A little bit stuck...

Well, I realize I haven't really updated my blog for a week now. Normally I can write easily...but things seem to be stuck. I think I know why, now - which I will elaborate on soon.

Work has been absolutely chaotic this past week, too, which has kept me super busy and working longer hours.

I guess I need to be a bit more patient with myself and not force things. It will come out when it's meant to.

It's another lesson in patience...with myself.

I'm still here!

This week has been very chaotic work wise, but I will - really!!! - update tomorrow. Lots to update on.

Heavy

*Fair warning – I drop the F-Bomb in this blog *

Ok, so I’m not erasing what I wrote in my previous blog...but I’m going to have to back up a tad, because this whole birth name/original birth certificate (OBC) business seems to keep rearing its ugly (and I do mean ugly) head.

Yesterday afternoon at work, I started to wonder about what I was called (as in a name) for the first three weeks of my life, until I was adopted. Since I do have an OBC, I thought, ok, was this name on my hospital bracelet? Did the nurses/dr’s refer to me as this name? Did they refer to me as ‘baby’? Perhaps ‘baby-insert M’s last name’?

So, I called my Mom.

Mom: Helllooo! (She has caller display)
Me: Mom, y’know when you and Dad went to get me at the agency, what did people call me?
Mom: Call you...what do you mean?
Me: I mean a name mom...did they refer to me as my original birth certificate name?
Mom: I don’t know...I can’t remember twenty-nine years ago. They probably called you Baby.
Me: Baby? Why would they call me Baby?
Mom: Because you were a baby?
Me: Well, did I have a hospital bracelet on me? How would they be able to tell me from another kid in there?
Mom: Well Laurel, I’m sure they had a very good system that worked...oh and you only have one birth certificate.
Me: No, I have two. One with Amber and another with Laurel.
Mom: No you don’t.
Me: Yes I do, YOU gave it to me.
Mom: Well, it’s not official and I never gave it to you.
Me: Yeah you did, with the rest of the lawyers papers and stuff...and it is official. I’ll show you when I get home.
Mom: Don’t you have work to do?

So, I get home and was doing a bunch of things...and remembered about the OBC. I pulled it out and then pulled out my other birth certificate (BC). It was the first time I actually looked at them side by side and compared them to one another. Both have different registration numbers...different names...different parents...etc. But they are BOTH BC’s. They’ve clearly been registered with our province. And I wondered...how is it that two BC’s exist for the same person? I thought, ok, maybe the numbers are the same and they changed the name...but nope, everything is different, but they are two BC’s. It made me nauseous. Yes, it’s a piece of paper...but it’s MINE. Those two papers identify ME as two different people.

I take both BC’s and head downstairs to my mother sitting on the couch. See? She looks.

Mom: Well, the agency promised us you only had one certificate.
Me: Well, apparently I don’t.
Mom: This can’t be real...
Me: *thinking...yes...I made it up and folded it a gazillion times and yellowed it to make it look old*
Mom: The agency told us that only your BC existed...the one with your name.
Me: Mom, I have two BC’s...like it or not...they are both mine.
Mom: You only have one, and you were issued a passport last year...right?
Me: *thinking...passport...wtf?!* Yes, but it’s not like I said...oh wait, can you check for my BC under so and so name. It’s not like it’s gonna be in every gov’t file or something. I’m just saying, two BC’s for me...exist.

*silence*

Me: The agency lied...to you...to M...to me about different issues. Adoption is about lies, Mom.
Mom: Well fine. They lied. (She says with a sarcastic and snippy tone while she stares ahead at the tv.)
Me: Well, they did Mom...just because they’re an agency and have laws and rules...it doesn’t mean they followed them all.

The conversation ended with her asking why this is such a problem now. Why am I so bothered by it all now...why now? If I’m so concerned, I should contact the gov’t and blah blah blah. Blah = fear. I walked away, locked myself in the bathroom and cried.

Y’know...I’m really fucking tired of all of the lies, guilt and games. I’m tired of trying to protect all fucking parties involved in this. Not only do I have to take care of myself...but I have to worry about everyone who has a damn feeling in this situation.

Today, I was seriously ready to throw in the towel and tell M that I made a super big mistake by contacting her, shut the door and just forget this.

I feel so heavy.

What's in a name, anyway?

I’ve been thinking about this since yesterday. The topic (not unfamiliar to me) was brought up by another adoptee on her blog because she was just told, by her birthmother, what she had originally been named when she was born. After growing up and living many years with the name your parents gave to you, to take on the notion that it wasn’t your first name...that you indeed have a birth certificate with another name that came first, is one of gigantic proportions.

