Adoption agencies tell prospective adoptive parents that open adoption doesn't mean we'll all be living together as one family. It doesn't mean that first parents will show up on our front doorsteps asking to move it. We laugh nervously, not sure how to envision the hypothetical open adoption. We wonder how all the members of the triad fit together, especially when we involve multiple extended families.
Almost three years into our very open adoption -- one that has unfolded in ways I never could have imagined as a prospective adoptive parent -- Lily's first mother asked if she could live with us temporarily. I was hesitant to tell the outside world. I knew our decision to say "yes" wouldn't be understood or well-received by a lot of people. Ultimately, that didn't really matter to me. What mattered was being there for Fiona.
Fiona needed a place to live. I won't go into the details that led Fiona to that point. That's not my story to tell. But one can imagine that the circumstances were not good.
So what is it like to like to have your daughter's first mother live with you for five weeks? In some ways, it was oddly normal. There were many times when it felt no different than having a sister or close friend live with us. There were a lot of laughs. Can't breathe kind of laughs. It was comfortable. It was really nice.
Sometimes it was emotionally draining. Those who live it know that open adoption can be simple and complicated in the very same moment. There were nights when I cried by myself. I think I may have sprouted a few more gray hairs.
I learned a lot about Fiona, and in turn learned a lot about my daughter. We met Lily for the first time when we picked her up from the hospital when she was one day old. I knew very little about what had transpired up until that point. Now I know a lot. And as painful as it is to know, I'm glad I do. I still believe that it's better to know the truth, no matter what that truth might be.
Living with us also gave Fiona a chance to bond with Lily in a way that she hadn't been able to in the past. I saw her become more relaxed and comfortable around her daughter. Lily's love for Fiona grew, too. That was a huge positive.
Fiona and I became closer friends. We know more about each other. We're more trusting of one another. We know that we have each other's back, even (and especially) when times get tough.
I certainly am not advocating that every adoptive and first family move in together. What I am left with is this -- open adoption and the relationships that form within it are no different than those formed in other aspects of life. Only time will tell how those relationships evolve. Everything is on the table. There are no universal rules.
Not many understand the fact that I have willingly invested myself in Fiona's life, and that does continue to bother me. No one would question me if I told them that my mother, sister, brother, aunt, cousin, close friend, etc., etc. was living with us temporarily.
Although I told only close family and friends about the situation, I received several "Won't that confuse Lily?" comments. Why would nearly three-year-old Lily be confused that her very sweet and loving birthmother was staying with us for a few weeks? To Lily, right now Fiona is another person in her life who loves her to pieces. I don't get it. They don't get it.
I still have so much to learn about adoption and its impact. As unusually close as we are with Fiona and several members of her extended family, we still have never met Nate's extended family. They don't even know about Lily. That continues to really bother me, too.
I believe I will look back at our five weeks with Fiona as another turning point in our open adoption -- one that brought us closer and solidified our union as "family."
Showing posts with label open adoption. Show all posts
Showing posts with label open adoption. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Complicated
It's been quite a week in my adoption world. To say adoption/open adoption can be complicated seems like the understatement of the century right now. I don't feel comfortable blogging about much of what's going on. While I am involved and it's all directly or indirectly adoption-related, it's not about me.
Open adoption can draw you into relationships that extend far beyond the one with your child. There are birth parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, aunts and uncles, step- and half- relatives. It can draw you into family dynamics, some dysfunctional, that can involve mental and physical illness and trauma. I've never been sure if I believe that everything happens for a reason, but the events of this week have made me wonder if the universe pulled me toward Lily for more than one reason.
My involvement and my desire to help has been completely voluntary. I know there are people who would tell me I am going too far in trying to help, but I don't care. At the end of the day, I have to do what I feel is right, and turning the other cheek on people I love just isn't an option for me. I know I can't fix everything. I know that my help won't necessarily make things better in the short-term or the long-term. But Lily's family is my family, and that's the only thing that seems simple right now.
Open adoption can draw you into relationships that extend far beyond the one with your child. There are birth parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, aunts and uncles, step- and half- relatives. It can draw you into family dynamics, some dysfunctional, that can involve mental and physical illness and trauma. I've never been sure if I believe that everything happens for a reason, but the events of this week have made me wonder if the universe pulled me toward Lily for more than one reason.
My involvement and my desire to help has been completely voluntary. I know there are people who would tell me I am going too far in trying to help, but I don't care. At the end of the day, I have to do what I feel is right, and turning the other cheek on people I love just isn't an option for me. I know I can't fix everything. I know that my help won't necessarily make things better in the short-term or the long-term. But Lily's family is my family, and that's the only thing that seems simple right now.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Remembering a Great Man
A few days ago I ran into one of my neighbors at a local Starbucks. I met her in 2008 when she and her husband Don volunteered with me on our neighborhood team working to elect Barack Obama. Don was a soft-spoken man, but he had so many important things to say. I was always impressed with his calm demeanor and his way of diffusing difficult situations. He had an adult son with special needs, and my heart melted when I watched the two of them together. He was an amazing father; he was a good person with a special soul. He was very Zen. He was the type of person you felt lucky to know. While I didn't keep in close touch with Don and his wife after the election was over, I frequently ran into them in the neighborhood and we'd stop to have coffee or chat with one another whenever we had the chance.
So I was absolutely floored a few days ago when I ran into Don's wife at Starbucks and she told me that he had passed away. He had been diagnosed with the late stages of pancreatic cancer and there wasn't much that could be done. I still am having a hard time believing that he's gone.
