The Divisiveness is Breaking My Heart…

I’m just blowing off steam.  I can’t remember a time when I felt so hopeless about the vast majority of  humanity.   No matter who says what, there are legions of people who are at the ready to deliberately be cruel and completely disinterested in the “idea” that those who believe as they do are just as passionate- and free to do so- as I am with my beliefs.  There is absolutely no reason or justification for name calling, belittlement, shaming, or anything else that just makes them sound  ‘holier than thou’ and pathetic  (whether or not they believe an God- or anything higher than themselves).   And yeah, I’m guilty.   I’m writing this from a place of pain- sometimes that comes across as anger – but mostly it just hurts.   The people I grew up with, especially from church, are no longer people I relate with in many areas, and that saddens me deeply.  I know that God knows my heart, and that I’d never opt to go against His will. I do question what humans have done to make Christianity so legalistic.

There is also  hypocrisy about many of  the ‘hot button’ issues.  In this post, I’m focusing on abortion- and being a Christian.  I can’t stand the idea of terminating a pregnancy.   BUT,  I understand why a woman would consider it, after being pregnant as a result of being raped in 1987.  I was very naive for a 23 year old and nearly immobilized by the options I had, for the situation I was in.  I couldn’t go the abortion route.  I just couldn’t do it, because my own values.     I never told  my mom about the pregnancy- the first question my mom asked me after I called to tell them about the rape was “Are you pregnant?”… like 6 hours after getting out of the ER, and 2 hours after leaving the police department, where I talked with the Sex Crimes detectives, in a hospital gown and gnarly raincoat from the hospital lost and found box.   Later, the dementia made it inappropriate to discuss it with my mom.  It would have confused her.   She had already told people I was moving back to my home to be a truck driver, because all she remembered about my moving back was that I was driving a U-Haul truck.

Adoption was a touchy subject as a viable option (though probably would have been the outcome had things not turned out as they did).    I’m an adoptee, and while I landed in a great home, there were always the questions about ‘why’ (I had some idea- young mom, couldn’t keep me… my birth mom and I  have a great relationship now), and the sense of “something” missing.  And what would I tell a kid later on in life, should he/she come looking for me, about the circumstances of their conception?  There is no way to make it sound like they were nothing more than a horrific, felonious mistake.  How does someone bring that into the world?   I realize that God can do a lot to help someone get through things (believe me, I prayed a LOT during the rape, and it was a huge source of comfort).  But what if the kid was not a person of faith, and had no belief system to get through something like that?  I would have done all I could to ease the blow- but I would not have lied.   Lies don’t ultimately soothe catastrophic pain.

I certainly didn’t want the kid, because of the ‘how do I explain the conception?’ issue, “who is my father?”,  and never wanting to have a negative bias towards the child in how I raised and treated it.  I didn’t want the reminders of that disgusting day every time I saw the kid’s face, though the child was never at fault.  I was frozen in terms of making decisions, but mercifully, God took care of it one morning, with some nasty cramping, and an unceremonious expulsion into the toilet.  I saw the placental side, freaked, and hit the flush handle.   I was about 12 weeks along.   When I told my dad about the pregnancy after I moved back to my hometown (16 years after the rape), he told me he would have sent me the money for an abortion… and he was a member of an evangelical church for about 60 years.   He understood the torment of that decision.  

I find using abortion as birth control out of laziness or not wanting to be inconvenienced by a child appalling and inexcusable (call that judgement if you want to- I call trivially expelling a pregnancy out of simple personal convenience horribly irresponsible).   There are plenty of good sources of birth control- the most reliable requiring a prescription (which makes Panned Parenthood a good source of medical care EXcluding abortions; they have doctors who will see a woman to do a physical  exam, do a PAP and screen for STDs,  take her medical history, and recommend the safest options to prevent pregnancy- you know… ‘planned’ ).   There are inexpensive prescription birth control pills out there, but they require a physician.  For those without a family doc, PP is a very good option.   I doubt that many right wing Christians will ever believe that (including family and longtime friends) and that’s fine.  Maybe some of them will open their homes and pay the medical bills for a woman facing an unplanned /unwanted pregnancy, and help place her child for adoption-  maybe keep it until the adoption agency and adoptive parents are sorted out.  That’d be great.  Unless someone will step up when they remove options, and offer their own solution on an active, personal level, I don’t think that they should have much say in what someone else does.

