I'm a planner and I like to be prepared. This is in part a conscious process on my part, and also a result of the fact that I am a chronic worrier and I tend to reflect (and reflect again) on everything. I consider myself fairly well-read and knowledgeable when it comes to issues related to adoption. I blog, I read lots of blogs, I read articles, I read books ... the degree to which I have researched adoption has been somewhat of a source of pride. I've been telling Lily her adoption story since she was born. I've made Lily a book about her adoption and I've read her children's books about adoption. We have a very open adoption with both of Lily's first parents and some extended family members. And that's why I am absolutely devastated that I totally blew it when I had my first real opportunity to react to my daughter when she expressed her first opinion about her adoption.
Lily is two; she turns three in a few weeks. One of Lily's favorite things to do is look through the 700+ pictures and videos I have stored on my iPhone. The vast majority of them are of her; there are also a lot of Ferb and some of other family members, including Lily's first parents, Fiona and Nate. Last night Lily and I were home alone and she was once again going through all the pictures and videos, and we came upon a picture of her and Nate in which she almost looks like Nate's clone. I said something to the effect of "you look so much like Nate in this picture," and I could tell that her mind was running, but I wasn't sure where. I don't remember what I said after that, but the next thing I know Lily is looking me right in the eye with a sad/annoyed look on her face and saying, "I look like mommy and daddy. I no want to be adopted."
Well, it was as if everything I have learned about adoption over the last 5+ years was suddenly erased from my brain and I don't even remember exactly what I said, but it wasn't good. I was scrambling for words and I think I said "don't be sad" and "it's not bad to be adopted." And then I hugged her and told her how much I loved her. Honestly, I'm just mortified at the way in which I handled the situation.
I can't stop thinking about what happened: Is it typical for a two-year-old to express an opinion about her adoption? I nearly fell off the couch when she expressed her feelings so clearly to me. I want to believe it's a good sign that she felt comfortable expressing her feelings, but I can't stop kicking myself for my lack of a good response. Instead of validating her feelings, I was so sad to see her hurt and eager to make her "feel better." After so much preparing, why was I so UNPREPARED?
I'm interested in any advice as to where to go from here. Again, Lily is only two years old (almost three) and any conversation with her has to be age-appropriate. While it might make me feel better to bring it up again and try to revise my initial response, I think that's a bad idea -- it will be very out of context for Lily and she may not even remember our initial "conversation" about it. Perhaps it's best that I wait until she brings it up again, and start preparing a better response now. And honestly, what is the best response to a two-year-old who says, "I no want to be adopted"?
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Under One Roof
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."
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."
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.
Friday, February 3, 2012
Open Adoption Roundtable #34
The Open Adoption Roundtable is a series of occasional writing prompts about open adoption. It's designed to showcase of the diversity of thought and experience in the open adoption community. You don't need to be listed at Open Adoption Bloggers to participate or even be in a traditional open adoption. If you're thinking about openness in adoption, you have a place at the table. The prompts are meant to be starting points--please feel free to adapt or expand on them. Here is the most recent question posed at Production Not Reproduction. You can read more responses by clicking here.
This roundtable prompt comes from a first mom in an open adoption who no longer blogs but wanted to hear what others had to say on the topic.
She was thinking about her reasons for placing her daughter and how she handles sharing (or not) that information with the people in her life. She realized that her daughter's adoptive parents were often asked that same question by people (i.e. why she chose to place) and she wondered how they answered. This started her thinking about how others handle that choice of what to share and whom to share it with, especially when they are asked to speak on behalf of another party in their open adoptions.
It is likely that we've all had that experience at some time: someone asking us to speak to the choices or feelings of others in our adoption constellation. Perhaps it is someone asking a first parent how their child feels about being in an open adoption. Or someone asking an adoptee why their adoptive parents chose to adopt. You get the idea.
How do you handle such questions when they are asked of you? How would you want the other parties in your open adoption to handle those questions when they are about you?