I’m unsure about when I first saw my original birth certificate...I’m even unsure about how we got it (I think a lawyer screwed up and my parents were given a copy of it by mistake...with my bmom’s name and address on it), but I remember how I felt when I saw it. I think I was probably around 16 years old. It was very unsettling and sort of felt like being told that my eyes were brown when they’re really green.

When I was told that my bmom named me Amber, I felt almost like I had some sort of twin that had been attached to me and was cut off and taken away. Amber only existed for the first three weeks of life, then she was cut off and Laurel survived. I know it sounds dramatic and perhaps even a bit woe-is-me (which is not my bag), but bear with me, will ya?

I have two birth certificates. One for a girl named Amber and another for a girl named Laurel. It’s gigantic. It’s still something that, at times, I can’t fully wrap my brain around. I wonder who Amber would have been. But I don’t sit in wonder for too long because I try not to live in ‘what could have been’ and instead prefer to live in ‘what is’. This is not always easy or possible.

Call me whatever you like (ok, call me Laurel, because I enjoy my name thanks) but I am who I am. A name doesn’t define who I am inside or my beliefs, morals, opinions and feelings. It doesn’t change the potential I hold...or the dreams I have or the goals I strive to achieve.

..News..

Ok, so Saturday evening I called M (bmom) after much pacing back and forth, lumps in my throat and butterflies in my stomach. I needed some time to process all of this before I blogged about it. I am still processing all of it...and although I feel 'good' about it...I still have such mixed thoughts and feelings. I feel rather vulnerable.

Here is how the conversation went (we talked for almost an hour)...

La (me): Hi, M?
M (my bmom): Yes?
La: M, this is La...
M: Oh hi, I’m so glad you called.
La: Did you get my letter?
M: Yes, I did. I was planning to write back, then I was going to just call you, but things have been very busy and well... *silence* You know that most of that report (she was referring to the non-identifying info report I got from the agency recently and copied it and sent it with my letter) is filled with lies...

M got defensive. I could tell in her tone that she was trying to defend herself and tell me what was true and not true...etc. Honestly, I don’t care about the report. It is what it is. I do want to talk to her about it at some point, but at this stage, it doesn’t really matter what it says. I think maybe she thought I would pin her on the report...but the call wasn’t about this.

La: Well, what did you think about my letter that I sent with it?
M: I think I’m ok with it. I’m willing to meet with you and talk.

Let me just say that M and I share the same difficulty to openly communicate our feelings. I am much better at this than I was some years ago. But I know that she finds communicating what she’s thinking and feeling, hard.

La: I am glad that you’re willing to talk with me. What I want to know though, is how do you feel about it? How do you feel about us opening the doors and trying to figure this out?

*silence*

M: Laurel, you are my daughter. You are my child and that will never change. If something were to happen to you tomorrow, I would grieve for you in the same way I would A (my half-bro) and H (half-sis). At the end of the day, you are my daughter.

I started tearing up at the ‘that will never change’ stage. But, I held it together. I didn’t want to go into the ugly cry.

M: So, if you want to meet to talk at the end of the month, then I can do that.
La: M, I have to tell you...the past twelve years since we first had (brief) contact have been very difficult to say the least. Over the past three to four years, things have settled down. I’m happy and well now...I love life...I have good people in my life...etc. About a year ago, I started to think that I needed to talk to you again. I planned on contacting you for a one time meeting...to ask you questions, tell you what I need you to know and then say goodbye and go our separate ways.

About six months ago, I’ve thought that maybe there is some way we can have a relationship. Because 5, 10 or 15 years from now, I need to be able to look back and be ok with our relationship. I need for both of us to be ok with it. For it to be as healthy as possible for all involved, regardless if we make the decision to continue to be in a relationship or not.

I don’t know where this is going to go. I don’t know what a relationship between us will look like. What I do know is that I’m willing to be open to you and to go slowly. I’m willing to write and call and plan a visit for the near future, but that I need to take things slow. If there’s hope for a relationship, we need to move slowly.

M: Well, I agree. I want a relationship with you. It doesn’t mean we’ll talk on a daily basis or visit often, but I would like to have you in my life.

We then exchanged numbers. I told her she could call me at work. She told me she finally has a computer and is very slow at it, but gave me her email address and I told her I’d send her an email in the next day or so, so she’d have my email address.