There was something else very special about Don. After we adopted Lily, it was normal for us to run into friends and acquaintances in the neighborhood and get some surprised looks when they saw us with a baby. I clearly hadn't been pregnant and I wasn't at all offended by people's interest in how Lily came into our lives. In my 60-seconds-or-less version, I always mentioned the fact that we have an open adoption, that Lily's birth parents live locally, and that we would be having an ongoing relationship with them. I did this in part because I wanted the rest of the world to know that open adoption is happening and it's not something that should be shocking or something that we should be afraid of.
The response to the fact that we have an open adoption has often been "that's so nice of you," which of course sets off all sorts of alarms inside of me. I would explain that we are the beneficiaries of Lily's adoption, and having an ongoing relationship with her wonderful first parents is the natural thing to do. (After all, no one tells me how nice we are to facilitate a relationship between our children and my sisters and parents.) But when I told Don about our open adoption ... for some reason, I don't remember exactly what he said, but I do remember thinking that his reaction to our open adoption was different. He also complimented us, but in a different way. It wasn't until the third of fourth time I saw him after we had adopted Lily that he told me that he had been adopted as a baby, too. And so had his sister. He told me that his sister had searched and searched for her birth parents but never found them. He gave me the impression that it had somewhat broken her. He also told me that he never had the motivation to search for his birth parents, but I could see in his eyes how happy he felt for Lily that she wouldn't ever have to search, or think about whether or not to search.
The world lost such a wonderful person when Don passed, and at the risk of sounding childish, it's just not fair that he had to leave so soon. Adding to the heartbreak is the fact that his birth family never got to know what an amazing person he was. What a tremendous loss for them.
I will think of Don often. I will remember his smile, his witty remarks, his fighting spirit. His passing reminds me how thankful I am for all the people in my life, for my family that grew in such unexpected ways. It's a bittersweet new year. I'm ready for 2012.
So I was absolutely floored a few days ago when I ran into Don's wife at Starbucks and she told me that he had passed away. He had been diagnosed with the late stages of pancreatic cancer and there wasn't much that could be done. I still am having a hard time believing that he's gone.
There was something else very special about Don. After we adopted Lily, it was normal for us to run into friends and acquaintances in the neighborhood and get some surprised looks when they saw us with a baby. I clearly hadn't been pregnant and I wasn't at all offended by people's interest in how Lily came into our lives. In my 60-seconds-or-less version, I always mentioned the fact that we have an open adoption, that Lily's birth parents live locally, and that we would be having an ongoing relationship with them. I did this in part because I wanted the rest of the world to know that open adoption is happening and it's not something that should be shocking or something that we should be afraid of.
The response to the fact that we have an open adoption has often been "that's so nice of you," which of course sets off all sorts of alarms inside of me. I would explain that we are the beneficiaries of Lily's adoption, and having an ongoing relationship with her wonderful first parents is the natural thing to do. (After all, no one tells me how nice we are to facilitate a relationship between our children and my sisters and parents.) But when I told Don about our open adoption ... for some reason, I don't remember exactly what he said, but I do remember thinking that his reaction to our open adoption was different. He also complimented us, but in a different way. It wasn't until the third of fourth time I saw him after we had adopted Lily that he told me that he had been adopted as a baby, too. And so had his sister. He told me that his sister had searched and searched for her birth parents but never found them. He gave me the impression that it had somewhat broken her. He also told me that he never had the motivation to search for his birth parents, but I could see in his eyes how happy he felt for Lily that she wouldn't ever have to search, or think about whether or not to search.
The world lost such a wonderful person when Don passed, and at the risk of sounding childish, it's just not fair that he had to leave so soon. Adding to the heartbreak is the fact that his birth family never got to know what an amazing person he was. What a tremendous loss for them.
I will think of Don often. I will remember his smile, his witty remarks, his fighting spirit. His passing reminds me how thankful I am for all the people in my life, for my family that grew in such unexpected ways. It's a bittersweet new year. I'm ready for 2012.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
A Turning Point
In history class, students are often asked to identify turning points. It's considered a critical thinking skill to identify a specific event that changed the course of history, a defining moment if you will. There have been a few turning points in our open adoption journey, one of which happened when Lily was about six months old.
Our first two meetings with Fiona and Nate had been at the agency. I haven't written a whole lot about the agency we used. It is a small, local agency that doesn't facilitate many domestic adoptions, and therefore has little experience with open adoptions. The social worker assigned to our case was a horrible communicator, downright odd, and extremely frazzled, disorganized, and easily confused. Her "facilitation" actually resulted in countless miscommunications and misunderstandings that caused the beginning of our relationship to be a bit rocky. Things only started progressing once she was out of the picture. After our second meeting at the agency, I got the sense that Fiona was just as frustrated if not more frustrated than I was with the social worker. So when we left the office and were out in the parking lot, I asked her if she would want to go out to dinner the next time we got together. She said yes, and neither of us ever spoke to the social worker again even though the adoption wouldn't be finalized for another five months or so. She never called us, and we never called her. I know that the attorney we hired to finalize the adoption did communicate with this social worker, but the fact that she never followed up with us or Fiona and Nate illustrates her complete ineptitude.
It took a while for us to set up the dinner we had talked about that day in the parking lot. I sent several emails and left several voicemails that went unanswered, and I got the first feel of what it was like to worry that we might lose touch. It was really scary, and it helped me realize just how much I wanted our open adoption to work. We finally set a date and time for this dinner, and there would be a new dynamic added -- Ferb. Fiona and Nate knew about Ferb and he knew about them, but they had never met. Ferb was five at the time, but he really wasn't a typical five-year-old. He had a tendency (and still does) to ask very hard-hitting, probing questions. He once asked my father why he divorced my mother, and when my father gave an admittedly lame answer, Ferb followed up with, "No, what's the REAL reason you wanted to divorce her?" So I was a bit nervous about Ferb's first meeting with Fiona and Nate because a) I really wanted them to like each other, and b) I really didn't want Ferb to say or ask something that would make them uncomfortable. So Ferb and I talked a lot about Fiona and Nate before our first meeting. I even made him a little book about the story of how Lily came into our lives and how Fiona and Nate were now part of our family too. It was a bit tough to explain to Ferb why Fiona and Nate made the decision they made. Every time I gave a reason, he would come up with another question that attempted to delve deeper. He's a tough audience, for sure.