Lily's adoption doesn't exist in a vacuum. I don't have an envelope or box of secret information that I will reveal to her at age-appropriate times. We have a very open adoption with Lily's first family. Many of them live within 10-15 minutes of our home and visit with us often. Lily's first grandmother has been to our house three times this month (and I think she'll be here again for our Super Bowl party on Sunday). Members of Lily's first family have shared information with members of my family and G's family -- information that I didn't even know. When we first got the call about Lily (the day after she was born) and I was scribbling down notes as the agency social worker explained the situation, my in-laws were at my house (visiting from out of town) and within ear shot of my conversation with the social worker and then my conversation with G. My point is that a lot of information surrounding Lily's adoption is "out there" -- information about me and G, and information about Fiona and Nate. I say it's "out there" in the same way that information about me and my two sisters is "out there" among members of our immediate and extended families. When an open adoption does become fully integrated, I think there's less of a decision as to what to share and with whom because information within many families and circles of close friends flows freely.
When we first met, Fiona asked us why we chose adoption and I explained our struggles with fertility and the fact that we had conceived Ferb through IVF. If a member of Fiona's family or a friend of hers asked her that same question about us, it would not bother me at all if she gave them the answer. As an advocate of open adoption, I believe it's important to share information -- to educate society about what open adoption means, how it works, and how it can have an incredibly positive impact on all members of the triad, but particularly the adoptee. I also think that by being open when people ask us sincere questions, we are removing the taboo associated with adoption. I would never share information about Fiona or Nate if I thought the person asking had bad intentions or would use that information in a negative way. And if you ask anyone who knows me, they will tell you that I simply can't talk about Fiona or Nate without going on and on about what amazing people they are. There are aspects of our relationship that go beyond the fact that we share a daughter, and I love both of them as individuals.
The question I get asked most frequently -- and I believe it's because people I talk to are making an effort to really "understand" open adoption -- is whether it's hard for Fiona and Nate to see Lily and then say good-bye to her. I usually answer the question this way: "I can't imagine that it isn't hard for them. It must be. But they are incredibly strong people who love Lily as much as G and I do, and I know they would make any sacrifice for her and do things for her even if it's hard for them. They handle every visit with an incredible amount of grace, but in my gut, I know it's hard for them."
I will say that in the almost three years since our adoption, only one "stranger" asked us a question that made me uncomfortable. It happened when Lily was only a few months old. (I recently mentioned it this post.) We have a transracial adoption and it's clear that Lily was adopted, but I can only think of few instances when a stranger asked me a question about our adoption, and in all of those cases, the people asking were also adoptive parents and the questions were not directly about Fiona or Nate.
This roundtable prompt comes from a first mom in an open adoption who no longer blogs but wanted to hear what others had to say on the topic.
She was thinking about her reasons for placing her daughter and how she handles sharing (or not) that information with the people in her life. She realized that her daughter's adoptive parents were often asked that same question by people (i.e. why she chose to place) and she wondered how they answered. This started her thinking about how others handle that choice of what to share and whom to share it with, especially when they are asked to speak on behalf of another party in their open adoptions.
It is likely that we've all had that experience at some time: someone asking us to speak to the choices or feelings of others in our adoption constellation. Perhaps it is someone asking a first parent how their child feels about being in an open adoption. Or someone asking an adoptee why their adoptive parents chose to adopt. You get the idea.
How do you handle such questions when they are asked of you? How would you want the other parties in your open adoption to handle those questions when they are about you?
Lily's adoption doesn't exist in a vacuum. I don't have an envelope or box of secret information that I will reveal to her at age-appropriate times. We have a very open adoption with Lily's first family. Many of them live within 10-15 minutes of our home and visit with us often. Lily's first grandmother has been to our house three times this month (and I think she'll be here again for our Super Bowl party on Sunday). Members of Lily's first family have shared information with members of my family and G's family -- information that I didn't even know. When we first got the call about Lily (the day after she was born) and I was scribbling down notes as the agency social worker explained the situation, my in-laws were at my house (visiting from out of town) and within ear shot of my conversation with the social worker and then my conversation with G. My point is that a lot of information surrounding Lily's adoption is "out there" -- information about me and G, and information about Fiona and Nate. I say it's "out there" in the same way that information about me and my two sisters is "out there" among members of our immediate and extended families. When an open adoption does become fully integrated, I think there's less of a decision as to what to share and with whom because information within many families and circles of close friends flows freely.