She told me what was up with A and H....where they were working and how they were. She told me about her sister who is struggling with cancer now. M, herself, is struggling with some health problems. She asked me if I was in touch with the birthfather...and I said no and that I have no intention of having contact with him...it’s not healthy.

La: M, can I ask you a question?
M: Sure, go ahead.
La: Did you think of keeping me?
M: Yes. I tried to figure out a way to keep you. But I didn’t have a choice, Laurel. It was you and me alone in an apartment...or my five and six year old children. I loved you...the same way I loved A and H, but my mother-in-law said she would have me declared an unfit mother and make sure my life was hell and would take A and H. I had no choice. I knew if I placed you, you would be safe...and A and H would be safe because I would still have them.
La: Do you regret placing me?
M: No. I don’t regret it. But that doesn’t mean my life wasn’t hell after I let you go. Unless you have a child and make the choice to give that child for adoption, you will never understand the grief involved with this decision. I spent days crying...all I wanted was to see your face and it was complete hell.

While she was saying the above, I was thinking about the birthmother’s blogs I’ve been reading lately...and they have really helped me in seeing a bit of the bigger picture.

We talked a bit more. I’m trying to remember it all, but it was a lot to take in. So bits and pieces keep popping into my head.

La: I should probably let you go.
M: Well, thank you so much for calling Laurel. This conversation wasn’t as awkward as I thought it might be...was it difficult for you?
La: It was very difficult for me to call you.
M: I am glad that you called...we’ll talk soon...ok?
La: Ok.
M: Well, take care...
La: M?
M: Yes?
La: Ummm...I do love you.

*silence*

La: M? Are you there?
M: I was just going to tell you that I love you, before you said it. I love you, too.

Then we said goodnight and hung up.

Busy Weekend

This has been a really busy weekend. Normally I don’t have it filled with plans, but I feel like I’ve been on the go a lot.

Saturday I went to the mall and ended up going on a bit of a shopping spree. Mind you, I needed some spring/summer clothes. I got three pairs of capris, three tanks, four tops, one blouse/shirt, a nice jacket type blazer, two necklaces, one bracelet and a pair of earrings. When I got home, my cousin (who might as well be my sister) called to see what I was up to. She just came home on Thursday for a visit and brought my Muffin (her daughter, who is six months) to meet her side of the family (I had met Muffin previously because I flew up in December for a visit with my cousin, her hubby and my Muffin). So, I went to visit them for a couple of hours. I cannot tell you how much I adore my Muffin. She is such a happy and sweet baby girl. I don’t have words for how much I adore her...and she seems to adore her Auntie La, too.

Then when I got home from there, another cousin called and asked if I wanted to go paint with her and her daughter, my little cousin. So, we went to the pottery studio for a couple of hours. Usually pottery is a thing I do with my bud CP and I kinda missed her not being there.

Today I went to see my cousin and Muffin, again, with my mom. My mom had not met her until now...and when she saw her, she burst into tears. It was pretty sweet. This afternoon I did laundry and cleaned (a lot!) and then even had a small nap. I still have not been sleeping well. I had every intention to go to bed early tonight...but that changed around 10 pm.

My brother’s fiancée called and was crying on the phone that their cat ran out when some strange lady came to the door. The cat is an indoor cat and he’s completely black. So my mom, dad and I grab flashlights and jump in the car. My bro was at work until 10:30. When we got there...his fiancée was out back...and I ran to her and she said...I can hear him...I said, hear who? She said...the cat! Now, we’ve always had cats...but none have cried like their cat does. And he cries loudly and constantly. This worked in our favour...because we could hear where he was. The difficult part is that ALL of those backyards are fenced (but have enough space for cats to slip through.)

This led to an hour of flashlights, fence jumping, tripping, cursing, neighbours wondering wtf was going on in their backyards. At one point, my bro – oh, he got home in record time after work and joined in the hunt – had gone into one of the neighbours yards and he needed to hop a fence...so he said, bend over so I can stand on your back to get over the fence. The things I do for my family...

FINALLY my bro, his fiancée and our father cornered the cat under a deck and caught him.

Tomorrow is a holiday here, so I am meeting a lovely friend for coffee and a visit in the morning...then my best bud, CP, and I are going to go and see Baby Mama with Tina Fey and Amy Poehler and then go to our fave Mexican restaurant...so it should be a good day.

Her Sweet One

She called me her ‘Sweet One’.

We met through a friend and she was quite a bit older than I was. But, we clicked instantly. Chris was married and lived in Connecticut. We started chatting through email, became pals and the rest is history.