The day of our dinner, as it turned out, Ferb was getting over a cold so he was a bit more quiet than usual. He loves to draw, so he spent a lot of the evening drawing and keeping to himself. To be honest, I was fine with this because I was just so nervous about what he might say. Toward the end of the dinner, Fiona left to go to the bathroom, and suddenly Ferb looked at Nate and said, "Nate, can I ask you a question?" I held my breath. Word for word (except for the names), here's what they said:
"How much do you miss Lily?" Ferb asked.
"I miss her a lot," Nate answered.
"You should come over to our house," Ferb explained. "You could see her all the time."
It had been six months, and we had yet to invite Fiona and Nate to our house. I don't know exactly why. They knew our full names, and I knew our address was easily found on the Internet, so it wasn't that I was afraid of them knowing where we live. But I was afraid of something. Maybe I just wanted to get to know them better. Maybe I was influenced by all the people in my life who were telling me "be careful" and "don't let them get too close." But here was my five-year-old son, once again pointing out the obvious to me. Fiona and Nate live 10 minutes from our house. Of course they should come over to visit. At that moment, I felt like a total idiot.
That conversation between Nate and Ferb was definitely a turning point in our open adoption. Since that day, Fiona and Nate have been to our home many times, and now I can't imagine it any other way.
Our first two meetings with Fiona and Nate had been at the agency. I haven't written a whole lot about the agency we used. It is a small, local agency that doesn't facilitate many domestic adoptions, and therefore has little experience with open adoptions. The social worker assigned to our case was a horrible communicator, downright odd, and extremely frazzled, disorganized, and easily confused. Her "facilitation" actually resulted in countless miscommunications and misunderstandings that caused the beginning of our relationship to be a bit rocky. Things only started progressing once she was out of the picture. After our second meeting at the agency, I got the sense that Fiona was just as frustrated if not more frustrated than I was with the social worker. So when we left the office and were out in the parking lot, I asked her if she would want to go out to dinner the next time we got together. She said yes, and neither of us ever spoke to the social worker again even though the adoption wouldn't be finalized for another five months or so. She never called us, and we never called her. I know that the attorney we hired to finalize the adoption did communicate with this social worker, but the fact that she never followed up with us or Fiona and Nate illustrates her complete ineptitude.
It took a while for us to set up the dinner we had talked about that day in the parking lot. I sent several emails and left several voicemails that went unanswered, and I got the first feel of what it was like to worry that we might lose touch. It was really scary, and it helped me realize just how much I wanted our open adoption to work. We finally set a date and time for this dinner, and there would be a new dynamic added -- Ferb. Fiona and Nate knew about Ferb and he knew about them, but they had never met. Ferb was five at the time, but he really wasn't a typical five-year-old. He had a tendency (and still does) to ask very hard-hitting, probing questions. He once asked my father why he divorced my mother, and when my father gave an admittedly lame answer, Ferb followed up with, "No, what's the REAL reason you wanted to divorce her?" So I was a bit nervous about Ferb's first meeting with Fiona and Nate because a) I really wanted them to like each other, and b) I really didn't want Ferb to say or ask something that would make them uncomfortable. So Ferb and I talked a lot about Fiona and Nate before our first meeting. I even made him a little book about the story of how Lily came into our lives and how Fiona and Nate were now part of our family too. It was a bit tough to explain to Ferb why Fiona and Nate made the decision they made. Every time I gave a reason, he would come up with another question that attempted to delve deeper. He's a tough audience, for sure.
The day of our dinner, as it turned out, Ferb was getting over a cold so he was a bit more quiet than usual. He loves to draw, so he spent a lot of the evening drawing and keeping to himself. To be honest, I was fine with this because I was just so nervous about what he might say. Toward the end of the dinner, Fiona left to go to the bathroom, and suddenly Ferb looked at Nate and said, "Nate, can I ask you a question?" I held my breath. Word for word (except for the names), here's what they said:
"How much do you miss Lily?" Ferb asked.
"I miss her a lot," Nate answered.
"You should come over to our house," Ferb explained. "You could see her all the time."
It had been six months, and we had yet to invite Fiona and Nate to our house. I don't know exactly why. They knew our full names, and I knew our address was easily found on the Internet, so it wasn't that I was afraid of them knowing where we live. But I was afraid of something. Maybe I just wanted to get to know them better. Maybe I was influenced by all the people in my life who were telling me "be careful" and "don't let them get too close." But here was my five-year-old son, once again pointing out the obvious to me. Fiona and Nate live 10 minutes from our house. Of course they should come over to visit. At that moment, I felt like a total idiot.
That conversation between Nate and Ferb was definitely a turning point in our open adoption. Since that day, Fiona and Nate have been to our home many times, and now I can't imagine it any other way.
Friday, November 4, 2011
The Balance
I've become fascinated/obsessed with the relationship between first parents and adoptive parents in open adoptions. It seems to me that one of the hardest part of the relationship is finding the right balance -- in communication, visits, and so forth. I read a lot of blogs of first parents, and there often (but not always) seems to be a desire on their end for more communication and visits. In our case, it's the opposite. I will often email/call/text Fiona and Nate four or five times before I get a response. I wonder sometimes if other a-parents would have given up. I am very persistent by nature, and my friends joke that I'd be a very hard person to get rid of. If I want to get in touch with you, I will. Fiona and Nate have told me they like that quality in me because they are generally not great about getting back to people. I do think that's true (Fiona's mom has confirmed it), but I also think that sometimes they just aren't in the state of mind to deal with us, which is fine. I understand, I really do.