Condoms are good for a lot of ‘safe sex’ reasons… but they’re not %100 for birth control… still better than nothing- and anybody who has ‘frivolous sex’ with either multiple partners, or one with a known STD, is irresponsible if they don’t  keep a stash of more than they think they’ll ever need… At.  All. Times.   They are very good at preventing  many STDs (sexually transmitted diseases- some of which can be fatal, in a prolonged and nasty death, i.e. syphilis is easily treated early on, but can lead to dementia after decades with the  untreated disease).

The “morning after pill” is often misunderstood –  sometimes for deliberate political purposes,  to stoke the fires of misinformation.  The morning after pill DOES NOT TERMINATE pregnancy.  It prevents implantation.  There is no pregnancy without implantation.  There is no life without implantation.  Many women “miscarry” these unattached zygotes throughout their life, and never know that fertilization ever happened.  A fertilized zygote (with the potential to become a baby) is essentially nothing without implantation.

Bottom line:  Women are responsible for what goes on in/with/to their bodies when it comes to sexual activity and pregnancy.   Don’t do the “well, he should have brought the rubbers”.  Nonsense !!  If you’re having sex, you are the one who needs to be responsible for the consequences.   

About late term abortions…  I think this is often misunderstood as well.  There are times when ‘pre-term delivery’ (what it is called medically) to end the pregnancy is the only way to save the mother.  With neonatal intensive care being what it is now, there are  maximum efforts to resuscitate the baby and care for it with the hope that it will survive, and hopefully thrive.  Babies as early as 23 weeks are successfully cared for in NICUs. (I’ve heard of a few at 22 weeks, and seen 24 weekers with my own eyes)  That’s before the third trimester !  Pre-term deliveries are ONLY for medical emergencies.  They are not abortions.  (Could there be heinous individuals out there that do them?   Yeah- there are heinous individuals who do just about anything… but pre-term deliveries aren’t the same as abortions. Period.).   Look at the Duggars and their little Josie… they’re about as conservative as folks come- and they “got it” about the reasons for doing the pre-term delivery because of Mrs. Duggar having eclampsia, which is fatal if the pregnancy is not ended. Pre-term delivery IS the cure.  There was never any thought of Josie not getting care.    But the ‘far right’ loves to use inflammatory terms to garner support for candidates.  Unfortunately, inaccuracies abound, and that just fans the fire. Those that say that the mother dying is “God’s will”,  when there is a way to save, her baffle me… to me that is deliberately letting the mother die.  God doesn’t give us ways to take care of emergencies and then not expect/allow us to use them. Why lose two lives when you can save one pretty much for sure (nothing is every %100 in medicine), and probably both?

But bottom line about abortion, in my eyes?   It’s not my decision to make for someone else.  Legislating morality is muddling the religion and state line.  We are not a “Christian” country.  Many of the founding fathers did have a Christian background, but they were very careful to design our country to separate church and state to avoid legislating morality.   We are a country of freedom OF religion.  Once we impose Christian values into law, we open the doors to have parts of Sharia law, or Buddhist values, or whatever, into laws for everybody.   Laws don’t stop abortion.  And just because something is legal doesn’t mean I have to participate!   The government isn’t responsible for determining my decisions.  I have to answer for my own choices- NOBODY else’s.     Again- I don’t like the idea of termination a pregnancy at all.   But I’m not going to focus on people  I can’t control at the expense of ignoring things that could make a positive difference for more people (cue the “but the baby is a person” folks… yeah, I do believe that there is a blooming human in the uterus- and that’s why I wouldn’t choose to have an abortion myself). What is the benefit of being  judgmental over an issue that is between the woman,  HER conscience, and God?   I can’t live her life. But,  I’m also going to extend to her an ear to listen to her fears and conflicts- and gently talk to her about other options, helping in ways that I can.  And prayer is always going to be heard… God can direct the outcome.