When we first met, Fiona asked us why we chose adoption and I explained our struggles with fertility and the fact that we had conceived Ferb through IVF. If a member of Fiona's family or a friend of hers asked her that same question about us, it would not bother me at all if she gave them the answer. As an advocate of open adoption, I believe it's important to share information -- to educate society about what open adoption means, how it works, and how it can have an incredibly positive impact on all members of the triad, but particularly the adoptee. I also think that by being open when people ask us sincere questions, we are removing the taboo associated with adoption. I would never share information about Fiona or Nate if I thought the person asking had bad intentions or would use that information in a negative way. And if you ask anyone who knows me, they will tell you that I simply can't talk about Fiona or Nate without going on and on about what amazing people they are. There are aspects of our relationship that go beyond the fact that we share a daughter, and I love both of them as individuals.
The question I get asked most frequently -- and I believe it's because people I talk to are making an effort to really "understand" open adoption -- is whether it's hard for Fiona and Nate to see Lily and then say good-bye to her. I usually answer the question this way: "I can't imagine that it isn't hard for them. It must be. But they are incredibly strong people who love Lily as much as G and I do, and I know they would make any sacrifice for her and do things for her even if it's hard for them. They handle every visit with an incredible amount of grace, but in my gut, I know it's hard for them."
I will say that in the almost three years since our adoption, only one "stranger" asked us a question that made me uncomfortable. It happened when Lily was only a few months old. (I recently mentioned it this post.) We have a transracial adoption and it's clear that Lily was adopted, but I can only think of few instances when a stranger asked me a question about our adoption, and in all of those cases, the people asking were also adoptive parents and the questions were not directly about Fiona or Nate.
Friday, January 27, 2012
"I would like her near me on the bus."
I've been blogging for a few months, and this will be my first post related to the fact that we have a transracial adoption. Lily is multi-racial. Both of her first parents are bi-racial. Lily is black, white, and Filipino, among others. G, Ferb, and I are white.
I've read extensively about transracial adoption. I've gained the most insight from adult adoptees who grew up in transracial families -- particularly those who grew up in "Whitesville." We live in an extremely diverse area. On an average day, we may see more people of color than white people. We have a diverse group of friends, and my great-uncle was black (he passed away a couple of years ago), so some of my extended family members are black. We have a collection of black dolls that rivals the doll collection at any store. We have a large book collection that includes stories about transracial families, famous people of color, folk tales from around the world, different skin colors, hair types ... the list goes on. And we have a very open adoption, so Lily knows and regularly visits with her first mother, father, and maternal grandmother.
I'm not naive - I know that despite our best efforts, Lily will deal with issues related to the fact that she is a different race than her immediate family members. I think I'm as prepared for that as one can be before actually being in the situation in which those difficulties present themselves.
We've had very few comments made to us about our transracial status. One surprising comment was made when Lily was only a couple of months old -- I was caught off-guard. After that, I prepared myself with an slew of possible responses; only no one has commented to us about it ever since.
We talk to Lily about race, about the fact that we have different skin colors. One day she picked up my hand and said, "Mama's hand white. My hand brown." I smiled, I told her she was right, and I told her that I love the color of her skin.
Some of Ferb's friends have been curious. When I've picked him up after school, I've heard kids ask him how his sister "came out" black. He explains that she is adopted. One night Ferb had a group of kids over to our house for a club meeting. Lily came into the room wearing her pajamas. One boy asked, "Is that your sister?" Ferb replied: "Of course that's my sister! Why would she be in my house wearing her pajamas if she wasn't my sister?" He understands that people wonder, and I see in him an effort to make sure everyone knows that Lily is just as much his sister as any sister would be. Lily and Ferb have a very special relationship that is far deeper and close than anything I could have imagined before I had children. More on this point --
I found a worksheet in Ferb's school folder the other day. (Ferb is in second grade.) It was a worksheet asking the student to answer a series of questions about Martin Luther King, Jr. - when he was born, where he was born, etc. Here's the last question and Ferb's response:
Why do you admire this person?
I admire this person in my very own way since my sister is black. I would like her near me on the bus and I want her to go to my school.
I've read extensively about transracial adoption. I've gained the most insight from adult adoptees who grew up in transracial families -- particularly those who grew up in "Whitesville." We live in an extremely diverse area. On an average day, we may see more people of color than white people. We have a diverse group of friends, and my great-uncle was black (he passed away a couple of years ago), so some of my extended family members are black. We have a collection of black dolls that rivals the doll collection at any store. We have a large book collection that includes stories about transracial families, famous people of color, folk tales from around the world, different skin colors, hair types ... the list goes on. And we have a very open adoption, so Lily knows and regularly visits with her first mother, father, and maternal grandmother.
