I was raised in the United church. My parents took my older brother and I basically every Sunday and we went through Sunday school and learned the books of the Bible and the general lessons about God. So, I’ve been around faith...religion...prayer. And, I feel lucky to have a church community around me. I don’t go every Sunday now and my faith/belief in Him has certainly faltered, but there was always proof that He still existed.
Whether it be the sun rising in the morning, birds chirping or babies being born...I think that is just some proof. There really is beauty in life everywhere you look. This isn’t all just by chance...there has got to be something behind it all. No one could convince me something greater than all of us doesn’t exist. But how do we (me) put complete faith that He does exist? Most of all...how do you explain certain people that just come into your life when you need them most...are they not proof that He exists?
Cornpop (my best bud) and I have been talking a lot about religion and God and faith...a lot, lately. More so than we ever have. I know that her faith and belief is ‘open’. I think that we both had to do some serious pondering over the whole subject when Sally came back into my life a few months back (if you have no idea what I’m talking about, you need to go back to my first blog entry). Sally is not just some coincidence. As Cornpop said the other day (and this makes me giggle...she makes me giggle in general), “Dude, Sally didn’t just drop from the sky...” And no...Sally didn’t. She is one loud piece of proof.
Oh, how I love this woman. I swear He sent her to me. I’m as sure of it as I’m sure that the sky is blue.
Sally rocks my world. Literally. She has the ability to take me through every possible feeling in one conversation. I leave our conversations feeling uplifted, understood, loved, supported and with homework. And, usually, tired. But a good tired. She has so much knowledge, faith and experience that I don’t have...and I feel a bit like a sponge when I’m around her. I want to know what she knows. I want to be as sure of Him as she is. Clearly, she has some years on me...but I’m always eager to learn from people that know more than I do.
We went to dinner last week and hung out for a couple of hours and I just feel so comfortable and understood. She feels like home to me. She just is amazing...her words...her gestures...her compassion...her ability to hear what I’m saying when I’m unable to say the words. She can also really kick my ass and give me a push when I need it, too. I feel so vulnerable around her, but it feels safe (although I have moments of panic!).
I don’t know that I could make it through this adoption stuff if she wasn’t along for the ride. When we were chillin’, we were talking about M and processing my visit and how I was feeling and why...and she suggested that I need to continue down this road...see M again...figure this out now. And then she said she’d like to meet M and offered to come along the next time we visit (if M is ok with it, of course) and it blew me away, really. It just seems like she’s guiding me along. I feel safe in her hands.
I sent M an email yesterday and shared this with her. I’m unsure of what her response will be...but I told her that I know that Sally has been a blessing to me...and with so much experience in the adoption field, maybe she can also be a blessing to M. One can only hope.
I slipped last week and called Sally ‘Mom’. I don’t know where it came from or why...but it just came out. Her response? She said, “I can be your Mom if that’s what you need right now.”
Sally invited me to church and lunch tomorrow and I accepted. I’m super looking forward to spending time with her. Like I said above, I truly believe that He brought her into my life when I needed her the most.
She’s proof that He exists and I’m grateful.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Time
It is three weeks today that I saw M and it’s been a challenging three weeks. I’ve run a gamut of emotions, some I never even knew I could have. There are thoughts and emotions that have bubbled to the surface that I did not expect. Some have left me smiling…some have left me with tears…and others with so much grief.
I find it difficult to put it into words. I’ve never been able to put into words some of the things I’ve felt about adoption…about being adopted. So, these thoughts and feelings are still without words…which leaves for much confusion and angst. I struggle with the unsettled and dark thoughts…and when they come, I pray so hard that they will go…quickly.
Maybe I just need to ‘be’ with whatever is bubbling up. I know that time changes the way I feel…sometimes for the better or worse and I’ve been trying to hurry time along, so that I can have more understanding under my belt. Time certainly doesn’t heal all wounds but it DOES change how you feel. It really does.
I’ve been understanding over the past week how much fear plays in my life…especially in regard to adoption and being adopted. I had no control as an infant…and while growing up. M made the choice to place me for adoption and my parents made the choice to not let me find her…until I was of age. It took over my entire life. Birthdays were terrible…I’d think about M all day long. On Mother’s Day, I’d think about M… And on holidays, I’d wonder if M missed me. If she missed her daughter.
I AM grateful for M’s choice to place me. My parents are my own…and I don’t refer to them as my adoptive ‘rents or think about them as so. They are my family. But, it doesn’t mean that I don’t long for what could have been. That I don’t feel a piece of me missing. That I don’t grieve for whoever Amber was for three weeks and would have been today.
I don’t think I’ll ever get back that missing piece. But will I be able to fill it with something good, bright, lovely?
I hope.
I find it difficult to put it into words. I’ve never been able to put into words some of the things I’ve felt about adoption…about being adopted. So, these thoughts and feelings are still without words…which leaves for much confusion and angst. I struggle with the unsettled and dark thoughts…and when they come, I pray so hard that they will go…quickly.
Maybe I just need to ‘be’ with whatever is bubbling up. I know that time changes the way I feel…sometimes for the better or worse and I’ve been trying to hurry time along, so that I can have more understanding under my belt. Time certainly doesn’t heal all wounds but it DOES change how you feel. It really does.
I’ve been understanding over the past week how much fear plays in my life…especially in regard to adoption and being adopted. I had no control as an infant…and while growing up. M made the choice to place me for adoption and my parents made the choice to not let me find her…until I was of age. It took over my entire life. Birthdays were terrible…I’d think about M all day long. On Mother’s Day, I’d think about M… And on holidays, I’d wonder if M missed me. If she missed her daughter.