So where do I find hypocrisy?  The same folks who are furiously self-righteous about being pro-life couldn’t care less about the health care availability for the “post-born”.    Jesus was ‘into’ taking care of folks medical issues.  You know- that whole “Great Physician” term?   He didn’t ask if people had a good job with adequate coverage to reimburse Him.   He didn’t ask if they were  purposely out of work just so they could stay home with bills piling up and no hope of a better life.  He didn’t ask if their medical needs were the reason they couldn’t find suitable work.  He didn’t deny ‘medicine’ because someone’s prescription drug plan didn’t cover His ‘medicine’.   He just healed them out of compassion.  Everybody remember that?   I know.  It’s not talked about much anymore.  Compassion isn’t a great political word, so it gets lost.

Matthew 25: 41-46   41“Then He will also say to those on His left, ‘Depart from Me, accursed ones, into the eternal fire which has been prepared for the devil and his angels; 42for I was hungry, and you gave Me nothing to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave Me nothing to drink; 43I was a stranger, and you did not invite Me in; naked, and you did not clothe Me; sick, and in prison, and you did not visit Me.’ 44“Then they themselves also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see You hungry, or thirsty, or a stranger, or naked, or sick, or in prison, and did not take care of You?’ 45“Then He will answer them, ‘Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to Me.’ 46“These will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.”

Yes- those verses talk about visiting the sick, and not healing…  check this out:
Ezekiel 34: 11-16.    11“ ‘For this is what the Sovereign Lord says: I myself will search for my sheep and look after them. 12As a shepherd looks after his scattered flock when he is with them, so will I look after my sheep. I will rescue them from all the places where they were scattered on a day of clouds and darkness. 13I will bring them out from the nations and gather them from the countries, and I will bring them into their own land. I will pasture them on the mountains of Israel, in the ravines and in all the settlements in the land. 14I will tend them in a good pasture, and the mountain heights of Israel will be their grazing land. There they will lie down in good grazing land, and there they will feed in a rich pasture on the mountains of Israel. 15I myself will tend my sheep and have them lie down, declares the Sovereign Lord. 16I will search for the lost and bring back the strays. I will bind up the injured and strengthen the weak, but the sleek and the strong I will destroy. I will shepherd the flock with justice.”       It’s all about care, compassion, and bringing the ‘sheep’ together.  This is talking specifically about Israel- but I can’t imaging God not wanting those who love His Son to be treated differently.  And He will strengthen the weak !  He’ll help the injured.  Because of love for His people.  In the Old Testament that was directed at the Jewish people.  In the New Testament, and after someone makes the choice to believe that Jesus is their Lord and Savior, He extends that to us as Christians as well.

There are SO many other things that are saddening me these days- but this is one of the things that separates me from the people I grew up with.  That’s hard, but I’m not going to simply follow the herd when I have strong feelings and thoughts of my own, based in compassion.  I became a nurse to help people.  I miss that.   It’s hard to feel like an outcast- and I don’t anticipate anybody being willing to have a discussion – not to change minds, but simply be heard and maybe even understand a little of where I’m coming from.  But I know God does.  People who aren’t part of the community I grew up with (at church) understand… but within that church group, I feel like something they’d just as soon throw out with the trash. And that hurts.  Lots of talk.  No action.

But, whatever.  I’m rapidly losing interest with humans in general.  It’s “safer” to write here, or just keep the front door locked, and screen calls.   But I won’t lie.  I’d love to hear someone with the same spiritual background tell me that they ‘get it’.   That they understand.  And that I’m not “bad”.    I realize that in the grand scheme of things, the opinion of a human is pretty meaningless.  But it would still be nice to be understood.  I do find intense comfort in knowing that God hears my cries, and knows my heart.   ❤

 

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Tears From Cold Water

August 1, 2000.  That was the day my half-brother died.  I’d never met him, but since I’d learned about him in 1982, his 5th grade photo always had a prominent place  on my dresser (along with that of his younger brother, a half-brother I have met, though we don’t ‘do fractions’ very well… he’s my brother, and I’m “Hey, Sis.”).  Those photos are  still there. I remember looking at my e-mail at work for the last time  that day, and seeing the message from my cousin. (I didn’t have a computer at home).  She let me know that he was gone, and what we knew of the details at that time.  He’d drowned.  He was  a competitive swimmer as a child, and I couldn’t make sense of it.  I cried.  I went  up to the front office where the accounts person was still working.  I told her what I’d found out, and just sat there, numb, for a few minutes.  I stayed numb about much of his death for years.