Overall, I think our relationship with Fiona and Nate is good, but it could be better, and I hope over time it does get better. I feel that happening, but sometimes I wish things would move faster. We're ready, but they're not. While Fiona's whole family knows about Lily, Nate's does not, and I definitely think that's holding us back. I have told Nate many times that I think he should tell his family -- for many reasons -- one being that some of them live locally and they are missing out on a relationship they could be having with Lily. I also don't like secrets, and one day Lily is going to be old enough to realize she's a secret, and I can't imagine that will make her feel good. At this point, however, the situation is out of my hands, and I do notice that when I try to approach certain sensitive topics with them, they tend to shut down. And I don't want to rock the boat. Our relationship with Fiona and Nate is too important to me.
On an intellectual level, I'm aware that G and I hold the power to keep the adoption open or close it. We never had an open adoption agreement, aside from the fact that they aren't even enforceable in our state, so there's definitely an unfair balance of power on paper. In reality, however, I don't feel like I have the power. Over the last two and a half years, I believe I have initiated 99% of the communication and visits with them. Sometimes I wonder if I haven't done enough to convince them that they can request things of us. Or maybe we're doing something that makes THEM worried about rocking the boat. Or maybe they're focused on who has the power on paper. I honestly don't know, and when I've tried to discuss it, I don't get much of a response.
I like and love Fiona and Nate. If I had met them for a different reason, I think we would have been friends. We're all very different in some ways, yet we connect on this great level. There have a been a couple of times when it's just been the four adults hanging out and we've had great laughs. There's also a deep respect for one another on both ends. Given that the four of us didn't meet until a week after Lily was placed with us, I feel incredibly lucky that we make such a great match.
I also wonder how the fact that Fiona and Nate are still together affects our open adoption. I have nothing to compare it to, so it's hard for me to say. I imagine it would be harder if they were not together and communication and visits weren't combined.
I'm not really sure where I'm going with this, but one thing I know is that Fiona and Nate are definitely part of our family, and that will never change. We've celebrated Lily's first two birthdays with them and I hope that's a tradition we keep up. I may be naive in hoping for this, but hey - why not. I hope that Lily grows up feeling that she was surrounded by not one, not two, not three, but FOUR parents who love her to death and would do anything for her. We're all four very different -- in terms of upbringing, experience, education, background, ethnicity, and religion -- yet we all have come together out of love for Lily. I hope she grows up to feel that.
Overall, I think our relationship with Fiona and Nate is good, but it could be better, and I hope over time it does get better. I feel that happening, but sometimes I wish things would move faster. We're ready, but they're not. While Fiona's whole family knows about Lily, Nate's does not, and I definitely think that's holding us back. I have told Nate many times that I think he should tell his family -- for many reasons -- one being that some of them live locally and they are missing out on a relationship they could be having with Lily. I also don't like secrets, and one day Lily is going to be old enough to realize she's a secret, and I can't imagine that will make her feel good. At this point, however, the situation is out of my hands, and I do notice that when I try to approach certain sensitive topics with them, they tend to shut down. And I don't want to rock the boat. Our relationship with Fiona and Nate is too important to me.
On an intellectual level, I'm aware that G and I hold the power to keep the adoption open or close it. We never had an open adoption agreement, aside from the fact that they aren't even enforceable in our state, so there's definitely an unfair balance of power on paper. In reality, however, I don't feel like I have the power. Over the last two and a half years, I believe I have initiated 99% of the communication and visits with them. Sometimes I wonder if I haven't done enough to convince them that they can request things of us. Or maybe we're doing something that makes THEM worried about rocking the boat. Or maybe they're focused on who has the power on paper. I honestly don't know, and when I've tried to discuss it, I don't get much of a response.
I like and love Fiona and Nate. If I had met them for a different reason, I think we would have been friends. We're all very different in some ways, yet we connect on this great level. There have a been a couple of times when it's just been the four adults hanging out and we've had great laughs. There's also a deep respect for one another on both ends. Given that the four of us didn't meet until a week after Lily was placed with us, I feel incredibly lucky that we make such a great match.
I also wonder how the fact that Fiona and Nate are still together affects our open adoption. I have nothing to compare it to, so it's hard for me to say. I imagine it would be harder if they were not together and communication and visits weren't combined.
I'm not really sure where I'm going with this, but one thing I know is that Fiona and Nate are definitely part of our family, and that will never change. We've celebrated Lily's first two birthdays with them and I hope that's a tradition we keep up. I may be naive in hoping for this, but hey - why not. I hope that Lily grows up feeling that she was surrounded by not one, not two, not three, but FOUR parents who love her to death and would do anything for her. We're all four very different -- in terms of upbringing, experience, education, background, ethnicity, and religion -- yet we all have come together out of love for Lily. I hope she grows up to feel that.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Regrets
First, for the good news. Even though I haven't been blogging for very long, I decided to participate in the Adoption Bloggers Interview Project organized by Production Not Reproduction. And I've been randomly paired with an amazing blogger whose blog I've been reading for a while. I was catching up on her blog last night and came across a post she wrote about regret. She writes about how regret can be healthy if we use it as an opportunity to learn and grow. I couldn't agree more and it got me thinking about my regrets related to Lily's adoption. Here they are:
1. I regret that I wasn't more educated about open adoption and transracial adoption before I was in an open, transracial adoption.