Chris was wicked funny...and I’m talking WICKED. She was naturally sarcastic and funny. She was the life of any party. It was almost like a spotlight followed her. Everyone loved her and wanted to be around her. Everyone wanted to claim Chris as a friend...and not just because she was popular (which she was), but because she cared so deeply about her family and friends and you could tell how much you meant to her. It was always clear that Chris loved you. She never held back.

She was also beautiful, intelligent, well spoken, passionate, kind, honest, talented (she was a singer and actress), witty and a perfectionist when it came to writing. She loved. Hard.

I met Chris knowing that she had cancer. Chris was battling appendiceal adenocarcinoma. This is a rare form of cancer that starts in the appendix and usually isn’t diagnosed until it’s metastasized and spread. This was the case for Chris. (She did receive treatment which did temporarily lengthen her time with us here on this earth.)

Her garden was her pride and joy. And I’m not talking a few flowers here and there. Chris’ backyard was as close to garden heaven as one could get. When I visited Chris, she took my hand and led me to the backyard...and I thought I would die. I think my response was, “No wonder you’re so damn tired when you come in at the end of the day and take my call! I thought it was the cancer!” She had a waterfall, flower beds around her two large trees, flowers planted everywhere, the grass was perfect and on and on.

We only had a short time together...but when I visited, we sucked up every second together. We sat under blankets on her couch and held hands and talked...and laughed. She knew everything about me and loved me even more for it. She gave me tough love when I needed it and gentle prodding when I needed comfort. She was the person I would call and go to when I was struggling (and with exciting news!) and I knew I could tell her anything and she wouldn’t judge me.

When she died, on New Years Eve in 2001, her husband graciously sent me some items that had belonged to Chris. Pictures, perfume, some of her shirts (her pj’s are my fave!) and some of her jewellery. I also have a blankie. The most special part of the gift was a garden stone that Chris had in her beautiful garden. One day, I will place it in my own garden.

The last I saw her...before we parted...we just held on. I miss her arms...and I miss her hands. (I love hands. I find them comforting.) And she kissed me three times on the right side of my neck.

As our hands slipped out of each other’s, Chris whispered, “When you feel a breeze on your neck, it will be me.”

Holding On

There’s a song by Sarah McLachlan called ‘Hold On’ and the first lyrics are, “Hold on, hold on to yourself for this is gonna hurt like hell…” The song is not specifically about adoption (although interestingly enough, McLachlan IS adopted and did reunite with her birth family), but it may as well be. At least about my current state of affairs.

The past few days have been difficult. They have literally ‘hurt’. All of my feelings surrounding my adoption issues have bubbled up to the surface and make it really difficult for me to think rationally and logically, rather than think in a constant state of fear (which is flowing with every possible fear one could have while waiting to hear from their birthmother).

Still no letter. And waiting has been hell. I finally told my mother I had written to M and to expect possible mail from M. So, for the first couple of days I called home and made small conversation and slipped in the question, “Any mail for me?” Finally on Wednesday I said, “Can you please call if I get mail from M?” My mom said she would. Between 12 noon and about 5:00 pm are the hardest hours of the day. I know the mail usually comes between noon and 2:30 pm, so once that time passes and no call about me having mail from M, I then go into the world of spiralling downward thoughts. It ain’t fun.

On a positive and somewhat comforting note, I contacted Sally (click here to see entry re: Sally) and asked her if we could chat and have tea sometime and she responded and said sure. So, we’re doing that next week, which I am looking forward to.

I needed some sun today, so I took a break from work (who actually works on Fridays anyway?) and went to walk/sit in the park/gardens. I don’t know how many acres it is, but it takes up many blocks here downtown…it has a pond in the middle, and ducks, and a band-stand and many walking paths and beautiful flowers.

I was trying to talk to myself positively…figure this out…and decide when I would call M (I stated in my letter I’d call her after the middle of May, the 15th, if I didn’t hear from her via mail…which I requested would be the best way to contact me). As I was sitting there, I realized that back in 1999, I was sitting in the same spot…for three hours, while I waited for my birthfather to show up for the first time…which he never did; he stood me up. (We did meet eventually - but that story is for another day.)

I don’t know if I can call M. Thinking about it makes me nauseous and on the verge of tears. What if I call and she says she didn’t write back and doesn’t want to see me? What if she says that she’s moved on? What if she’s mad at the non-identifying info she thought I may never see (and probably assumed would never be shoved in her face again after providing it to the adoption agency before she placed me)? What if she’s sick and dying? What if she says that my sister comes first in her books and H doesn’t want her to have contact with me (this is completely possible)?