My thoughts  immediately went to my birthmother.  She’d been through a lot in her life, and then her eldest son was gone.  I wanted to write to her, but I didn’t want to seem like I was being opportunistic in getting in contact with her during an unimaginably painful time.  I wanted her to know how much I was thinking about her, and that I wished I could do something.  What, I’m wasn’t sure.  But, I was horrified that she was having to go through the death of a child.  He was closing in on 30 years old, but as a nurse, I’d seen many parents face the deaths of their much-older children, and it was always a kind of grief that is unmatched.  But during that time, my bio-mom and I weren’t in contact.   I heard about her through other biological relatives, but it was a complicated situation.

Then I thought about the ‘what ifs’.  What if my bio-mom and I got back in contact, and the chance came about that I might meet my half-brothers?  I’d never know that with A.  What if I ended up with a relationship with my half-brothers, whatever it might be?   I’d never have that with A.  Had he known about me?  I later found out that he had.  But at the time of his death, all I knew was that possibility was gone in ever knowing A, face to face.  My hopes of some sort of  contact died that day.  It’s not a tangible loss.  It’s the loss of a dream.

In 2010, I ended up with leukemia.  I was expected to do well, but in case things ended poorly, I wanted to let my bio-mom know what was going on, and not just find out I’d died, if that should happen.  We hadn’t been on ‘bad terms’ by any means, it was just very complicated, and time was needed since our first contact by mail in 1982.  She did want to reconnect in 2010 and had been trying to find me (my name is pretty nondescript, and I’d moved from the last place she knew I’d been), and we’ve had an incredible relationship since then.

While I still have trouble talking about him, she told me what happened to A.  It was an incredibly hot day, and he’d gone out to the river to swim.  What he didn’t know was that the dam upstream had been released the day before, and much colder water than usual was flowing down the river.  When his body hit the water, that was so much colder than his core temperature, his heart just stopped.  Done.  Over. A life ended.  From cold water on a hot day.  He’d been used to going to the river.  He knew about water safety, and was an incredibly strong swimmer.  None of that mattered.

In some ways, that helped in easing some of the horrible images I had in my head of his last moments.  It’s unlikely he struggled, or couldn’t get his breath. He didn’t fight underwater.  He hadn’t suffered.  He may have felt an odd chest sensation for a few moments, not really long enough to register anything, but then…nothing.   That has been somewhat  comforting, to know that he wouldn’t have felt pain or the panic of final minutes.

But I still cry.  I have some CDs of his music sessions with friends, and it’s very hard to listen to them.  I’ve managed to at least hear his voice on a few songs, and I’m so thankful I have those CDs.  I’m sure I’ll get to the point that I can listen to them. But now, I still just cry when I think about the day I got that e-mail.   I can talk to my birth mom and brother about A.  I love hearing about when my two brothers were kids.  I have a bunch of photos of all of them, which are treasures, and I’ve got some of my bio-mom, brother, and myself together, which I’m also so thankful to have.  I think the three of us ‘kids’ could have been a nightmare together, in a good way 😉

When I see stories about drownings, I always think about A.  When I see those looney ‘polar bear’ ice water swims in the winter, or jumps into ice water after saunas,  I cringe.  When I think about how easy it is for life to be done, I am thankful for the days I have, and wish with indescribable intensity that A had had ‘his share’ of time on earth.  It took me about 12 years to be able to wash my face in the shower. I didn’t want to have to hold my breath in water when I thought my brother had drowned.  (I finally got the bright idea to look down when I rinse my face, so there was no need to hold my breath… :/ ).   Even though I never knew A personally, he was a part of my life for the 18 years prior to his death, in the form of ‘what ifs’, trying to guess what he looked like ,  and those precious photos on my dresser.   Now, I do have contact with my bio-mom and brother, and I’m  so incredibly thankful for the relationships with them. They really are special parts of my life, and knowing them has helped me know myself better.   I still think about A, though.