I AM grateful for M’s choice to place me. My parents are my own…and I don’t refer to them as my adoptive ‘rents or think about them as so. They are my family. But, it doesn’t mean that I don’t long for what could have been. That I don’t feel a piece of me missing. That I don’t grieve for whoever Amber was for three weeks and would have been today.
I don’t think I’ll ever get back that missing piece. But will I be able to fill it with something good, bright, lovely?
I hope.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
The Birthfather - Chapter Three
Ok, so I know you all want to know more details about my meeting with M...and they will come. Be patient. In the meantime, here is Chapter Three on the birthfather...
If you need to catch up, click on the chapters to read: Chapter One or Chapter Two.
A few months after I met my birthfather in the hospital, I entered a month long work term for my college program. I got a placement with the Dialysis Unit at the hospital and was working with the Head Nurse on a research project. Part of the research collection included visiting patients who were receiving dialysis and asking them questions. Usually by the time the afternoon hit, I was finished my research stuff and would sit with the Ward Clerks on the floor and help them with files. The clerks were awesome and we would chat a lot.
Keeping in mind that I knew my birthfather had dialysis (through his neck) I learned that those receiving dialysis through their arms were either beginners and/or possible transplant recipients. Dialysis through the neck was when the condition was more permanent; the patient usually would not be on an organ donor waiting list or would be receiving dialysis to prolong their life by a small amount (they were close to dying).
Now, I knew my birthfather was getting dialysis through his neck, yet the catheter had been taken out and he was returning home. I also knew he had not died because I read the obituaries on a daily basis.
One afternoon I started to ask the ward clerks questions. They didn’t know I was asking because of my birthfather. I asked how someone would get dialysis and then just stop, but not die. I asked about nine questions and they finally asked me who I was talking about. So, I told them. I told them I was adopted and that I knew my birthfather had dialysis.
They asked his name, I told them and they both looked at each other and their jaws dropped. They both took a deep breathe and nodded at one another.
I said, “Please tell me…I really need to know.”
It was true that D (birthfather) had dialysis through a catheter in his neck and yes, he did have some kidney failure and a slight stroke. His dialysis did stop and he was released to go home. But how did he get into that situation?
He attempted suicide.
D had overdosed on anti-freeze. This is poisonous (duh)…but there is something that can help to reverse the damage of drinking a-f…and one can start to reverse the affect of a-f by ingesting alcohol. Stupid D didn’t know this…and saved his own life by chasing a-f down with alcohol. A lot of alcohol.
(If someone goes to the ER after drinking a-f, they will be given an IV with alcohol to counteract the damage done by the a-f.)
The clerks said that D only needed brief dialysis to get back on his feet (although his kidneys would not be 100% better) and then was taken off dialysis. His was not a case of kidney failure that needed looking after by transplant or continued dialysis.
After they shared this with me, they swore me to secrecy and to never divulge their names. I didn’t keep it secret, but I certainly never told anyone who exactly told me.
If you need to catch up, click on the chapters to read: Chapter One or Chapter Two.
A few months after I met my birthfather in the hospital, I entered a month long work term for my college program. I got a placement with the Dialysis Unit at the hospital and was working with the Head Nurse on a research project. Part of the research collection included visiting patients who were receiving dialysis and asking them questions. Usually by the time the afternoon hit, I was finished my research stuff and would sit with the Ward Clerks on the floor and help them with files. The clerks were awesome and we would chat a lot.
Keeping in mind that I knew my birthfather had dialysis (through his neck) I learned that those receiving dialysis through their arms were either beginners and/or possible transplant recipients. Dialysis through the neck was when the condition was more permanent; the patient usually would not be on an organ donor waiting list or would be receiving dialysis to prolong their life by a small amount (they were close to dying).
Now, I knew my birthfather was getting dialysis through his neck, yet the catheter had been taken out and he was returning home. I also knew he had not died because I read the obituaries on a daily basis.
One afternoon I started to ask the ward clerks questions. They didn’t know I was asking because of my birthfather. I asked how someone would get dialysis and then just stop, but not die. I asked about nine questions and they finally asked me who I was talking about. So, I told them. I told them I was adopted and that I knew my birthfather had dialysis.
They asked his name, I told them and they both looked at each other and their jaws dropped. They both took a deep breathe and nodded at one another.
I said, “Please tell me…I really need to know.”
It was true that D (birthfather) had dialysis through a catheter in his neck and yes, he did have some kidney failure and a slight stroke. His dialysis did stop and he was released to go home. But how did he get into that situation?
He attempted suicide.
D had overdosed on anti-freeze. This is poisonous (duh)…but there is something that can help to reverse the damage of drinking a-f…and one can start to reverse the affect of a-f by ingesting alcohol. Stupid D didn’t know this…and saved his own life by chasing a-f down with alcohol. A lot of alcohol.
(If someone goes to the ER after drinking a-f, they will be given an IV with alcohol to counteract the damage done by the a-f.)
The clerks said that D only needed brief dialysis to get back on his feet (although his kidneys would not be 100% better) and then was taken off dialysis. His was not a case of kidney failure that needed looking after by transplant or continued dialysis.
After they shared this with me, they swore me to secrecy and to never divulge their names. I didn’t keep it secret, but I certainly never told anyone who exactly told me.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
12 Years
I never used to be able to feel for M. I was never able to even try to put myself in her shoes. I blocked everything to do with her, out.
This is strange, interesting and uncomfortable. I’m a pretty sensitive person and I’m a fixer. I recognize now my inability to fix everything and everyone, but when I was younger, I took on everyone’s problems. I was like a sponge...I just soaked it up. I could feel/see people’s pain, even when they appeared (from the outside) to be perfectly fine. But with M...I was never able to be sensitive or empathetic to her situation.
It’s overwhelming, because now I’m feeling it ALL.