Yes, I realize these are all just possibilities and not necessarily facts. I have no idea what she’s thinking or feeling. Maybe she’s thinking and feeling what I want her to think and feel (that she wants to see me and loves me).

I’m just holding on.

One grain of sand at a time...

I was talking with my buddy, O, yesterday through email. O is a mother who placed her son for adoption and is now waiting for reunion and you can find her blog via my fave blogs list (she’s Oceans). I enjoy her more than words can say. She asked me a question, after much conversation, which stuck with me last night and throughout today. O asked, “What if M says no to contact? How do you brace yourself for that response?”

How DO you brace yourself for rejection? How DO you get ready for it? The answer is simple. In matters of the heart, like this, you can’t.

I know that if M does not want to see me or talk with me – rejects me - I will be devastated. I don’t know how I will react or respond to that. It would break my heart.

In adoption reunion, rejection is always a very real possibility. I am not completely unprepared for it. Of course, it’s in the back of my mind and weighing heavy on my heart. But, I also know how strong I am. I know that I can deal with the outcome, no matter what happens. I know my family loves me and I am blessed with great friends.

If I completely braced myself for the possibility of her rejection, I would shut off all of my feelings (which I have done in the past...it’s not healthy). Because, then it wouldn’t hurt. My heart wouldn’t break and I would go into ‘protection’ mode. I wouldn’t feel a thing.

I know it may sound silly...but I want to feel this.

As hard as it is, I must.

(Photo note: That is a ladybug I encountered on a beach in February.)

The First Time - Part II

The wait was unbearable…and emotional. I remember everything that happened that week.

We had a coroner as a guest speaker in Sociology class and he went into stomach-churning detail about what happens to the body once it dies (even typing this out makes me queasy). I’m not sure who had the bright idea of letting this dude in the classroom, but to this day, I remember everything he said. I got a ‘thinking of you’ card from one of my teachers who knew what the upcoming weekend held for me and I went through my entire closet trying to find the perfect outfit to wear. I felt like I wasn’t even present in my body that week…I didn’t care what was happening around me, I just wanted it to be the weekend.

When I woke on Saturday morning, I looked out the window and it was a blizzard outside. I panicked, because M lived over an hour from me and the snow was blanketing our province. My mom called her to see if she’d still be coming and she said she would and that her husband would be driving and they were bringing H (my half-sis) with them. We had arranged to meet at a neighbor’s house, who were away at that time. M would come in, meet my mom and then me and then we’d be left alone while my mom and dad took M’s hubby and H to our house.

When M arrived, she walked into the house and met my mom (both of them were crying and thanking one another). I was sitting in the living room when M stepped around the corner…and quite frankly, I really don’t remember much of what happened in the next minute. I know that she hugged me and was crying (I wasn’t). I think she kept looking at me, but I just draw a blank when I try to remember.

I do remember that I felt like I felt nothing…and no connection with her. It was rather horrifying, to me, to be completely honest. After all, she was supposed to ride on in and we’d have a connection and seeing her in front of me would fix how I felt about myself. There was nothing.

We made idle chit chat for a little while – her mainly telling me about all of her relatives – and then we walked over (through knee deep snow) to my house. I met M’s husband, who was very nice (rather flamboyant) and welcoming to me and then I met my sister who I adored from the moment I laid eyes on her. SHE was my connection. I can’t even put into words how I felt (and feel) about H (there is a somewhat long story accompanying my relationship with H, for another day).

We all chatted and joked around like this sort of occurrence happened on a daily basis and a couple of hours later, they left. M contacted me by letter a few times after that…but then it ended.

Just like that.

Okay...not 'just like that'...but until I typed this out today...it never clicked 'why' in my head. I just had a bit of a revelation and need to throw this around in my head...and heart.

The First Time - Part I

It was 1996; I was a senior in high school and had just turned 17. I had always wanted to find her...the woman who gave me life. When I was a child, it was something I talked about often and thought about on a daily basis. I looked for women with red hair and gravitated towards them. My older brother, also adopted, never wanted to find his birthmother and found my birthmother/adoption talk annoying. He thought that talking about adoption and my birthmother was telling my parents that they didn’t do a good enough job (so NOT true) as parents. The rule in our house was that once we turned 18, we could search.