2. I regret that I wasn't a better friend to Fiona when she reached out to me early on.
3. I regret that I let our adoption agency bully me into thinking I was powerless over certain issues that bothered me.
4. At the beginning of our adoption, I regret that I let my inner voice be drowned out by all the outside voices telling me what I should and shouldn't do.
I could explain the reasons I did each of these things at the time, but that's kind of irrelevant now. I have worked to right these wrongs over the last 2+ years. Some are a work in progress. And while I think it's absolutely healthy to have regrets -- I don't understand people who make obvious mistakes but proudly announce "no regrets" -- I also am a firm believer in forgiveness, both of ourselves and others. I learned a while back that self-destructive behavior doesn't right past wrongs. In fact, it just keeps them going. Self-reflection is important, and forgiveness is the best gift we can give to ourselves.
1. I regret that I wasn't more educated about open adoption and transracial adoption before I was in an open, transracial adoption.
2. I regret that I wasn't a better friend to Fiona when she reached out to me early on.
3. I regret that I let our adoption agency bully me into thinking I was powerless over certain issues that bothered me.
4. At the beginning of our adoption, I regret that I let my inner voice be drowned out by all the outside voices telling me what I should and shouldn't do.
I could explain the reasons I did each of these things at the time, but that's kind of irrelevant now. I have worked to right these wrongs over the last 2+ years. Some are a work in progress. And while I think it's absolutely healthy to have regrets -- I don't understand people who make obvious mistakes but proudly announce "no regrets" -- I also am a firm believer in forgiveness, both of ourselves and others. I learned a while back that self-destructive behavior doesn't right past wrongs. In fact, it just keeps them going. Self-reflection is important, and forgiveness is the best gift we can give to ourselves.
Never Say Never
Don't judge a man until you walked two moons in his moccasins. I remember writing a paper on this Native American proverb in my freshman English class in college. At 18, I believed in the concept that you shouldn't judge people's actions as right or wrong unless you had experienced their life. While I believed in this concept, I didn't live by these words. Looking back, I was highly judgemental in my 20s, and I know the words "I would NEVER do that!" left my lips far too often.
In my mid-20s, I remember being on the phone with a friend of mine who had just gotten home after visiting her brother. She discovered vials of hormones all over the house, and came to learn that her sister-in-law was undergoing fertility treatments. I distinctly remember saying something like, "I would NEVER pump my body full of all those hormones!" Eleven fertility cycles and literally hundreds of injections later, I can only look back at my young, naive self and shake my head.
The first time I heard about open adoption was when I lived in California in the late 90s. I was still in my 20s, and a work colleague told me that her daugher's birthmother and grandmother had attended her daughter's recent birthday party. I don't remember what I said (do I want to?), but I do remember what I thought -- how AWKWARD. (We've celebrated both of Lily's birthdays with Fiona and Nate.)
My high school journalism teacher used to tell us that hardship was good for us - it built our character. And while I consider myself extremely lucky and blessed in my life, I've also had my fair share of hardship, some related to issues I don't write about on my blog. And she was right, it has built my character. G and I got married when we were 29, and started trying to have a baby about a year later. Everything seemed to be working fine, except that I wasn't getting pregnant. After a year and a half of no result, G was finally tested. (I had been tested earlier and everything came out fine. I even had two doctors tell me to "just relax.") Turns out that G only has a handful of sperm, and none of them are interested in moving. A urologist told me I had a better chance of getting struck by lightning than impregnated by my husband.
The news hit G very hard. We've known each other for more than 20 years, and I've never seem him as upset as the day we received this diagnosis. I, on the other hand, was happy to have a diagnosis because now we could make a plan, and I am all about THE PLAN. I knew then that it didn't matter to me if my child shared my biology, and I figured that one way or another, G and I would become parents. I was determined, so I decided to pursue both adoption and fertility treatment. I felt empowered for the first time in a long time - finally, I was back in control of my destiny. Or so I thought. My first real breakdown didn't happen until after our first failed IVF cycle. I had done everything right - and it was hard - but still, no baby.
It's hard to believe that was almost 10 years ago. Over these 10 years, I've had a lot of judgement leveled my way -- from lots of people who haven't walked two moons in my moccasins. Some judged our decision to pursue fertility treatment. "Why not adopt? There are so many kids out there who need a home." Some judged our decision to adopt. When we were pursuing an international adoption, people asked why we wouldn't want to adopt a baby from the United States. I've read forums where a-parents are referred to as kidnappers. Some people have written that God is sending those of us who are infertile a message -- "you weren't meant to be a parent." I recently read an article a woman wrote about her decision -- after many years of trying to conceive -- to live a childfree life. Some commenters called her a quitter and said it sounded like she had a sad life.
For me, the experience of becoming a parent through science and adoption has built my character. It's made me more compassionate. It's taught me not to judge. It's helped me to relate to people I know and people I don't know. It's made me cry for people I've never even met.
While we have finished building our family, I still find myself reading TTC forums. I guess it's just a hard habit to break. The other day, I read a thread about the dreaded pictures of cute kids in Halloween costumes. Women struggling with infertility were sharing how difficult it is to go on Facebook or even check their email and see lots of happy parents toting around their adorable bunny rabbit or Spiderman. That used to be me, and at that moment, I realized that I had almost forgotten what it felt like. Suddenly I wanted to remove all of my cute pictures from Facebook in a sign of solidarity.
I recently wrote a post pondering why some of us a-parents are so passionate about making sure we have open adoptions that stay open, while others remain fairly opposed to the idea. I really do try not to judge the latter group because of the whole moccasins thing. But I also wonder if pain and loss have the ability to propel us in one of two directions – in one direction, we become more compassionate and empathetic human beings who are unable and unwilling to turn a blind eye to another. And in the other direction, there are those who are desperate to move past the pain and loss and never look back.