When I met M, she didn’t look anything like she had in 1996. She looked hard. She looked ill...and unkempt and tired. Her hair was dyed a purple/red...her face was wrinkled and worn and she had on mismatched clothes. I was – admittedly – a bit shocked. She was weak and unable to open her drink (I did it for her) and unable to carry her bag of pictures to the car (I noted that she was driving the car alone though).
I felt compassion for this woman, as she talked to me while trying to avoid much eye contact...who leaned away from me at the table when I touched her arm (I’m pretty touchy when I talk and I’m close enough – physically – to the person I’m talking to). And I wondered if our lack of relationship over the past 12 years contributed to any of this...her worn look and need to keep some distance.
And then I wondered – and then realized – how our relationship (and lack thereof) has influenced my life over the past 12 years.
...tbc...
This is strange, interesting and uncomfortable. I’m a pretty sensitive person and I’m a fixer. I recognize now my inability to fix everything and everyone, but when I was younger, I took on everyone’s problems. I was like a sponge...I just soaked it up. I could feel/see people’s pain, even when they appeared (from the outside) to be perfectly fine. But with M...I was never able to be sensitive or empathetic to her situation.
It’s overwhelming, because now I’m feeling it ALL.
When I met M, she didn’t look anything like she had in 1996. She looked hard. She looked ill...and unkempt and tired. Her hair was dyed a purple/red...her face was wrinkled and worn and she had on mismatched clothes. I was – admittedly – a bit shocked. She was weak and unable to open her drink (I did it for her) and unable to carry her bag of pictures to the car (I noted that she was driving the car alone though).
I felt compassion for this woman, as she talked to me while trying to avoid much eye contact...who leaned away from me at the table when I touched her arm (I’m pretty touchy when I talk and I’m close enough – physically – to the person I’m talking to). And I wondered if our lack of relationship over the past 12 years contributed to any of this...her worn look and need to keep some distance.
And then I wondered – and then realized – how our relationship (and lack thereof) has influenced my life over the past 12 years.
...tbc...
Monday, June 16, 2008
The Right Thing
M called me tonight. I didn’t answer.
Not because I didn’t want to talk to her...but because I was on my way home from work and didn’t hear my phone ring. I tend to have my music on quite loud in my car...depending on my mood...and today was a loud music day. Very loud. Anyhow, she left a message that she had just seen me on the local news and she was very excited. It made me teary. Not that I was on the news (it was work related), but her message...her voice...
I am so torn. I want to do the right thing...and it makes me cry. I don’t know yet what the ‘right thing’ is.
I was late meeting her last weekend. I left on time, stopped to buy her some flowers and made it to her town on time, but I got lost and stopped for directions...and ended up being 25 minutes late. This made me panic slightly...because she didn’t have a phone with her and I didn’t want her thinking that I wouldn’t show up. I pulled into the restaurant and walked in. It was sunny out and dark inside, so I couldn’t really see right away but heard her say my name and then saw her.
I walked over...she didn’t stand up, so I bent over and gave her a hug and her flowers. She didn’t really say much and placed the flowers on the shelf. The waitress came over and I asked for a drink...M already had ordered a drink. I sat down across from her and then she pulled out some pictures (of her as a baby and some of my half-bro carrying the Olympic torch), so I pulled my chair around so that I was sitting closer to her and looked at the pics.
We made some casual conversation. My goal was to not drill her and not react to any defensiveness she may have (because she had some during our two phone conversations) and to listen and be open. It was my intention to be open and willing to listen and to try to get to know this woman who carried me for nine months. But, then she started talking ‘adoption’ and so I did ask a few (what I thought of as light) questions.
One, why did she name me what she did? Her answer: in her fave soap opera...one of her fave characters was named Amber...so she thought it fitting to pass this on to me (I tried not to laugh then, but it has made me laugh since), she even gave me the characters middle name, too. Two, why was I a c-section baby? Her answer: she said I had a big head. She didn’t need to have a c-section with her previous two children. And, apparently I was in quite a bit of distress, so they finally took her in to surgery. Three, did she ask to see me after I was born? Her answer: no. She said if she saw me, it would be too difficult for her to give me up.
She shared with me that once she told her husband that she was pregnant with me (she was not sleeping w/her hubby), she needed to come to the ‘city’ and stay in the birthmother’s house adjacent to the adoption agency. Her family didn’t accept her. She also shared that after I was born and she returned home, she told her other two children (my half sibs), who were 6 and 7, that she had a baby and gave the baby to other parents. She said she couldn’t take me home because she wasn’t allowed...and that one day she hoped I would find them and to never talk about it again.
I’m not judging, but I can only imagine what went on inside their little heads. I have a niece, many young cousins and I used to nanny and believe in age appropriate answers/explanations. Often times, a simple answer and some reassurance will satisfy little people. I can only imagine what they thought of all of this.
...to be continued...
Not because I didn’t want to talk to her...but because I was on my way home from work and didn’t hear my phone ring. I tend to have my music on quite loud in my car...depending on my mood...and today was a loud music day. Very loud. Anyhow, she left a message that she had just seen me on the local news and she was very excited. It made me teary. Not that I was on the news (it was work related), but her message...her voice...
I am so torn. I want to do the right thing...and it makes me cry. I don’t know yet what the ‘right thing’ is.
I was late meeting her last weekend. I left on time, stopped to buy her some flowers and made it to her town on time, but I got lost and stopped for directions...and ended up being 25 minutes late. This made me panic slightly...because she didn’t have a phone with her and I didn’t want her thinking that I wouldn’t show up. I pulled into the restaurant and walked in. It was sunny out and dark inside, so I couldn’t really see right away but heard her say my name and then saw her.