In July of 1995, my mother approached me one Saturday morning and told me that she would be going out shortly with my father and brother...and that my brother was meeting his birthmother that afternoon. I had no warning...they told me nothing. I didn’t know they had searched for her, found her, talked on the phone with her and were meeting her that day. I remember sitting on the edge of my bed...just...stunned. I looked out the window as they piled in the car, dissolved into tears and sat down on my floor.

I felt a sense of betrayal. Not because he found his birthmother...I would have been, and was, completely supportive of him doing that. But, knowing how much I wanted to find M, to not let me know this other search was taking place...after all, I was a member of our family too, was devastating.

Previous to this, high school had been difficult for me. My grades were ok, but I was going through some ups and downs and was probably – in hindsight – dealing with some depression. I wasn’t really rebellious, but I certainly wasn’t happy. I kept smiling...but inside, I felt so empty and worthless. I kept begging my parents to help me find M, because I thought she could fill the emptiness inside of me.

In January of ’96, my mother picked me up one day after exams and on the way home, she told me that she and my father had decided to let me have contact with M, if I wanted. Of course I wanted to...although I think I pretended like it wasn’t a big deal...I didn’t want to seem ungrateful for everything they had given to me. My mother wrote M a letter, which she let me read (it basically said that I was interested in talking with M and meeting her, etc.) and then she sent it off. It wasn’t difficult to find M, because my parents had mistakenly been given a copy of my original birth certificate, with M’s full name and address...and after some investigation, we realized she still lived at the same address. Then we waited.

It was Superbowl Sunday. My brother and father were in the basement with friends, watching the game. I was lying on my bed flipping mindlessly through the channels on my tv...thinking that it had been almost two weeks since the letter was sent. My mom was in the kitchen. The phone rang. I knew immediately.

M called collect and asked for my mother. My mom then put her on hold and took the call in her bedroom (I followed her in). I didn’t want to speak with M on the phone...I was a mixture of emotions and was holding it in. After some small talk, M said that she took awhile to call because she had to talk to her husband and two kids – now adults, still living at home. My half-sister, H, and half-bro, A, knew about me...but it was never talked about...I was never talked about...they thought I existed, but weren’t completely sure and now they knew, too.

We made plans to meet the next weekend.

Suitable for Adoption

During the past week, I have not really given a hoot whether or not I’d heard from M. In my sickness, I didn’t care. But, now that I’m on the mend (read: able to stand, shower and keep down solid food), I do. I really do. And no, I have not heard from her...yet.

M was almost 36 when she had me. She was married with two children (a boy, 6 and a girl, 5). My birthfather was 20 and had been ‘taken in’ by M and her husband. I was the result of the affair that took place between M and my birthfather.

M hid her pregnancy from everyone until around seven months when she confessed to her husband that she had had an affair (she didn’t disclose who it was with). Her husband was (according to my non-identifying info) supportive and agreed that they would keep me and pretend I belonged to them, but then his mother (M’s mother-in-law) found out, interfered and demanded that I be placed for adoption or she would find some way to take away their other two children.

From what I’ve read, I did not want to leave her – literally. I hung on for dear life and finally had to be taken out by c-section. As soon as I was delivered, I was whisked away from M and she was not allowed to see me. I know that legally she WAS allowed to see me until she signed the paper (which wasn’t until three weeks later) but that certain people told her she wasn’t and she didn’t push or question it.

According to the non-id info, M did catch a glimpse of the back of my head when a nurse mistakenly took me into her hospital room and promptly turned around and walked out. I know that in these days, most nurses, doctors and professionals were ‘trained’ that the baby should be taken away and kept away so that the birthmother wouldn’t change her mind about placing her child for adoption.

After three weeks passed, M came back to the agency and signed away her rights to me (while I was crying in a bassinette in the agency nursery). I was then examined by a doctor and deemed “suitable for adoption” (yes, that is correct...I was ‘suitable’), met my parents the next day and they took me home the day after.

It strikes me now that this was one of the happiest days ever for my parents. But yet...I know it must have been one of the most difficult days, in her entire life, for M. I would imagine, for me, it was a little bit of both.

On the mend...

I'm still around and feeling much better. I've just been a bit wordless the past couple of days but am working on an update that I will post soon.

Sick Scoop

I’ve used almost two (large!) boxes of tissue since Monday. My nose hurts so much I’m slightly tempted to just let it run. Gross. I’m still miserable. Tylenol every 4-6 hours for a fever that won’t go away, antibiotics every 8 hours and the only thing my stomach is enjoying is flat gingerale, water and popsicles (not orange ones). I have a cough that makes me wince in pain now and every muscle hurts. Oh, and I barely have a voice – so my mother had to call in to work today for me and let them know I’d be out ‘til next week.

