I’ve wanted to write about this for a long time, but haven’t really known where to start. I still don’t, but I just got done watching the movie “October Baby”. The storyline isn’t anywhere close to the circumstances of me being put up for adoption, and yet there are things that I think go through the heads of most adoptees. At least while we’re young.
For clarification purposes, let me throw this out there: I differentiate between my families in the following way- my ‘real’ mom and dad (parents) are my adoptive parents- the parents I grew up with and knew from the beginning. This also applies to the rest of my family- my adoptive family is my real family. But, my biological family is just as important in different ways. My birthmother (who I address by her first name) is very dear to me. We had written contact in the mid 80s, and then first talked on the telephone on October 30, 2010. We’ve talked regularly since then, and she has visited several times; we’ve both been amazed at our common likes/dislikes and interests. I’ve had various forms of contact with many biological relatives. One of my bio-mom’s cousins (I think that makes her my first cousin once removed) has been a very close friend (as well as my cousin) since we met during my first Christmas after moving to Texas in 1985.
I ‘always’ knew that I was adopted. My parents never hid that fact, and it was essentially a non-issue. My mom used to read a book to me called “The Chosen Baby” that explained adoption to young children in a very positive way. My family never made an issue about me being adopted; I was just one of the kids. (On my dad’s side, I was the only grandchild; on my mom’s side, I am one of twelve grandkids- I’m # 7). Several of my parents’ friends had also adopted kids, so adoption was just a ‘normal’ part of my life, and the lives of many people I grew up around.
When I got older (teens) my mom and dad told me that if I ever wanted to find my biological mom, they’d be supportive. When I was 19, in the midst of some intense emotional stuff, it was recommended that I make contact. Through the adoption agency that handled my adoption, contact was made after just two phone calls by the guy at the agency. My birthmom and I wrote for quite a while, and then life was happening, and we didn’t have contact for many years. I understood that she had other things and people to consider, and while she NEVER cut me off completely, she needed some time to sort through stuff that was stirred up. While I missed having contact, I absolutely understood that things were much more complicated on her end of things. I respected the need for time and space. In some strange way, I ‘got it’. And, I was also going through some things and needed some time to sort through those things, and to grow up a bit. I now think that the time without contact allowed for us both to be ‘ready’ when we first talked and then met.
When I was a young kid and into my teens, I did wonder about my birthmother. All I knew is that she had gotten pregnant while she was in high school. Pretty standard story (at least from my end of things). I knew that she’d gone on to college, and that was about it. I always wondered about siblings. I grew up an only child, and dreamed about having brothers and sisters. I wondered if my bio-mom was OK. I wondered about that a lot. I wondered if she was happy. I wondered about my biological father as well, but I think the maternal bond is stronger, regardless of any actual personal knowledge of the birthmother. I sometimes wondered why I’d been given up, even though I knew she was still in high school. I wondered if she’d wanted me, or just thought of me as a major inconvenience that just happened to come along before abortion was legal. I wondered if she cared about my biological father. Since meeting her, I’ve had these questions answered, and I’m relieved with what she’s told me.
As far as anything ‘deeper’, there were times when I felt like I wasn’t meant to be, though my parents wanted a baby very badly. They’d lost two newborns within two weeks of their births during the 4-5 years before they got me. When I’d see happy scenes on TV, when someone had just had a baby, I imagined the day I was born as something that was a relief when it was over. When I was going through rough times, I sometimes wondered why I hadn’t been aborted (legal or not, people were still having them). I did have dark things go through my mind, but in the end, I know I’m around for a reason…I’ve survived way too much to have been a fluke. 🙂
I’ve been asked if I ‘hated’ my birthmother for giving me up for adoption. I’ve talked to pregnant teens who were relinquishing their babies, and also to people who were just curious, and the answer is an absolute “NO”. I could never hate her. I could never be ashamed of her. I could never think that she was ‘bad’ for getting pregnant. I could never imagine what it was like for her, going through a pregnancy knowing she was going to have to give the baby away. I could never judge her for the decision to put me up for adoption…sometimes people just don’t have any other choice- for whatever reasons. Those involved in that decision thought it was the best thing to do- and since I wasn’t in their situation at that time, I have no frame of reference to judge my birthmother. Being an unwed pregnant teen in the early 1960s was judgement enough. Even when I was in junior high and high school in the late 70s and early 80s, I remember people sort of gasping when they heard about someone being pregnant and unmarried. The message was clear- and I can’t even imagine how hard that had to be to live through.
There were times when I wondered where she was. When I was at the University of Illinois, I did wonder if she was any one of the thirty-somethings I saw walking around town. Or if she was even in that city; I knew I’d been born there. I wondered if I’d know her if I saw her. Or if she’d know me. Sometimes I wondered if she were alive, or if something had happened to her. I wondered if she’d ever seen my birthfather again. I wondered if she’d like me. I wondered if I looked like her. I wondered a lot of stuff. There was a ‘hole’ from not knowing her, and ultimately about myself, and who I was …where I came from.
I understand why I was given up for adoption. I feel much more badly for my biological parents than I ever did myself. I grew up in a ‘good’ home, and was given a ‘normal’ life. They had to give part of themselves away. I ended up with two families; they lost their child- though they both went on to marry other people and have their own families. I’ve been able to talk to my birthmom about anything related to my birth and adoption, and that makes me incredibly fortunate. I don’t have any other frame of reference than being an adoptee. That’s my ‘normal’. There are many things I won’t write about, out of respect for privacy for my birthmom. But I’m lucky. While we don’t have a traditional mother-dauther relationship, I can’t imagine my life without knowing her. 🙂