He’ll always be part of my life.

Finding Myself As I’ve Connected With My Biological Mother

I was placed for adoption at birth.  Growing up, I was told about the adoption as soon as I was old enough to grasp the concept of being a ‘chosen baby’ (name of a book my mom read to me).  It wasn’t a big deal, and I was accepted into both sides of the family like any other kid.  My parents (what I call my adoptive parents, since they’re the ones I knew growing up) made sure I had everything I needed, as well as a lot of ‘extras’ (music lessons, sports lessons, trips around the country, trip to Europe, etc).  And yet, there was the natural curiosity about where I came from, and who was ‘out there’ that was my biological family.  My parents were aware of this, and always told me that once I turned 18 or 21 (I forget which), they’d help me find my biological mom (or bio-mom as I refer to her on paper… sounds like some type of bio-fuel). :/   I call her by her first name in person, and with people who know me; I do respect her privacy by not naming her in posts.

I was encouraged to do a search when I was 19 by a psychiatrist I was seeing for eating disorders.  He thought that if I felt like I’d ‘come from somewhere’, I’d feel more secure in general.  I’m not so sure about that, but I did want to find her.   The adoption agency was contacted, and with two phone calls, the social worker had her on the phone. He explained that her wishes would be respected if she didn’t want contact, but she did.  We began writing and exchanging photos.  I was so excited to learn about her interests in photography, animals, and that she played the flute (I did, as well).  I was thrilled to hear that I had half-brothers.  She was still in contact with my bio-dad, and shared some information with him.   Both of their situations were complicated, and he didn’t feel comfortable writing, but he saw photos, and I found out I also had half-brothers on his side.  My bio-mom and I wrote for a while, but it was hard to just jump into a relationship (for both of us, actually).

She’d gone through hell during the pregnancy with me, mostly being shunned and shamed by her immediate family, and being sent across the country for the sole purpose of ‘giving me up’, staying with her aunt, uncle, and cousins (it was more complicated than that, but that will work for a blog post).  She wasn’t given a choice, and didn’t feel she had any options.  She never wanted to give me up, and back then, the biological fathers didn’t have any say.  She was almost out of high school when I was born, but for decades, having in illegitimate child was something that was dealt with in cruel ways.  It was felt that ‘it was for the best’, or (mostly) ‘what will the neighbors think?’ were more important than the impact that giving away a child would have on the two who created that baby.  My biological parents had dated for years.  They stayed really close friends until his death from cancer in the 90s, even with their own families.

Anyway, during the time we had  contact  when I was 19, things were  getting  more complicated, and she let me know she needed some time, but that if I had ANY questions, I was free to contact her.  She never cut me off completely, but I felt like giving her time and space was best.   If it meant that I wouldn’t have contact for years, and that it was best for her, that was gonna be  OK. I did have periods of time when I was frustrated with not having ‘general’ contact, but I understood that she had more people and situations to consider.  I had a lot of my own ‘stuff’ to work out, which became much more intense after I was raped a few months later, so I really wasn’t  in a great place to build a new relationship at that time.  It probably worked out for the best that we both took the time we needed to get some things ‘settled’.    I moved to Texas before and during this general period of time, and had contact with the aunt and uncle she’d stayed with during her pregnancy with me. The first Christmas in Texas, I got to meet the cousins in that family, which was amazing. There were times when we were talking, and I’d say something… they’d all get quiet, and finally one of them would say “You sound JUST like __  (bio-mom)!”. 🙂   I got close to one cousin in particular.   We’ve stayed in contact since  that Christmas in 1985, seeing each other whenever she was in Texas, talking on the phone, e-mails, and my visit out to her and her husband’s home in 1986.

Fast forward (I’d been back in my hometown for 8 years, not in Texas) to the period of time I was on chemo for leukemia.  My prognosis was generally quite good, but being an RN, I know that things can go wrong.  Complications can change things in a heartbeat.  I decided that if something should go wrong, I didn’t want my bio-mom to get a call telling her I’d died without the option of reconnecting before that.  I wrote her a letter, deciding that whatever her decision, it was going to be what was right for her, and that was what I wanted. As it turns out, she was ready to reconnect.   I had been talking to the cousin I’d been close to for years (bio-mom’s first cousin) when the call waiting clicked , but I decided to finish the conversation with my cousin, and figure out who had called after that; I didn’t get a lot of phone calls.   When I hung up and checked the call log and saw my bio-mom’s name, I freaked (in a very good way !).  I immediately called my cousin back and told her who had called, and she told me to call her after I called my bio-mom back !  She was excited, too !

