My Birthmother's Funeral

Going to my birthmother’s funeral was difficult. The reason for most of my nervousness was my half brother and sister. Though my half-bro was the one that did contact me to let me know that M was dying, he quickly yanked back his hand and refused to give me any information. One day it was, “We’re all Mom’s kids…we need to stick together,” and the next was, “You don’t belong here, I’ll give you the info I want you to have…and until then, mind your own business.” Ouch.

I did consider not going. But, I needed to go. For me and for M.

We went in as late as possible…me and my mother. We were as late as possible with the intention of being able to slip quickly into the back of the room and not be noticed by too many people. Well, that back-fired, like, immediately.

When we stepped into the funeral home, all of M’s family (her husband, who she did not live with), half-bro (and his bf), half-sis (and her gf) and other relatives (yes, both of my half siblings are gay) were lined up to greet people. Ummm…can you say awkward? I quickly diverted my eyes – I made contact with my sister – and slipped by, grabbing my mother’s arm to follow. We took seats at the back of the room. M’s urn was at the front of the room; surrounded by some pictures, her bingo dobber-thingies, and the stuffed cat she had by her side in the hospital.

I swallowed hard. My mother was talking away and I was hearing nada. All I could hear was, ’That’s my mother…my first-mom…in that urn…she’s gone from this world.’ My eyes filled, I could barely swallow and the ugly cry threatened to break out at any second. My mom saw this and quickly tried to divert my attention and I sucked it in…but I wanted to let it out. I wanted to let it out…I wanted to run over to my sister and throw my arms around her…I wanted to hug my brother and tell him ‘thank you’ for contacting me in the first place. I wanted to go to their father and hug him and say that I was sorry for his loss. But then, I remembered. I’m not part of their family. I’m the family secret…the one that gets buried when the family tree comes out. I’m the family secret that they didn’t speak about for 17 long years…and when they did, well, that’s when the roller-coaster of reunion began.

To be honest, the only part of the funeral that really felt like it represented M was when the minister spoke and when they played two of her fave country songs. Her husband gave the eulogy and was dreadful. He shared not one word that represented who M really was. Instead, it was like his own side-show where he babbled on without a point and nothing made sense. It was all – as it was in M’s real world – about him.

At the end of the funeral, I was spotted by one of M’s sisters and her hubby. He pointed…and began to smile and she quickly grabbed his arm and pulled him the other way.

I waited to see if I could grab my half-brother after the service, to say thank you for letting me know the situation and allowing me to have the chance to see M, before she passed. Once I got to him, he tried to ignore me and when I touched his shoulder, he turned around and lashed out at me verbally. It was brutal – he made it very clear that I was not welcome, nor was I part of their family. I didn’t approach my half-sister, because she’s made it very clear that she wants nothing to do with me, which breaks my heart because I absolutely adore her and when we’ve been in each other’s lives…we are a force to be reckoned with. I turned around…walked out the door and broke down…the ugly cry came out full-force. M would have been so disappointed with how they handled themselves.

I’m still struggling some days. There are no rules for any type of grief. I think it’s more complicated, too, because of the adoption factor. While I don’t have any regrets…sometimes my heart regrets that things weren’t different. I don’t believe that adoption is God’s first choice…but I do believe that he opens doors in adoption. I’m grateful for the life I have, but being adopted has shaped my life and sometimes it’s not in a positive way.

What I know for sure, is that M loved me. What I know for sure…is that I do have some great memories with her. Though our reunion went up and down and disappeared for months/years at a time, we did have moments together that I can pull back up that make me smile. I KNOW without a doubt, that she loved me…just the same as she loved her two other children.

I need to hang on to what I know for sure, especially in the times that the darkness threatens to take me out. I know she loves me…and she knows that I love her.

I hope that’s enough.