I walked over...she didn’t stand up, so I bent over and gave her a hug and her flowers. She didn’t really say much and placed the flowers on the shelf. The waitress came over and I asked for a drink...M already had ordered a drink. I sat down across from her and then she pulled out some pictures (of her as a baby and some of my half-bro carrying the Olympic torch), so I pulled my chair around so that I was sitting closer to her and looked at the pics.
We made some casual conversation. My goal was to not drill her and not react to any defensiveness she may have (because she had some during our two phone conversations) and to listen and be open. It was my intention to be open and willing to listen and to try to get to know this woman who carried me for nine months. But, then she started talking ‘adoption’ and so I did ask a few (what I thought of as light) questions.
One, why did she name me what she did? Her answer: in her fave soap opera...one of her fave characters was named Amber...so she thought it fitting to pass this on to me (I tried not to laugh then, but it has made me laugh since), she even gave me the characters middle name, too. Two, why was I a c-section baby? Her answer: she said I had a big head. She didn’t need to have a c-section with her previous two children. And, apparently I was in quite a bit of distress, so they finally took her in to surgery. Three, did she ask to see me after I was born? Her answer: no. She said if she saw me, it would be too difficult for her to give me up.
She shared with me that once she told her husband that she was pregnant with me (she was not sleeping w/her hubby), she needed to come to the ‘city’ and stay in the birthmother’s house adjacent to the adoption agency. Her family didn’t accept her. She also shared that after I was born and she returned home, she told her other two children (my half sibs), who were 6 and 7, that she had a baby and gave the baby to other parents. She said she couldn’t take me home because she wasn’t allowed...and that one day she hoped I would find them and to never talk about it again.
I’m not judging, but I can only imagine what went on inside their little heads. I have a niece, many young cousins and I used to nanny and believe in age appropriate answers/explanations. Often times, a simple answer and some reassurance will satisfy little people. I can only imagine what they thought of all of this.
...to be continued...
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Here I go...
Yes, I did meet my birthmother last weekend. It was ok/difficult/shocking /painful/funny and many other things that bring up feelings that I never knew I could have.
It’s been a bit of a rough go since the visit...which I will elaborate on this week. I’m trying to focus on the positive...and I’ve been praying. Praying. A LOT. Praying for some peace in my heart. Sally has been a huge teacher and blessing in this regard. Which I will also elaborate on soon.
Starting tomorrow I will begin 24 days straight of working at least 15 + hour days. Oi vey.
It’s been a bit of a rough go since the visit...which I will elaborate on this week. I’m trying to focus on the positive...and I’ve been praying. Praying. A LOT. Praying for some peace in my heart. Sally has been a huge teacher and blessing in this regard. Which I will also elaborate on soon.
Starting tomorrow I will begin 24 days straight of working at least 15 + hour days. Oi vey.
Friday, June 6, 2008
I Can Do This
I’m ready for tomorrow.
I don’t have much to write at this point. I’m feeling good. Nervous, yes. However, I had a visit with my Sally this afternoon and she helped a lot, as always. I love this woman...she touches my heart. What a blessing she is.
I got my head back in the game and was reminded to focus on tomorrow, instead of weeks and months from now and what may (or may not) be. I’m thinking positive…choosing to focus on the positive…and I can do this.
I’m going to go into this with an open heart, be present and just be me.
Here goes...
I don’t have much to write at this point. I’m feeling good. Nervous, yes. However, I had a visit with my Sally this afternoon and she helped a lot, as always. I love this woman...she touches my heart. What a blessing she is.
I got my head back in the game and was reminded to focus on tomorrow, instead of weeks and months from now and what may (or may not) be. I’m thinking positive…choosing to focus on the positive…and I can do this.
I’m going to go into this with an open heart, be present and just be me.
Here goes...
Thursday, June 5, 2008
The Birthfather - Chapter Two
Click here to see Chapter One
In 2000, I was in my winter term in a business program at a local college that I only went to because my best friend (at the time) decided that community college was the way to go. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do, so I figured, business…why not? It was a fun year, really, although I never did end up in a business field.
In February of 2000, it was a week-day and for some reason I had stayed home for the morning from classes, but was going to class in the afternoon. When I stepped out of the shower, my Mom knocked on the door and told me she needed to speak with me. Her voice was a little edgy and I thought…uh oh, what did I do now?
She told me M had just called. My bmom and I had not been in contact or in any relationship, so this caught me off guard. A call from M out of the blue? I waited for my Mom to continue.
M called because my birthfather, D, had someone call her. M and D lived (and still live) in the same town, just a few streets apart, but I didn’t think they had contact with one another. Apparently through my conversations with D before he stood me up at the park that May day, he remembered that I did briefly meet my birthmother. He knew that M would have my contact info and although we weren’t in touch, she’d know how to reach me. He wanted M to contact me for him.
D was in the hospital – on his ‘deathbed’ more specifically – and NEEDED to see me. He was in a hospital in my city…and would be dying soon and his last wish was to see me. Talk about throwing it on me. I was pissed off. I thought, how dare he stand me up, lie to me and now contact M and have her contact me…and tell me his dying wish was to see me. As always, D is a drama king…that’s just the way he is. Everything needs to be a huge dramatic issue…his life is so difficult and he not only sits on the pity pot regularly, his ass is permanently stuck to it.
I went to class that afternoon…trying to decide what to do. Would I forgive myself if I didn’t go? What if he truly was dying and he was feeling guilty about standing me up? What if he wanted to say sorry and make things better? I didn’t want to NOT do it because of my anger with him. I didn’t want to deny this man his dying wish.
In the middle of math class I decided to do it, left class and made my way to the hospital. I got his room number and stopped at the nurse’s desk on the way. I asked them how D was…and they said he was leaving to go home that day. I said, “well isn’t he dying?” The nurses looked at me funny, asked who I was (I said I was his daughter) and they called the doctor to the desk. The doctor told me that D had a slight stroke and was on dialysis (kidney), but was okay to be released to go home.