In my mid-20s, I remember being on the phone with a friend of mine who had just gotten home after visiting her brother. She discovered vials of hormones all over the house, and came to learn that her sister-in-law was undergoing fertility treatments. I distinctly remember saying something like, "I would NEVER pump my body full of all those hormones!" Eleven fertility cycles and literally hundreds of injections later, I can only look back at my young, naive self and shake my head.
The first time I heard about open adoption was when I lived in California in the late 90s. I was still in my 20s, and a work colleague told me that her daugher's birthmother and grandmother had attended her daughter's recent birthday party. I don't remember what I said (do I want to?), but I do remember what I thought -- how AWKWARD. (We've celebrated both of Lily's birthdays with Fiona and Nate.)
My high school journalism teacher used to tell us that hardship was good for us - it built our character. And while I consider myself extremely lucky and blessed in my life, I've also had my fair share of hardship, some related to issues I don't write about on my blog. And she was right, it has built my character. G and I got married when we were 29, and started trying to have a baby about a year later. Everything seemed to be working fine, except that I wasn't getting pregnant. After a year and a half of no result, G was finally tested. (I had been tested earlier and everything came out fine. I even had two doctors tell me to "just relax.") Turns out that G only has a handful of sperm, and none of them are interested in moving. A urologist told me I had a better chance of getting struck by lightning than impregnated by my husband.
The news hit G very hard. We've known each other for more than 20 years, and I've never seem him as upset as the day we received this diagnosis. I, on the other hand, was happy to have a diagnosis because now we could make a plan, and I am all about THE PLAN. I knew then that it didn't matter to me if my child shared my biology, and I figured that one way or another, G and I would become parents. I was determined, so I decided to pursue both adoption and fertility treatment. I felt empowered for the first time in a long time - finally, I was back in control of my destiny. Or so I thought. My first real breakdown didn't happen until after our first failed IVF cycle. I had done everything right - and it was hard - but still, no baby.
It's hard to believe that was almost 10 years ago. Over these 10 years, I've had a lot of judgement leveled my way -- from lots of people who haven't walked two moons in my moccasins. Some judged our decision to pursue fertility treatment. "Why not adopt? There are so many kids out there who need a home." Some judged our decision to adopt. When we were pursuing an international adoption, people asked why we wouldn't want to adopt a baby from the United States. I've read forums where a-parents are referred to as kidnappers. Some people have written that God is sending those of us who are infertile a message -- "you weren't meant to be a parent." I recently read an article a woman wrote about her decision -- after many years of trying to conceive -- to live a childfree life. Some commenters called her a quitter and said it sounded like she had a sad life.
For me, the experience of becoming a parent through science and adoption has built my character. It's made me more compassionate. It's taught me not to judge. It's helped me to relate to people I know and people I don't know. It's made me cry for people I've never even met.
While we have finished building our family, I still find myself reading TTC forums. I guess it's just a hard habit to break. The other day, I read a thread about the dreaded pictures of cute kids in Halloween costumes. Women struggling with infertility were sharing how difficult it is to go on Facebook or even check their email and see lots of happy parents toting around their adorable bunny rabbit or Spiderman. That used to be me, and at that moment, I realized that I had almost forgotten what it felt like. Suddenly I wanted to remove all of my cute pictures from Facebook in a sign of solidarity.
I recently wrote a post pondering why some of us a-parents are so passionate about making sure we have open adoptions that stay open, while others remain fairly opposed to the idea. I really do try not to judge the latter group because of the whole moccasins thing. But I also wonder if pain and loss have the ability to propel us in one of two directions – in one direction, we become more compassionate and empathetic human beings who are unable and unwilling to turn a blind eye to another. And in the other direction, there are those who are desperate to move past the pain and loss and never look back.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Are We Different?
After years of reading about and talking to adoptive parents, it seems like there are several different types out there -- 1) those who want and have a closed adoption; 2) those who have a semi-open adoption but wish it would close; 3) those who have a semi-open adoption but wish it was more open; and 4) those who have a very open adoption and have become open adoption advocates in one way or another. Of course these are generalizations and there's room in between, but for now, these are my categories. Did I miss any?
I'd put myself in Category 4, and I read a number of blogs written by adoptive parents in Category 4. I notice in the blog comments lots of "Wow, that's amazing, I could never do that ..." type comments, and I get those same kind of comments in real life, too.
It has me wondering -- are those of us in Category 4 really that different? Why are we so adament that our adoptions stay open when others feel it's something they couldn't or wouldn't or don't want to do? Do those of us in Category 4 have similar qualities or experiences? I don't know the answers, but these are questions I wonder about.
It's hard for me to remember how I felt at the very beginning of our adoption when I was still in the fearful stage. It was definitely a fear of the unknown. However, I don't remember that stage lasting for very long, and now it's the idea of the adoption closing that scares me. I know I'd just about kill myself trying to make sure it didn't happen. It's something I feel so intensely in my core, and even G has trouble understanding my level of passion about it.
If you have any theories, I'd love to hear them.
I'd put myself in Category 4, and I read a number of blogs written by adoptive parents in Category 4. I notice in the blog comments lots of "Wow, that's amazing, I could never do that ..." type comments, and I get those same kind of comments in real life, too.
It has me wondering -- are those of us in Category 4 really that different? Why are we so adament that our adoptions stay open when others feel it's something they couldn't or wouldn't or don't want to do? Do those of us in Category 4 have similar qualities or experiences? I don't know the answers, but these are questions I wonder about.
