this woman’s work

He died today yesterday.

This is why I read this blog — it’s our only way of keeping track of how they are.

Sad sad sad.

Although Kim and I grew further and further apart as her religious views became increasingly rigid, I was always happy to know she’d found a family who could be there in the way her by birth family could not. I know she’ll be needing them awfully in the upcoming months and am glad to know that she won’t need to go through this alone.

A lot of my virtual friends are hurting. And an inordinate number of people have lost pets lately, too.

I just read (courtesy of the LittleBrown twitter PR person) An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination, which is a memoir about the author’s loss of her first son who was stillborn. It’s a beautiful book and I was happy to discover a new author (I’ve added her novels/short stories to my library reserve list) and it also gave me a lot to think about around grief and loss and when friends are grieving.

Elizabeth writes about something that Julia once told me, too — that it’s far, far, far better to say anything, even the wrong thing, than it is to say nothing. After she told me that I had to think long and hard about what gets in the way of me reaching out to friends who need support. It’s a character failing, I know, and I want to give myself a solid kick in the butt when I let down my friends.

Oh I’m just feeling helpless and sad for so many people today. Wishing I could take on some of their burdens.

When you gather six siblings across three marriages who have never been in the same place at the same time into one room to surprise the father they share? Answer: It’s a trick questtion! Because at least one sibling won’t get there!!

So we were trying to have a family reunion for my dad and boy howdy, did it bring out the daddy issues! Tears! Rants! Cussing! (that would be me — all three) Frantic angry phone calls! Rabid emails! (Me and me again.)

And I was not the only one although I was the most, shall we say, vocal. But! I love my father although I grieve my father and like the other scurrying, worrying daughters (and one laid-back son) I had high hopes for the day.

Five kids made it although to be fair three of us live in Ohio and making it there wasn’t so hard. Two flew across country. And one didn’t make it onto her plane. We are sad about that. The one who didn’t make it is the one most lost to us. I haven’t seen her in twenty-five years and the youngest two kids didn’t even know she existed until they were in grammar school.

It may be that my dad will never get to see his kids together and that is heartbreaking but it’s also the truth of our family. Surely you can now see why I’ve been mulling over family-of-origin AND adoption issues this week while I worked my way through all of this.

Grieving — yet again — my dad even as I love my dad reminds me of how Madison is sure to grieve Pennie even as she loves Pennie and that sometimes that grief and that love will look like other things. Nobody could replace my daddy — the one I had or the one I missed. My oldest sister (the one who missed her plane) who had a step dad would surely say the same thing even though my dad released his parental rights because everyone said it would just be fine. And I sure can’t replace Pennie.

(What kind of ludicrous world is it that anyone assumes that anyone can replace your lost parents anyway???)

But I also realize I can never make this all better for her. I can’t protect her from it. I can’t shield her. I miss my daddy and she will miss her mommy. But I can love the hell out of her and I can love Pennie and I can get out of the way when I need to and I can listen with sympathy whenever they talk. That’s all I can do.

Life is so hard. We love each other so much and it’s still so damn hard.

The whole thing made me miss Pennie like crazy but she has plans tonight so tomorrow we will see her. Because that’s another thing. She has her own family of origin stuff (obviously I ain’t gonna spill her laundry here) and so she totally gets mine. I can say to her, “Wow, I am totally damaged in this way” and she can say, “Word. I am totally damaged in my own way.” We bond over this. And we bond over our worries and fears and ridiculously overflowing love for Madison. We used to think that we could make the right decisions and make it all ok and lately we’ve been talking — we can only make it a different kind of hard but we can love her any old way and love each other, too. And step out first with forgiveness knowing that all of us — my dad included — are just doing the goddamn best we can.

From Krississippi (dot) com » A Response to a Response of a Response

Adoptive parent loss is becoming taboo to even mention. Admitting one is an adoptive parent (ESPECIALLY on the net) is to say something shameful. To say “I adopted and something happened and now I grieve” is shunned. Tell me it’s not. I’ve been called a baby stealer, a raper of another culture, not a “real mother”, and a whole lot of other nasty things. But should I call my son’s mother or any other birth mother someone who can’t parent because of “x” reason, I AM THE ONE FLAMED.