This made no sense to me at the time…but it would some months later.
I stood outside D’s room and talked to myself until I could go in. I entered the room and slid the curtain across so I could see him. He was sitting on the side of his bed (and had a dialysis catheter in his neck). I remember word for word what came next…
L (me): Hi D…
D (the birthfather): Who are you?
L: Laurel.
D: Who?
L: I’m Laurel … (I took a step towards him.)
D: Laurel who?
L: Your daughter?
D: Oh, hi… *sticks out his hand to shake mine* …nice to meet you.
Then he felt the need to tell me his medical issues and how he wouldn’t be able to play his guitar ever again (he had slight paralysis on one side of his body). He told me how terribly sick he was…that he wasn’t sure if he’d make it…and he kept moaning and groaning about everything. I didn’t have to say a word for – literally – 17 minutes (I timed it). None of it had anything to do with anything except for him. After he stopped talking, I let loose.
Now, I need to be clear on something. I’m not normally as aggressive as I was this day. I’m a pretty sensitive person, but I’d had enough. I do not regret one word that I said…and I said a lot of things…some which I can’t even remember, some of them were super harsh, but it is what it is. I will also apologize when I’m wrong or rude, or am out of line. I never did…and never will…apologize for that day (much to the dismay of certain people...we'll go there later).
L: Are you going to tell me why you never showed up at the park and left me waiting for three hours when you had no intention of coming to meet me?
D: What do you mean?
L: Ok, other people in your life may play this game with you…but I know who you are. I get it. If you wanted to meet me because you’re on your deathbed…we don’t have time to play games.
D: I’m very sick.
L: Why did you lie to me? Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?
D: *shrugs* Well, that’s what drug addicts do…
Well, that WAS truthful. But to me, it felt like an excuse. He’s made excuses his entire life. People have made excuses FOR him. His entire life was a lie...except for music. Music was his only truth.
I was angry. Wait...I was ANGRY.
L: Are you kidding me?
D: *silence*
L: I cannot believe you... You have a choice in this matter. You had a choice, and you screwed it up.
D: That's what drug addicts do.
The volume of my words got louder and louder. A nurse came in and pulled a curtain around us...and for whatever reason...I felt the need to yank it back. I almost felt like...I was being swept under the rug. It was not going to happen again. It's like something took over me. It certainly isn't my most shining moment of my life, that's for sure, but whatever.
L: I'm not letting you off this easily. You hurt me so much...your actions hurt me. I thought I had a father that I could connect with. I was proud - and boasted - about your sobriety. I was proud of YOU and everything you made it through. Like me...you were a survivor. And you're not. Instead, you're pathetic.
I said nothing else. I marched out of the room - briefly noticed some nurses standing by the door, who had clearly been listening...and I didn't give a hoot - down the hall, and pressed the down button on the elevator and pulled up my hood.
When the doors opened, I got on, pressed #1 and when the doors closed, I burst into tears. The dam broke. And the water came rushing out...
...to be continued...
In 2000, I was in my winter term in a business program at a local college that I only went to because my best friend (at the time) decided that community college was the way to go. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do, so I figured, business…why not? It was a fun year, really, although I never did end up in a business field.
In February of 2000, it was a week-day and for some reason I had stayed home for the morning from classes, but was going to class in the afternoon. When I stepped out of the shower, my Mom knocked on the door and told me she needed to speak with me. Her voice was a little edgy and I thought…uh oh, what did I do now?
She told me M had just called. My bmom and I had not been in contact or in any relationship, so this caught me off guard. A call from M out of the blue? I waited for my Mom to continue.
M called because my birthfather, D, had someone call her. M and D lived (and still live) in the same town, just a few streets apart, but I didn’t think they had contact with one another. Apparently through my conversations with D before he stood me up at the park that May day, he remembered that I did briefly meet my birthmother. He knew that M would have my contact info and although we weren’t in touch, she’d know how to reach me. He wanted M to contact me for him.
D was in the hospital – on his ‘deathbed’ more specifically – and NEEDED to see me. He was in a hospital in my city…and would be dying soon and his last wish was to see me. Talk about throwing it on me. I was pissed off. I thought, how dare he stand me up, lie to me and now contact M and have her contact me…and tell me his dying wish was to see me. As always, D is a drama king…that’s just the way he is. Everything needs to be a huge dramatic issue…his life is so difficult and he not only sits on the pity pot regularly, his ass is permanently stuck to it.
I went to class that afternoon…trying to decide what to do. Would I forgive myself if I didn’t go? What if he truly was dying and he was feeling guilty about standing me up? What if he wanted to say sorry and make things better? I didn’t want to NOT do it because of my anger with him. I didn’t want to deny this man his dying wish.
In the middle of math class I decided to do it, left class and made my way to the hospital. I got his room number and stopped at the nurse’s desk on the way. I asked them how D was…and they said he was leaving to go home that day. I said, “well isn’t he dying?” The nurses looked at me funny, asked who I was (I said I was his daughter) and they called the doctor to the desk. The doctor told me that D had a slight stroke and was on dialysis (kidney), but was okay to be released to go home.
This made no sense to me at the time…but it would some months later.
I stood outside D’s room and talked to myself until I could go in. I entered the room and slid the curtain across so I could see him. He was sitting on the side of his bed (and had a dialysis catheter in his neck). I remember word for word what came next…
L (me): Hi D…
D (the birthfather): Who are you?
L: Laurel.
D: Who?
L: I’m Laurel … (I took a step towards him.)
D: Laurel who?
L: Your daughter?
D: Oh, hi… *sticks out his hand to shake mine* …nice to meet you.