No mail...yet. Yesterday, for some reason, I clicked on a link provided in an email about the tracking letter thing that I put on the letter I mailed to M. There is a section where they have the signature’s name. It was my birthmother’s name. Then I figured out I could click on that and see the actual signature. It was my half-sister’s (H) signature. That was weird. However, I know M got it, because of CP’s call.

That’s the scoop from the sick.

Monday...

I'm still ill... It's strept throat and an ear infection. I haven't been this ill in a very long time. I hope that the antibiotics will kick in soon.

Flu Bug...

Yep. I have some type of bug. Woke up today feeling tired, with a sore throat. By the end of the day I wasn't swallowing well, had a fever and hurt all over. After the event closed down, I came home, took some meds and went to bed. I'm about to do the same right now. I really cannot take anymore time off...I mean, if I am very sick, I can, I guess. I just have so many pressing projects on my plate. I feel really icky though right now.

A side note though...I met this woman today who just recently wrote/self-published a book...which is pretty amazing. She's pretty amazing. Within the first two weeks of publishing, she broke even on costs. Definitely going somewhere and she realizes (and believes in) her own potential. I enjoy this. I'll write more on her book, and her, when I get more into her book (she gave me a signed copy after we talked for quite awhile...very nice).

Oh, I have not heard anything from M, but I did specify that I'd like to hear from her via mail. So...here's waiting for the mail man. Maybe she was eager to write back and I'll get a letter tomorrow? Who knows. I'm feeling ok about it though.

Off to bed. I hope this passes overnight.

The Sun

I am feeling more grounded today. I always feel better once I let some ‘stuff’ out...it’s the getting to the part where I can let it out that seems to be an issue.

The sun was out today, in many ways. It was – literally – out for the first time in a long time (or so it seems around here). I wasn’t able to enjoy it too much, because I’m working at a special event all weekend. But, I did try to soak some up when I could. The event today was great and I think the time will fly by tomorrow, too.

The sun was also out in another way. Previously to knowing I had to work this weekend, my mom planned to throw a baby shower for a close friend’s daughter with women/friends from my mom’s church group. I got a break from the work event and it was a nice time. I was particularly happy to see CM – who is a friend from church, that I just...well...simply adore. There’s something incredibly special about this woman and I enjoy her immensely. She’s an amazing mother and foster mother.

CM knows my deal with my adoption situation and what is going on now, so it was nice to talk with her about it and fill her in on the latest developments. She’s so supportive, interested, honest and lovely. And, she has a wicked sense of humour that kills me and gives the best hugs. I’m blessed to know her.

I’m praying for sleep tonight. Good sleep. Not the kind that is filled with wonky dreams that I find make me even more tired...but good sleep. Sleep filled with sun.

Rough Stuff Part II

**This is the 2nd part of my Rough Stuff update. So, read from the bottom up if you want to follow it more easily. Also, I posted a 3rd entry below about how I found out M received the letter.**

I think when it comes to adoption stuff, I often feel guilty. Here I am, a healthy and (for the most part) happy 29 year old...great job, and fabulous friends. I’m a university graduate with a lot of potential to achieve anything I make a goal and I’ve been blessed with many talents. I grew up with parents that are still married, an older brother (also adopted) and a huge extended family that adore me. I grew up with music and acting lessons and a pool in the back yard. I spent summers at our cottage and spent summer evenings sitting around a bonfire. I had a good life. I HAVE a good life.

There was always that missing piece...that bit of darkness and emptiness that I couldn’t seem to light and fill. So I was adopted; but look at what I had...basically the world at my fingertips. I struggle with having that and needing to fill that hole. I feel like there shouldn’t be a hole.

I know I’m ready to do this...to really meet M and figure out where this will go...have questions answered and tell her what I need her to know. But it brings up so much from the past. The memories of sitting on the curb in the summertime, waiting for M to come back for me. I remember when we’d be in a public place, I’d look around for women with red hair and if I found some, I’d study their faces and features to figure out if they were my birthmother. It took over my entire life.

When I spoke with Sally last week (see first blog entry), she said that often times when she would go to the hospital to bring an infant back to the Home (adoption agency and nursery), the baby would be upset...so she would ask the birthparent – if possible – to give her something of theirs to take with the baby...to keep the baby with something familiar and to have the smell of the birthparent. Sally also said that on placement day, the infants would usually be upset, crying, etc.