I was elated and nervous to talk to my bio-mom, but something that had never happened in 48 years happened. I  heard her voice.   It was on October 30, 2010… coincidentally on the last day I had the arsenic chemo.  When she answered the phone, it took about two seconds to feel comfortable talking with her.  I don’t remember how long we talked, but long enough to do some catching up, and some general interests type of stuff. We also agreed that we wanted to keep talking on a fairly regular basis.

The next Spring (2011), she came to visit.  We met for the first time, and had fun getting to SEE and hug each other, and taking photos (which I won’t post out of respect for her privacy… her friends and family all know about me, but throwing it all out there for the world is different 😉 ).   She and my dad met; my mom had died in 2003.  My mom would have loved to meet my bio-mom.

That summer, my cousin (bio-mom’s first cousin) and my bio-mom surprised me when they BOTH visited !   I’d known my cousin was coming (we hadn’t seen each other in about 13-15 years or so), but after she’d been inside for a few minutes there was another knock at the door (VERY unusual for me to have two people here in a MONTH, let alone a few minutes), and bio-mom was at the door !   We had a ball for the next few days.  They brought me a laptop and all of the accessories and a digital camera.  The laptop has been my primary source of social interaction; prior to that I had no way to interact besides the phone, as my other computer had croaked at least a year earlier.  The computer has been a life-changer, not only with social interaction but with the ability to have things delivered as it’s become more difficult to shop and drag things inside from the car.  They showed my YouTube, iTunes, and some other fun stuff, and I found Facebook a few weeks later.

With the computer, I’ve been able to have contact with my biological dad’s family (his brother, and a cousin), as well as extended family on my bio-mom’s side… I don’t have a family tree.  I have a family tree farm !  And it’s great.  (I’ve started doing genealogy stuff on Ancestry.com, and I literally have five trees going).  The next summer (2012), I got to meet my  maternal (half) brother, which was wonderful (and I really like him- not just care because we’re related- he’s a fun guy ! ).   I’ve messaged my paternal half-brothers (who are considerably younger), but so far no contact with them, and that’s OK.  They found out about me after their dad’s death (by many years), so I’m sure it’s all a little weird.

I’ve listened to my other maternal (half) brother’s recorded music sessions, though I haven’t been able to listen to all of them; he died in 2000 (I’d been told back then what had happened, and it destroyed any possibility of ever meeting him, even though I wasn’t in contact with my bio-mom at that time).  Since getting their elementary school photos in 1983, I’ve had them on my dresser (they’re still there).  They’ve always been close to my heart, and when A died, it was really hard, even though I didn’t even know if he knew I existed.  I later found out that he did.  But it’s still too hard to listen to his voice, knowing he’s gone.  I’m able to talk to my bio-mom and brother about him more now, but sometimes I still just cry, remembering the day I got the e-mail telling me he was gone.  I couldn’t stand the idea of my bio-mom going through that when she’d been through so much (more than I’m writing). I have some great photos of A, as well as the brother I’ve met.

Since that first phone call, my bio-mom and I speak at least weekly, and we sometimes have ‘marathon’ calls lasting for hours.  We have so much in common, and our general interests are very similar.  How we dress, our views on ‘dressing up’ (clean t-shirt, or if it’s really fancy, a woven top :p ), sense of humor, and other things are so, so similar.  It feels  great to know where I get some of my preferences and traits- even though I never knew what she liked/disliked until we started talking regularly (the letters had some general stuff).  There’s absolutely no awkwardness when we’re together.

We’re family.

Mother’s Day, Two Ways

Today is Mother’s Day, 2014 (May 11- kind of early this year).  So much comes up whenever there is anything to do with moms and family.  I was put up for adoption at birth, though not at the wishes of my biological mother (by a long shot).  She was nearly 18 years old, but in the early 1960s, the ‘image’ of the family was one to be protected at all costs in most families, totally blowing off the wishes of the biological mother, AND biological father.  The fathers weren’t considered at all- his name isn’t even on my birth certificate, though I know much more about him now.

