are just as guilty as the same sins. And that's all it is. Statistical failure in humans and birth control. Neither is perfect. You can't judge me for taking the hit. Someone had to do it. My sponge failed. That wasn't my plan. End of Story. Now you don't get to villify me to make yourself feel good and secure. Nope. Face it. I am not that different than you.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