It's hard for me to remember how I felt at the very beginning of our adoption when I was still in the fearful stage. It was definitely a fear of the unknown. However, I don't remember that stage lasting for very long, and now it's the idea of the adoption closing that scares me. I know I'd just about kill myself trying to make sure it didn't happen. It's something I feel so intensely in my core, and even G has trouble understanding my level of passion about it.
If you have any theories, I'd love to hear them.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
My Daughter's Mother
I met my daughter Lily before I met her mother Fiona. On a Wednesday I learned of Lily's existence, and on a Thursday I picked her up in the nursery of a hospital about 10 miles from our home. Lily was about 36 hours old, and truly perfect in every way. I didn't have a lot of time to think about what it would be like to see her for the first time, and I remember walking into the nursery and seeing lots of babies and wondering which one was Lily. Lily is not my daughter's real name - it's a name I use on the blog - but it's also the name the nurses at the hospital gave her. There was a big bouquet of pink balloons next to her "crib" with the name Lily written on them. (In case you're wondering, Lily is not the name her birthmother gave her either. Another week would go by before I learned that name.)
G and I spent about 30 minutes in the nursery with Lily. The nurses told us she was a good baby, that she ate and slept well. To be honest, my time in the nursery is very much a blur for me. Everything had happened so fast, and it seemed surreal that I was holding this perfect little creature in my arms, about to take her home and become her mother. During that first week, I wondered a lot about Lily's first mother. I had never met her, and I knew almost nothing about her, yet I felt like she was a part of me. She was told (through the agency) that I wanted to meet her, but I had no idea if and when I would ever get to see her.
A week later I got the call that Fiona was ready. And so was Lily's first father, Nate. I remember walking into the room at the agency to meet them for the first time. I don't know a lot about what happened at the hospital the day Lily was born, but I found out that day that Fiona and Nate had never seen their daughter. And here we were, carrying Lily into the agency in her car seat carrier, all meeting for the first time, all of us in what I'd have to call a daze.
I'm not someone who puts much emphasis on external looks - mine or anyone else's - but when I saw Fiona for the first time, I was stunned by her beauty. I honestly don't think I had ever seen such a beautiful person. Our first meeting was difficult for a lot of different reasons, which I guess I'm not quite ready to write about yet. But I will never forget that time and place, how I felt, and what I witnessed.
I'm not a grandmother, but the grandmothers I know say there's nothing like seeing your baby have a baby, and the feelings of love that you have for your child transfer into this new life. I think that's similar to the way I feel about Fiona. She is my daughter's mother, and the love that I have for her is deep and unlike any other.
G and I spent about 30 minutes in the nursery with Lily. The nurses told us she was a good baby, that she ate and slept well. To be honest, my time in the nursery is very much a blur for me. Everything had happened so fast, and it seemed surreal that I was holding this perfect little creature in my arms, about to take her home and become her mother. During that first week, I wondered a lot about Lily's first mother. I had never met her, and I knew almost nothing about her, yet I felt like she was a part of me. She was told (through the agency) that I wanted to meet her, but I had no idea if and when I would ever get to see her.
A week later I got the call that Fiona was ready. And so was Lily's first father, Nate. I remember walking into the room at the agency to meet them for the first time. I don't know a lot about what happened at the hospital the day Lily was born, but I found out that day that Fiona and Nate had never seen their daughter. And here we were, carrying Lily into the agency in her car seat carrier, all meeting for the first time, all of us in what I'd have to call a daze.
I'm not someone who puts much emphasis on external looks - mine or anyone else's - but when I saw Fiona for the first time, I was stunned by her beauty. I honestly don't think I had ever seen such a beautiful person. Our first meeting was difficult for a lot of different reasons, which I guess I'm not quite ready to write about yet. But I will never forget that time and place, how I felt, and what I witnessed.
I'm not a grandmother, but the grandmothers I know say there's nothing like seeing your baby have a baby, and the feelings of love that you have for your child transfer into this new life. I think that's similar to the way I feel about Fiona. She is my daughter's mother, and the love that I have for her is deep and unlike any other.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Open Adoption, Fears, and Blogging
My first blog, and my first time participating in the open adoption roundtable organized by Heather at Production Not Reproduction. Open Adoption Roundtable #31: With Halloween just around the corner, I thought this prompt would fit right in: Write about open adoption and being scared.
I've spent a good part (if not most) of my life working to overcome various fears, and today I officially begin conquering my fear of blogging. Now two years into an open adoption, I am in great debt to the many open adoption bloggers out there who have been willing to share their experiences - the good and the bad - and help me understand the complexities and rewards of open adoption. Without their wisdom to help guide me through some very challenging times, I think my family and I would be in a very different place - a place that fear would have driven us to.
I hope to one day tell the full story of our daughter's adoption, but for my first post I'm going to focus on the roundtable prompt -- "Write about open adoption and being scared."
Our adoption was closed for the first week. We wanted to meet our daughter's birthparents, but the agency told us that her birthmother wasn't ready. And then, a week later, she was. And then, suddenly, we were in an open adoption, and I was petrified. I had read about open adoption, I had a former colleague who was in an open adoption, but I didn't know what it would be like to really live an open adoption. I reached out for help - talked to friends of friends - and still wasn't sure what to make of it all. One adoptive father told me I didn't have to like my daughter's birthparents. (Apparently, he didn't like his.) That seemed hard to me. How could I build an intimate relationship with people I didn't like?
My fear was fueled by everyone around me. "Aren't you scared they'll want her back?" I still can't believe how many times I was asked that question. "I could never do that" was another comment echoed by many friends and family members. If none of them could do it, what makes me think that I can do it?