I'm not naive - I know that despite our best efforts, Lily will deal with issues related to the fact that she is a different race than her immediate family members. I think I'm as prepared for that as one can be before actually being in the situation in which those difficulties present themselves.
We've had very few comments made to us about our transracial status. One surprising comment was made when Lily was only a couple of months old -- I was caught off-guard. After that, I prepared myself with an slew of possible responses; only no one has commented to us about it ever since.
We talk to Lily about race, about the fact that we have different skin colors. One day she picked up my hand and said, "Mama's hand white. My hand brown." I smiled, I told her she was right, and I told her that I love the color of her skin.
Some of Ferb's friends have been curious. When I've picked him up after school, I've heard kids ask him how his sister "came out" black. He explains that she is adopted. One night Ferb had a group of kids over to our house for a club meeting. Lily came into the room wearing her pajamas. One boy asked, "Is that your sister?" Ferb replied: "Of course that's my sister! Why would she be in my house wearing her pajamas if she wasn't my sister?" He understands that people wonder, and I see in him an effort to make sure everyone knows that Lily is just as much his sister as any sister would be. Lily and Ferb have a very special relationship that is far deeper and close than anything I could have imagined before I had children. More on this point --
I found a worksheet in Ferb's school folder the other day. (Ferb is in second grade.) It was a worksheet asking the student to answer a series of questions about Martin Luther King, Jr. - when he was born, where he was born, etc. Here's the last question and Ferb's response:
Why do you admire this person?
I admire this person in my very own way since my sister is black. I would like her near me on the bus and I want her to go to my school.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
What Could Have Been ...
About a year and a half into our adoption, I decided to schedule a session with one of the counselors at C.A.S.E. (Center for Adoption Support and Education). We had zero support from our agency when it came to open adoption -- they essentially told us we were on our own, and when we pressed them for help, the "help" was so counterproductive that we quickly ran. When I made the appointment, I think I was seeking input from a professional because I wanted to know if I was doing things right when it came to our open adoption. I had learned so much from reading blogs and books and talking to friends of friends, but I yearned for a face-to-face conversation with a professional.
I spent the first part of the meeting telling the counselor our story, how we had applied to adopt from China, withdrew after several years of waiting, and then updated our homestudy for a domestic adoption on the off chance that our agency got a call from a local hospital, which happened (according to them) once every few years. We never thought it would actually happen, but then it did, and we were quickly thrust into a situation without any guidance from our agency. The counselor agreed that the agency was inept at best, but thought that everything that had transpired once we (G and I and Fiona and Nate) were on our own sounded very positive. Our adoption would definitely be described as very open, and while we've definitely hit some rough patches, we've built a solid relationship with one another that has helped us navigate through the tough times. We're family.
After I finished my story and she validated that things seemed to be going as well as could be expected, I suddenly broke down in tears, surprising even myself. It took me a while to compose myself and then, perhaps, I finally talked about what I think was really bothering me. I explained that every time we get together with Fiona and Nate, or even when we communicate, I'm fine during the visit and/or communication, but after it's over, I fall apart ... feeling very sad and depressed and sometimes crying for quite a while when I had time alone. The counselor asked me why. And then I said it out loud for the first time.
I see the three of them together -- Fiona, Nate, and Lily -- and I see the family that could have been. And it's heart-breaking. I feel the loss at such a deep level. And then I feel confused. If that loss didn't exist, then Lily wouldn't be my daughter ... so by feeling sad about their family that could have been, am I essentially feeling sad about the family that is -- my family. My daughter that wouldn't be my daughter if Fiona and Nate hadn't lost their daughter. It made my head hurt just saying the words.
The counselor then told me two things:
First, the fact that I feel, see, and recognize the loss is a quality that will make me a good adoptive mother as Lily gets older. She told me that most of the people she sees regularly are teenage adoptees who are struggling. And one of the main reasons they struggle is because their adoptive parents either don't get it -- they don't understand WHY their child feels a sense of loss -- and/or they take the child's feelings of loss as a sign of betrayal -- a sign that they, the adoptive parents, aren't good enough. The counselor pointed out that the feelings of confusion that I was having -- the deep sense of loss over the family that could have been juxtaposed with the pure joy I feel that Lily is my daughter -- is the same kind of conflicted emotions that adoptees have. I get it.