The mom who raised me, who I just call my ‘mom’ since she’s the one I knew the longest, and who raised me, died on March 13, 2003 after a brief illness (urosepsis that wasn’t treated properly at an ER near Phoenix, AZ).  She had become demented after radiation to her brain after a tumor was removed- that was the last cancer she had to deal with after breast, some suspicious pre-cancerous cells on the other breast, and lung metastasis.  She went through hell with cancer- and it didn’t kill her.  She survived cancer free for seventeen YEARS from the last cancer surgery when she died.

One of my favorite photos of my mom... Taken around 1988.

One of my favorite photos of my mom… Taken around 1988.

Our last Christmas, 2002... we had no idea she'd be gone less than 3 months later.

Our last Christmas, 2002… we had no idea she’d be gone less than 3 months later.

Cancer wasn’t the only thing my mom had to deal with, and that was much less emotionally painful than the death of two newborn sons about 2 years apart, by the time she was 26 years old.  She never got to see either of those babies.  They were a bit early from placental abruption (tearing away from the uterus – in her case, partially), and their lungs weren’t developed. Back in the late 1950s and early 1960s, they didn’t have NICUs, so it was sort of a crapshoot who lived and who died.  They both succumbed to hyaline membrane disease.  Now, they would have had an outstanding chance of survival, especially since they both weighed enough that they had no weight to gain in order to be sent home.  Their little lungs just didn’t work.   My mom wanted kids (so did my dad, but mom was the one who ‘needed’ a baby).  She was the oldest of four siblings, and she wanted the same. I ended up being an only child.

But the deaths of those two babies changed her, understandably so especially considering how infant deaths were handled back then.  She never saw them, never had photos, couldn’t go to their burials (which my young dad had to take care of on his own), and was basically told that it was in the past, don’t bother with it.  She was in the hospital for at least a week, so she was there as long as both of them lived- and never saw them. She was basically told to move on.  It was cruel.  She never forgot those boys.  It made bonding with me difficult for her, but I never doubted that she loved me.  My guess is that she didn’t want to get ‘too’ attached, should something happen to me, especially in my early years.  Later on, beginning when the adoption was finalized in August of 1964, she knew I couldn’t be taken from her, which helped.  But she still had a lot of grief that never was dealt with in a way that was of much help.  Things like that just weren’t considered  an ‘issue’.   And she hurt from those losses.  When I finally understood that, it helped me see her with much more compassion.

My mom did the best she could.  She returned to college and became an elementary school teacher.  Her students loved her, which confused me, since they saw a side of her I didn’t .  They weren’t a ‘risk’ to get close to- they went home every night, and she knew her relationship with them was just distant enough to allow for more displays of warmth and ‘teacher affection’.  Many of her students came to her visitation after she died, and still remembered her very fondly.  She and I had a strained relationship for many years.  I never doubted her love for me, and knew she wanted me. From the beginning, she read stories to me about how adopted kids are ‘chosen’, and how she and dad waited a long time to get me (about 2 years).

She and I had our worst battles when clothes shopping. There were some epic fights that dad learned to listen for the number of slams from the garage door when we got home. One meant one of us was mad, two meant he needed to lie low for a while, since we were both seething.  😮  I’ve never been a frilly girl.  I loved dolls and dollhouses, and also chasing frogs and turtles and climbing trees.  I was NOT cut out for fancy smocked dresses (Polly Flinder’s was her favorite brand), and much preferred shorts and t-shirts, and loathed anything ‘girly’.  My favorite dress as a kid had monkeys on it- no lace or smocking or bows.   But, she and dad made sure I had everything I needed, and then some.  I took all sorts of lessons (ballet, tap, tumbling, figure skating- my favorite, flute, piano, swimming, tennis, horseback riding- at camp), and I got to go to camp for a week every summer before 4th-11th grades (and later worked on summer staff there).  I went to day camps in the summer before then.  They exposed me to all sorts of art (which annoyed me- I much preferred the natural history and geology museum next to the local art museum, where I could look at rocks and fossils). They traveled extensively, and when it was appropriate (like being gone ON Christmas for the Hawaii trip, or when I was older and in my teens for the month in Europe, or traveling throughout the US), I went with them. On several trips, dad made sure that we saw historical and/or National  Park sites, as well as stuff that was just fun (the Olympic Ice Rink in Innsbruk, Austria, where Dorothy Hamill had won her gold medal the year before we were there- he had hoped I’d be able to skate during a public session, but they were doing lessons).