Then he felt the need to tell me his medical issues and how he wouldn’t be able to play his guitar ever again (he had slight paralysis on one side of his body). He told me how terribly sick he was…that he wasn’t sure if he’d make it…and he kept moaning and groaning about everything. I didn’t have to say a word for – literally – 17 minutes (I timed it). None of it had anything to do with anything except for him. After he stopped talking, I let loose.
Now, I need to be clear on something. I’m not normally as aggressive as I was this day. I’m a pretty sensitive person, but I’d had enough. I do not regret one word that I said…and I said a lot of things…some which I can’t even remember, some of them were super harsh, but it is what it is. I will also apologize when I’m wrong or rude, or am out of line. I never did…and never will…apologize for that day (much to the dismay of certain people...we'll go there later).
L: Are you going to tell me why you never showed up at the park and left me waiting for three hours when you had no intention of coming to meet me?
D: What do you mean?
L: Ok, other people in your life may play this game with you…but I know who you are. I get it. If you wanted to meet me because you’re on your deathbed…we don’t have time to play games.
D: I’m very sick.
L: Why did you lie to me? Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?
D: *shrugs* Well, that’s what drug addicts do…
Well, that WAS truthful. But to me, it felt like an excuse. He’s made excuses his entire life. People have made excuses FOR him. His entire life was a lie...except for music. Music was his only truth.
I was angry. Wait...I was ANGRY.
L: Are you kidding me?
D: *silence*
L: I cannot believe you... You have a choice in this matter. You had a choice, and you screwed it up.
D: That's what drug addicts do.
The volume of my words got louder and louder. A nurse came in and pulled a curtain around us...and for whatever reason...I felt the need to yank it back. I almost felt like...I was being swept under the rug. It was not going to happen again. It's like something took over me. It certainly isn't my most shining moment of my life, that's for sure, but whatever.
L: I'm not letting you off this easily. You hurt me so much...your actions hurt me. I thought I had a father that I could connect with. I was proud - and boasted - about your sobriety. I was proud of YOU and everything you made it through. Like me...you were a survivor. And you're not. Instead, you're pathetic.
I said nothing else. I marched out of the room - briefly noticed some nurses standing by the door, who had clearly been listening...and I didn't give a hoot - down the hall, and pressed the down button on the elevator and pulled up my hood.
When the doors opened, I got on, pressed #1 and when the doors closed, I burst into tears. The dam broke. And the water came rushing out...
...to be continued...
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
My heart hurts...
Things are not good. I am not in a good space with everything adoption...and am completely panicked about Saturday. I'm just all over the place.
On top of that...my Mom and I had another talk/argument tonight...and things aren't good. For whatever reason, she's incapable of supporting me right now with this. This makes me feel numerous feelings...that I can't even get into right now...because it ties into so many other things that happened while I was growing up. It breaks my heart....really.
I keep bursting into tears. I'm feeling really alone tonight.
This is probably the hardest thing I've ever done in my entire life. And, honestly...I'm not even sure I can do it anymore.
On top of that...my Mom and I had another talk/argument tonight...and things aren't good. For whatever reason, she's incapable of supporting me right now with this. This makes me feel numerous feelings...that I can't even get into right now...because it ties into so many other things that happened while I was growing up. It breaks my heart....really.
I keep bursting into tears. I'm feeling really alone tonight.
This is probably the hardest thing I've ever done in my entire life. And, honestly...I'm not even sure I can do it anymore.
The Birthfather - Chapter One
I was never told too much about my birthfather, D, while growing up. I knew some basics. He was 20 when I was born, he was put into foster care around the age of 12 when his mother died and he was musical, an alcoholic and dabbled in drugs.
I need to preface this, before I continue, by saying this is what I heard…it was not necessarily the truth.
In 1998, I took the info I had on him – his first and last name, age and one of his occupations over the years, which was driving a taxi. Luckily, his last name was very uncommon but he was not listed in the book. I began my search by contacting a taxi company in his town (same town that M lives in). They told me that he had not worked there for years, but gave me the name of one of his cousins. I called this cousin and asked if she could tell me where I could find D. She said she wouldn’t give me any info, but could pass my name and number on to him. I gave her my first name (and no explanation of who I was) and my work phone number. At that time I was working in retail at the mall.
The next day, first thing in the morning, he called. My manager had answered the phone (she knew what was going on) and told me it was for me and that it was a man. I knew immediately and picked up the phone. I can’t really remember what he said…but he knew who I was and why I was calling. I said I’d have to call him back, took his phone number and hung up the phone on him.
That evening I called him. I was wary. Something inside of me didn’t quite trust him. I didn’t give him my last name or tell him where I was living.
We had a great first conversation. There was a part of me that really connected with him on some level. We talked mostly about his music career. He had been to Nashville many times, cut a few records and was preparing to go into the studio again. He was really excited when he found out that I had been singing and playing the piano since I was five. Like him, music was my passion while growing up. I loved the arts. He asked me, if everything worked out, would I consider going into the studio with him to record some vocal tracks with him. The conversation felt easy. He said he was glad that I called and that he had thought of me a lot over the years. I said I would call him again.
D and I talked about two times a week from then on. We talked about his drug and alcohol problems and I was proud that he was sober and clean and had been “for over a couple years” (his words).
After a month or so, we decided to meet. It was May and we planned to meet at a public park, right by the band-stand. He knew where it was…so did I and so we planned for noon. I told him what I’d be wearing and that I’m a red-head and he told me what he’d be wearing.
The day was beautiful. It was sunny and bright. A perfect day to meet. I arrived at the park about 15 minutes early and sat down and waited.
After an hour of waiting, I thought…ok, maybe I said the wrong time, or he got lost. After two hours, I thought…maybe something happened to him. After three hours, I was livid. I knew…in my gut that everything he had told me was a lie and I was just ‘had’ by my own birthfather.