Secondly, she told me, just like adoptive parents who don't give their children room to grieve their loss, I need to be careful that I give Lily to space to feel whatever she feels. Certainly her adoption will affect her in some way -- that's a given -- but how it affects her, how she processes and views it (which could change at various points in her life) ... I need to be sure that I give her the space to feel what SHE feels, and it may not be the same way I feel. I understood what she said, and reading the writing of adult adoptees has definitely helped me understand that no two people will ever feel the same way, and I need to support Lily wherever she is with her feelings at any given time. As with everything, I will always do my best to do right by Lily, but it struck me right then and there that if she doesn't end up having a good relationship with Fiona and Nate (or if she feels angry with them or even neutral/nothing toward them) ... it will be hard for me.
Nate and Fiona came over last month and I took what I think is the most amazing picture of the three of them. It's adorable and perfect and I love looking at it. Sometimes I look at it and start to cry. And then out of nowhere Lily jumps into my arms and we roll around and tickle and laugh ... her laugh is so happy and pure and I just want to bottle it up. And I feel myself smiling from ear to ear with the teardrops still sitting in my eyes.
I spent the first part of the meeting telling the counselor our story, how we had applied to adopt from China, withdrew after several years of waiting, and then updated our homestudy for a domestic adoption on the off chance that our agency got a call from a local hospital, which happened (according to them) once every few years. We never thought it would actually happen, but then it did, and we were quickly thrust into a situation without any guidance from our agency. The counselor agreed that the agency was inept at best, but thought that everything that had transpired once we (G and I and Fiona and Nate) were on our own sounded very positive. Our adoption would definitely be described as very open, and while we've definitely hit some rough patches, we've built a solid relationship with one another that has helped us navigate through the tough times. We're family.
After I finished my story and she validated that things seemed to be going as well as could be expected, I suddenly broke down in tears, surprising even myself. It took me a while to compose myself and then, perhaps, I finally talked about what I think was really bothering me. I explained that every time we get together with Fiona and Nate, or even when we communicate, I'm fine during the visit and/or communication, but after it's over, I fall apart ... feeling very sad and depressed and sometimes crying for quite a while when I had time alone. The counselor asked me why. And then I said it out loud for the first time.
I see the three of them together -- Fiona, Nate, and Lily -- and I see the family that could have been. And it's heart-breaking. I feel the loss at such a deep level. And then I feel confused. If that loss didn't exist, then Lily wouldn't be my daughter ... so by feeling sad about their family that could have been, am I essentially feeling sad about the family that is -- my family. My daughter that wouldn't be my daughter if Fiona and Nate hadn't lost their daughter. It made my head hurt just saying the words.
The counselor then told me two things:
First, the fact that I feel, see, and recognize the loss is a quality that will make me a good adoptive mother as Lily gets older. She told me that most of the people she sees regularly are teenage adoptees who are struggling. And one of the main reasons they struggle is because their adoptive parents either don't get it -- they don't understand WHY their child feels a sense of loss -- and/or they take the child's feelings of loss as a sign of betrayal -- a sign that they, the adoptive parents, aren't good enough. The counselor pointed out that the feelings of confusion that I was having -- the deep sense of loss over the family that could have been juxtaposed with the pure joy I feel that Lily is my daughter -- is the same kind of conflicted emotions that adoptees have. I get it.
Secondly, she told me, just like adoptive parents who don't give their children room to grieve their loss, I need to be careful that I give Lily to space to feel whatever she feels. Certainly her adoption will affect her in some way -- that's a given -- but how it affects her, how she processes and views it (which could change at various points in her life) ... I need to be sure that I give her the space to feel what SHE feels, and it may not be the same way I feel. I understood what she said, and reading the writing of adult adoptees has definitely helped me understand that no two people will ever feel the same way, and I need to support Lily wherever she is with her feelings at any given time. As with everything, I will always do my best to do right by Lily, but it struck me right then and there that if she doesn't end up having a good relationship with Fiona and Nate (or if she feels angry with them or even neutral/nothing toward them) ... it will be hard for me.
Nate and Fiona came over last month and I took what I think is the most amazing picture of the three of them. It's adorable and perfect and I love looking at it. Sometimes I look at it and start to cry. And then out of nowhere Lily jumps into my arms and we roll around and tickle and laugh ... her laugh is so happy and pure and I just want to bottle it up. And I feel myself smiling from ear to ear with the teardrops still sitting in my eyes.
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.
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