My mom drove me to Texas when  I moved there after getting my RN license in late 1985 (back in the days when they came by mail).  We had a GREAT time going down there.  Whenever she and dad visited, we had wonderful holidays together (usually they came at Christmas, but sometimes in the Spring- either going to or from their winters away from the cold Midwest).  I loved when they came.  The memories I have are mostly good, and as I’ve gotten older, I’ve become so much more aware at how much pain she must have had when those babies died.  She never had any image to remember them by- just that she had two babies that never got to come home.

My biological mother and I have a great relationship.  Out of respect for her wishes, I don’t post photos of her.  We had a brief connection back when I was 19 years old, but it turned out both of us needed some time to get it all figured out- suddenly connecting after 19 years of wondering about each other was hard.    Then we had many years of no contact, except via word through  an aunt and uncle, and cousins that I got to know during our initial contact and several months of letter writing.  She had wanted me.  Giving me up wasn’t her idea.  She went through a lot, and also had no image of me to ‘know’ after I was born.    We now talk about all of that stuff, and it’s been amazing to find out how much we’re alike in so many ways.  It’s been good to know where I came from, and where I get some of my personality traits and other characteristics.  While I was always accepted by my adoptive family, there’s a gap that can only be filled by knowing about origins- at least for me.  I understand myself a bit better by getting to know her.

It’s been awkward with all of the ‘labels’.  My mom is the one who raised me, yet without my biological mother, I wouldn’t exist.  I call her by her first name, or ‘bio-mom’ when writing.  When looking for Mother’s Day cards, this is the first year I’ve seen a ‘real’ one from Hallmark for birth-mothers. There are some  through some specialty online sites, which are fine- but it’s nice to be able to choose one… and one it was.  :/   They had one to ‘choose’ from.  I had to make a couple of adjustments, since adoptive situations aren’t one-size-fits-all.  And the ‘regular’ ones talk about years spent together from infancy on, and those aren’t appropriate.  For her, I’m her daughter- that’s the only term that’s appropriate.  For me, it’s a little more complicated.  But I’m so thankful for both of them.  I wish my mom could have met my biological mom.  She knew when we were writing when I was 19, and also wrote to her during that time.  But my mom died almost 7 years before my bio-mom and I reconnected.

When I was going through chemo for leukemia, I wrote to her- and wanted to give us a chance to reconnect should the leukemia stuff not go well.  I didn’t want her to hear that I’d been sick from someone else, especially since she’d already buried one son (I still have a very alive half-brother that I’ve met and had some contact with- he’s a hoot, and I really enjoy talking to him on some holidays, and whenever he is en route to see  his dad’s family – who have also ‘readopted’ me; there are also two half-brothers on my biological father’s side).  Turns out, it was the right time for both of us, and we have been in regular contact since then, sometimes spending 3-4 hours on a single phone call !  I love when she visits 🙂

I’ve been blessed.  I was wanted from before my birth, by two mothers. On the day I was born, my mom told my dad that she knew that ‘their’ baby had been born that day (this was in the day of closed adoptions, where there was never any contact with anyone in the biological family at all).   One was forced to give me up, and the other was doing her best to grieve the loss of two newborns of her own while becoming a mom to me.  One wondered about me for decades, while the other created memories for as long as she could.  I love them both.  One gave me life, and the other taught me how to live.  I was able to hug one throughout my childhood and until I was thirty-nine years old, and the other has been in my heart and thoughts since I was old enough to understand what it meant to be adopted- and now I have the personal relationship with her.

I’ll never know what it’s like to be a mom… but I have ( or had) two amazing women in my life in that role- however it’s described.