When I made it home, I called him and his roommate answered the phone. He told me that D never planned on actually coming to town to meet with me. He told me D had never been sober since the day he had met him and that D was out on a trip to the liquor store…the second one of the day.
I called back an hour later and left a message on D’s answering machine. I told him how disappointed I was and that I wished he had just told me the truth.
There are so many lies and secrets surrounding adoption – I just wanted the truth.
…to be continued…
I need to preface this, before I continue, by saying this is what I heard…it was not necessarily the truth.
In 1998, I took the info I had on him – his first and last name, age and one of his occupations over the years, which was driving a taxi. Luckily, his last name was very uncommon but he was not listed in the book. I began my search by contacting a taxi company in his town (same town that M lives in). They told me that he had not worked there for years, but gave me the name of one of his cousins. I called this cousin and asked if she could tell me where I could find D. She said she wouldn’t give me any info, but could pass my name and number on to him. I gave her my first name (and no explanation of who I was) and my work phone number. At that time I was working in retail at the mall.
The next day, first thing in the morning, he called. My manager had answered the phone (she knew what was going on) and told me it was for me and that it was a man. I knew immediately and picked up the phone. I can’t really remember what he said…but he knew who I was and why I was calling. I said I’d have to call him back, took his phone number and hung up the phone on him.
That evening I called him. I was wary. Something inside of me didn’t quite trust him. I didn’t give him my last name or tell him where I was living.
We had a great first conversation. There was a part of me that really connected with him on some level. We talked mostly about his music career. He had been to Nashville many times, cut a few records and was preparing to go into the studio again. He was really excited when he found out that I had been singing and playing the piano since I was five. Like him, music was my passion while growing up. I loved the arts. He asked me, if everything worked out, would I consider going into the studio with him to record some vocal tracks with him. The conversation felt easy. He said he was glad that I called and that he had thought of me a lot over the years. I said I would call him again.
D and I talked about two times a week from then on. We talked about his drug and alcohol problems and I was proud that he was sober and clean and had been “for over a couple years” (his words).
After a month or so, we decided to meet. It was May and we planned to meet at a public park, right by the band-stand. He knew where it was…so did I and so we planned for noon. I told him what I’d be wearing and that I’m a red-head and he told me what he’d be wearing.
The day was beautiful. It was sunny and bright. A perfect day to meet. I arrived at the park about 15 minutes early and sat down and waited.
After an hour of waiting, I thought…ok, maybe I said the wrong time, or he got lost. After two hours, I thought…maybe something happened to him. After three hours, I was livid. I knew…in my gut that everything he had told me was a lie and I was just ‘had’ by my own birthfather.
When I made it home, I called him and his roommate answered the phone. He told me that D never planned on actually coming to town to meet with me. He told me D had never been sober since the day he had met him and that D was out on a trip to the liquor store…the second one of the day.
I called back an hour later and left a message on D’s answering machine. I told him how disappointed I was and that I wished he had just told me the truth.
There are so many lies and secrets surrounding adoption – I just wanted the truth.
…to be continued…
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
She called...
Go figure. As soon as I posted that blog, M called. She has time for me on Saturday...so we'll be meeting at a restaurant in her town in the early afternoon.
All of the emotions involved with this are really draining.
I need sleep.
All of the emotions involved with this are really draining.
I need sleep.
Another step...
After my last visit with Sally, I’ve been gathering up the courage to call M and ask if we can get together face to face. This is not an easy feat. I get super nervous when I call her. And I am not talking a few butterflies in my stomach. I’m talking a herd of elephants.
When I first spoke with M a little over two weeks ago, she sounded happy to hear from me and although it was awkward, it was an ‘okay’ conversation. During this conversation, she gave me her email address and asked me to email so we could keep in touch that way. I took it and told her I would send her a quick note the next day – which I did. I also gave her my work number and my cell...which is my main number that I have on, and on me, 24/7. I didn’t hear from M since we last talked. I assumed - after emailing her – that she had given me the wrong email address because I didn’t get an email back.
Last night, with a herd of elephants in my stomach...I picked up the phone. As planned (in my mind), M picked up, I told her who it was...and then it just became more and more awkward by the word.
M’s tone of voice was not all that friendly...so I asked her if it was a bad time to talk and that I could call back or she could call me back, but she said it was fine. After trying to make some chit chat, I said, “Oh, I think you gave me the wrong email address the last time we talked.” “No, I didn’t,” M said. I said, “Well, I think you did because I sent you...” and she abruptly cut me off with, “I got the email you sent, I didn’t feel like replying.”
I didn’t know how to really respond to this at that moment. I had an emotional and physical reaction to it...but I didn’t want to get into it with her over the phone...and that wasn’t the reason why I called, so I pushed it aside and asked her if she would be able to visit this coming weekend if I drove to her town. She said that Saturday would be ok...and I said that is good for me. Then she said she needed to check and would call me today and let me know.
So far, she hasn’t called today and I’ve been waiting.
If I don’t hear from her tonight or tomorrow, I will probably call her again on Thursday.
When I first spoke with M a little over two weeks ago, she sounded happy to hear from me and although it was awkward, it was an ‘okay’ conversation. During this conversation, she gave me her email address and asked me to email so we could keep in touch that way. I took it and told her I would send her a quick note the next day – which I did. I also gave her my work number and my cell...which is my main number that I have on, and on me, 24/7. I didn’t hear from M since we last talked. I assumed - after emailing her – that she had given me the wrong email address because I didn’t get an email back.
Last night, with a herd of elephants in my stomach...I picked up the phone. As planned (in my mind), M picked up, I told her who it was...and then it just became more and more awkward by the word.