I shared with her what I shared with my best bud the week before and a sweet friend the day before. I was immediately taken from M when I was born and she never saw me, except for the back of my head with a tuft of red hair (so the story goes). I was then on my own for three weeks until I was given to my parents. I know that people (most people that I know) would say that an infant does not remember the first few weeks of their life. Babies eat, sleep and poop. But I can say without a doubt that I remember that. I feel it in my heart. And, I know from watching my baby cousins and my sweet niece that A LOT happens in those first few weeks of life. Sally confirmed for me what I knew and felt...she said that yes, as an infant...you soak things up - she confirmed for me what I've felt in my heart for 29 years.

My mom refuses to acknowledge how alone I was during those three weeks. She always says, “Well, the nuns were there and they held you and changed you and there was a rocking chair.” I think it’s her way of making herself feel better about the fact that she knows is true. When I remind her of the fact that I did NOT want to be held when I was a baby, but be put in a car seat...she blames it on colic. I want to say...no mom...it wasn’t damn colic...it was me being ripped away from the only safe place/person I knew and had no one to bond to for three and a half weeks. My mom had no control over my first few weeks...and if she could have taken me home the day after I was born, I know she would have.

So, I wait for M’s response. And I need to ask for support, patience and prayers while I wait... And to all of you who are reading (apparently there are a lot, by looking at the views) and care about me, thank you. Please keep hangin' in here with me.

Rough Stuff Part I

Hang on folks, this could be a long one...or two...

(Note: I usually proof my entries, but I haven’t on this one because I’m exhausted. This is in two parts and also see a third entry below about how I found out M had my letter.)

It was a rough day. And, I can’t really write why...because I don’t know why. I drove around this evening for awhile...searching...for what, I don’t know. An answer? Some magic trick that would make everything ok? Clarity? Something to fill myself up? I came home without all of that, decided I’d have a piece of ice cream cake...sat down and promptly burst into tears...and I’m not talking a few tears...it was like a wave and an ugly one at that.

This is all very hard and much more painful than I thought it would be. After 12 years since I initially ‘found’ M briefly, I thought that I was at a spot where I could ‘get this done’ and all would be good. But, I guess, like everything important in life...it goes in stages. This feels like I’m going through it for the first time – which is entirely possible since I shoved everything down while I was growing up, until a few years ago. And now it is so uncomfortable...and I have to keep directing myself to deal with it all in healthy and appropriate ways...which is not easy, nor am I necessarily doing that.

I have a difficult time asking for support and, I guess, accepting it. My instinct – when I’m feeling like this...especially adoption stuff – is to isolate and ‘protect’ myself. Place an invisible wall around me so no one can’t get in. This is not very productive when you want to have relationships with people. I’ve worked on it for years...but when big things happen, my natural instinct is to protect myself in any way possible.

Call of the Letter - May 1st

First off, how did it get to be May already? And secondly, M picked up my letter from the post office.

I checked the post office website around noon today and it was showing that it wasn’t picked up. About an hour later, I was so sick to my stomach and was trying to get work done while rambling on to my best bud, CP, via MSN about how weird it was, to me, that M hadn’t picked the letter up. (CP and I usually keep a window open through the day and go back and forth, trying to decide what we’ll do when we hang out next...just usual banter about basically anything.) Our convo went like this:

Me: “If M doesn’t pick it up by Tuesday, would you call her?”
CP: “Yeah, I’d call her if I were you, figure out what’s up.”
Me: “I don’t mean me...I’m not calling her...”
CP: “Oh, you want ME to call her?”
Me: “Yes. I’m fairly certain I’d vomit if I called her.”
CP: “Ok, I’d like to hear what she sounds like.”
Me: “Thanks. Well, why don’t you call her now?”

CP has the patience of a saint. Really. She’s not just my best bud, but she’s also my partner in crime. I’m fairly certain we were meant to be sisters, but the lines got mixed up on our way here.

Anyhoo...so I thought, why not call M and just tell her that there is a registered letter for her at the post office? Good ol’ CP was up to the task. So, she waited until her office was quiet (while I was in my office feeling queasy). Then she called...and M answered. M had picked up the letter from the post office YESTERDAY afternoon at 2pm. The tracking site still hasn’t updated.

Blah.

not a good day today...i'm feeling pretty terrible.

i can't even put it into words, really. i'm just feeling really f#%^ing shitty.

The Letter

M got the letter. She actually picked it up from the post office yesterday at 2 pm.

No words...