There was so much fear at the beginning of our adoption that at times I literally felt myself shaking. And the hardest part of it all was something I hadn't prepared myself for - the feelings of love and heart-break that I had when thinking about my daughter's birthparents. I wanted so much for them to be "okay" - more than okay, I yearned for them to be happy. I felt guilt that I had been part of something that I knew was causing them a tremendous amount of pain. I learned quickly that building a family through adoption is not the same as having biological children. And it has nothing to do with the love you feel toward your child - as a mother through birth and adoption, I know that for a fact. The difference is that there is so much loss in adoption, and I don't think anyone can fully understand how much that loss is felt until you see it firsthand.
Within a few months, I went from being afraid that my daughter's birthparents (and extended family) would be demanding weekly visits to being panicked that they wouldn't want to see us at all. I went from being afraid that every call and email was from them to hoping every call and email was from them. I went from being afraid that my daughter wouldn't bond with me to worrying that she wouldn't bond with her birthparents. It was truly a roller coaster of emotions.
Two and a half years into our open adoption, I now know that the road ahead will be filled with ups, downs, and some unexpected twists. We remain in contact with both of my daughter's birthparents as well as one of her grandmothers. We would like more visits and communication, but we understand that they have to take it at their own speed. I can honestly say that not a day goes by in which I don't think about my daughter's birthparents and wonder how they are doing. I look forward to our next visit with great anticipation, and do my best to help my daughter understand her story and how much she is loved by all of her family regardless of the way in which each of us is connected to her.
While those days of panic are behind me, I still live with many fears, or maybe worries is the better word. I worry her birthparents won't want to see us again. I worry my daughter will feel tremendous sadness and loss when she is old enough to understand her adoption. I worry that my family will never understand why openness in adoption is so important to me. I worry that I may be too consumed with the sadness. I worry that I am making mistakes -- trying to reach out too often, or not trying to reach out enough. I worry that so much of open adoption is not in my control.
But despite all these worries, I also remain optimistic that the bonds we have started to build will strengthen over time, and that we will have the determination to get through the hard times together. I wish I could remember where I read this statement, but someone once wrote, "You can choose to approach open adoption with love, or with fear." I'm so glad I chose love. It doesn't mean the fear goes away, or goes away forever, but when love motivates you to open your heart and your mind, I believe you will end up in a better place.
I've spent a good part (if not most) of my life working to overcome various fears, and today I officially begin conquering my fear of blogging. Now two years into an open adoption, I am in great debt to the many open adoption bloggers out there who have been willing to share their experiences - the good and the bad - and help me understand the complexities and rewards of open adoption. Without their wisdom to help guide me through some very challenging times, I think my family and I would be in a very different place - a place that fear would have driven us to.
I hope to one day tell the full story of our daughter's adoption, but for my first post I'm going to focus on the roundtable prompt -- "Write about open adoption and being scared."
Our adoption was closed for the first week. We wanted to meet our daughter's birthparents, but the agency told us that her birthmother wasn't ready. And then, a week later, she was. And then, suddenly, we were in an open adoption, and I was petrified. I had read about open adoption, I had a former colleague who was in an open adoption, but I didn't know what it would be like to really live an open adoption. I reached out for help - talked to friends of friends - and still wasn't sure what to make of it all. One adoptive father told me I didn't have to like my daughter's birthparents. (Apparently, he didn't like his.) That seemed hard to me. How could I build an intimate relationship with people I didn't like?
My fear was fueled by everyone around me. "Aren't you scared they'll want her back?" I still can't believe how many times I was asked that question. "I could never do that" was another comment echoed by many friends and family members. If none of them could do it, what makes me think that I can do it?
There was so much fear at the beginning of our adoption that at times I literally felt myself shaking. And the hardest part of it all was something I hadn't prepared myself for - the feelings of love and heart-break that I had when thinking about my daughter's birthparents. I wanted so much for them to be "okay" - more than okay, I yearned for them to be happy. I felt guilt that I had been part of something that I knew was causing them a tremendous amount of pain. I learned quickly that building a family through adoption is not the same as having biological children. And it has nothing to do with the love you feel toward your child - as a mother through birth and adoption, I know that for a fact. The difference is that there is so much loss in adoption, and I don't think anyone can fully understand how much that loss is felt until you see it firsthand.
Within a few months, I went from being afraid that my daughter's birthparents (and extended family) would be demanding weekly visits to being panicked that they wouldn't want to see us at all. I went from being afraid that every call and email was from them to hoping every call and email was from them. I went from being afraid that my daughter wouldn't bond with me to worrying that she wouldn't bond with her birthparents. It was truly a roller coaster of emotions.
Two and a half years into our open adoption, I now know that the road ahead will be filled with ups, downs, and some unexpected twists. We remain in contact with both of my daughter's birthparents as well as one of her grandmothers. We would like more visits and communication, but we understand that they have to take it at their own speed. I can honestly say that not a day goes by in which I don't think about my daughter's birthparents and wonder how they are doing. I look forward to our next visit with great anticipation, and do my best to help my daughter understand her story and how much she is loved by all of her family regardless of the way in which each of us is connected to her.
While those days of panic are behind me, I still live with many fears, or maybe worries is the better word. I worry her birthparents won't want to see us again. I worry my daughter will feel tremendous sadness and loss when she is old enough to understand her adoption. I worry that my family will never understand why openness in adoption is so important to me. I worry that I may be too consumed with the sadness. I worry that I am making mistakes -- trying to reach out too often, or not trying to reach out enough. I worry that so much of open adoption is not in my control.
But despite all these worries, I also remain optimistic that the bonds we have started to build will strengthen over time, and that we will have the determination to get through the hard times together. I wish I could remember where I read this statement, but someone once wrote, "You can choose to approach open adoption with love, or with fear." I'm so glad I chose love. It doesn't mean the fear goes away, or goes away forever, but when love motivates you to open your heart and your mind, I believe you will end up in a better place.
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