M’s tone of voice was not all that friendly...so I asked her if it was a bad time to talk and that I could call back or she could call me back, but she said it was fine. After trying to make some chit chat, I said, “Oh, I think you gave me the wrong email address the last time we talked.” “No, I didn’t,” M said. I said, “Well, I think you did because I sent you...” and she abruptly cut me off with, “I got the email you sent, I didn’t feel like replying.”
I didn’t know how to really respond to this at that moment. I had an emotional and physical reaction to it...but I didn’t want to get into it with her over the phone...and that wasn’t the reason why I called, so I pushed it aside and asked her if she would be able to visit this coming weekend if I drove to her town. She said that Saturday would be ok...and I said that is good for me. Then she said she needed to check and would call me today and let me know.
So far, she hasn’t called today and I’ve been waiting.
If I don’t hear from her tonight or tomorrow, I will probably call her again on Thursday.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Real Conversations
One of my favourite quotes is from Thomas Moore, who was an Irish poet, singer and songwriter. He wrote, “We need people in our lives with whom we can be as open as possible. To have real conversations with people may seem like such a simple, obvious suggestion, but it involves courage and risk.” I love this quote because it states perfectly how important and necessary intimate relationships are, but yet, how much courage and risk is involved in letting another person see who you are – fears, faults, dreams, hopes and everything else.
I’ve been wanting to blog about my day last Friday – over a week ago now, the 23rd - which was wonderful, but I’ve been having difficulty putting it into words. Clearly, the day before, I was feeling overwhelmed with everything ‘adoption’. I really did consider throwing in the towel, crying ‘uncle’ and declaring that all was perfect in adoption land and I could move on and be fine. Yeah, right.
I had made previous plans with Sally (click here to see my first blog entry that explains who Sally is) to have a visit Friday afternoon. And this visit was exactly what I needed.
The fact that she understands all issues adoption related (she really gets it) means that we can automatically jump to a deeper level with the conversation. I do appreciate (and am grateful for) my sweet friends who listen and are so interested and want to understand, but it’s a different type of conversation when I talk with Sally. When she says she understands, I know she really does. And, we talked about a lot…some of which I’ll share in my future blogs.
We did discuss what the next step should be (since I made the step of making initial contact with M and had a decent first conversation) and I’m going to call M (I’ve been psyching myself up for doing this, all week) in the next day or so and ask her if she’s up for meeting and going for tea this coming Saturday. In the interest of not wanting to throw myself in the deep end right away, I’m going to make it clear that the visit will be around an hour in length.
I’m beginning to understand – from my conversations with Sally – that this is a part of me and will be for the rest of my life. That is a lot to swallow. For some reason, I really thought that I’d get to a point where I could really just be ‘done’ with all of this...that it would be ‘dealt’ with and I could wash my hands of it. On the other hand...I didn’t think that healing would be possible. I never thought it was an option. I thought that I would have this ‘hole’...forever.
While coming to the realization that this is a part of me and I can’t deny it...and it is a lot to swallow, I feel a sense of hope that I never did before. A sense of hope that healing is not only possible, but it’s a reality if I make the choice to walk through this now.
The thought that I don’t have to be in a constant state like a fish out of water...with all of this for the rest of my life, is rather appealing. And that’s what it has felt like. I know that with time, this will happen – the healing. It's already beginning to. I’m ready to do the work.
There’s something that happens in your heart when you have a real conversation with another person. When you allow yourself to open your heart and place yourself in a spot where you’re most vulnerable, there is healing there. Having a real conversation with someone face to face is difficult (not to mention scary), yet essential to any healing process.
I’m grateful beyond words for Sally and for our real conversations.
I’ve been wanting to blog about my day last Friday – over a week ago now, the 23rd - which was wonderful, but I’ve been having difficulty putting it into words. Clearly, the day before, I was feeling overwhelmed with everything ‘adoption’. I really did consider throwing in the towel, crying ‘uncle’ and declaring that all was perfect in adoption land and I could move on and be fine. Yeah, right.
I had made previous plans with Sally (click here to see my first blog entry that explains who Sally is) to have a visit Friday afternoon. And this visit was exactly what I needed.
The fact that she understands all issues adoption related (she really gets it) means that we can automatically jump to a deeper level with the conversation. I do appreciate (and am grateful for) my sweet friends who listen and are so interested and want to understand, but it’s a different type of conversation when I talk with Sally. When she says she understands, I know she really does. And, we talked about a lot…some of which I’ll share in my future blogs.
We did discuss what the next step should be (since I made the step of making initial contact with M and had a decent first conversation) and I’m going to call M (I’ve been psyching myself up for doing this, all week) in the next day or so and ask her if she’s up for meeting and going for tea this coming Saturday. In the interest of not wanting to throw myself in the deep end right away, I’m going to make it clear that the visit will be around an hour in length.
I’m beginning to understand – from my conversations with Sally – that this is a part of me and will be for the rest of my life. That is a lot to swallow. For some reason, I really thought that I’d get to a point where I could really just be ‘done’ with all of this...that it would be ‘dealt’ with and I could wash my hands of it. On the other hand...I didn’t think that healing would be possible. I never thought it was an option. I thought that I would have this ‘hole’...forever.
While coming to the realization that this is a part of me and I can’t deny it...and it is a lot to swallow, I feel a sense of hope that I never did before. A sense of hope that healing is not only possible, but it’s a reality if I make the choice to walk through this now.
The thought that I don’t have to be in a constant state like a fish out of water...with all of this for the rest of my life, is rather appealing. And that’s what it has felt like. I know that with time, this will happen – the healing. It's already beginning to. I’m ready to do the work.
There’s something that happens in your heart when you have a real conversation with another person. When you allow yourself to open your heart and place yourself in a spot where you’re most vulnerable, there is healing there. Having a real conversation with someone face to face is difficult (not to mention scary), yet essential to any healing process.
I’m grateful beyond words for Sally and for our real conversations.
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