You know, I’ve heard more than once that adoptive parents are feeling hemmed in by “political correctness” on the adoption front — at least on the internet. This hasn’t been my reality but since I’ve heard it in more than one corner it’s clear it’s an experience other people are having. I’m bothered by any us vs. them mentality and am unhappy that much of the adoption community has been so segregated but I do think that we need our own safe spaces. (Although off the internet? I see no political correctness. And also other spheres of the online adoption world seem to be havens from political correctness. I guess we’re a progressive bunch.)

Frankly (and I know this is unpopular to some) I think that we adoptive parents have more room to give here. I remember this atrocious flamewar (I’ve mentioned it before) that was on misc.kids.adoption between anti-adoption activists and pro-adoption adoptive parents. It was one of those schisms where everyone was executing black/white thinking — the kind that really only happen on the internet because people become so entrenched in arguing. Anyway, one of the adoptive parents typed something like, “Yeah, well we have your babies!” (I don’t remember exactly what she typed, just the “we have your babies” line at the end.) And that’s the thing — we adoptive parents have the babies. To me, forgetting that important fact is a little like a white person hollering defensively, “But I didn’t own slaves!” in the face of someone hurt by racism.

It’s a delicate balance — acknowledging privilege isn’t the same thing as admitting to wrong-doing we haven’t directly participated in. It may be that we had wonderful, totally ethical adoptions but still, we have the babies and we got our babies within a system that isn’t equitable. Even if we ourselves are absolutely swell people, for some other hurting people we may symbolize the oppression they’re fighting. I get that. Frankly I choose not to own other people’s judgment about my family and my adoption and I choose not to get defensive when I get confronted by people who are angry but don’t know me or the particulars of my life. (I’m not always good at this choosing — sometimes the choosing comes after some angry stomping around. Although frankly ugliest judgments I’ve received have come from other adoptive parents so you know, that’s where I’m coming from.)

Krissi also said:

I don’t doubt there is grief that I can’t begin to understand having not gone through it myself. I can’t assume how one would feel if I hadn’t experienced it.

But, based on that thought, how can anyone else who hasn’t been in MY SHOES assume to know how I WOULD FEEL?

I don’t assume on their behalf and I’d rather they not assume on mine. I guess that was one of my main points in my post. I can’t dismiss your grief any more than you can dismiss mine.

See, I haven’t yet read anyone dismissing your grief or any adoptive parent’s grief in this conversation. What I’ve read is that people feel the discussion in that newspaper article was one-sided.

Krissi added:

There are far more birth parent loss websites than there are adoptive parent loss sites.

Well, how could there NOT be? As Andy wrote, “Losing a potential placement is NOTHING like losing an actual child… it is losing a hope, a dream, a thought… all non-tangible things. A mother who has placed her child has lost a piece of HER. and it cannot be replaced. Not by her next child, not by anything. But potential adoptive parents can grieve (because yes, there is grief and it is hard) and then MOVE ON TO THE NEXT potential placement.”

Krissi finished with:

Hey, no one told me about the long-term repercussions about adopting. No one told me how I would struggle to answer my son’s questions, long for the ability to know his mother, deal with the guilt I always hold, understand how to help my son with his own journey, and be allowed to call myself a “mother” without remembering EVERY TIME that I wasn’t until someone else was.But I did have the ability to do my own research about adoption, talk to adopted people and adoptive parents alike, read books, and find resources to at least help myself do the best that I could. Why expect a birth parent to do any less?? Adoption, on either side, is a huge decision and commitment and I don’t believe it’s SOLELY up to any agency to do 100% of the educating. I believe it IS the SOLE responsibility of the agency to do as much educating that they can, but you can’t take away, for a second, the personal responsibility aspect. Unless you’re, say 11 and pregnant by incest (as mentioned in the original article), and/or you are a CHILD, then it’s not up to anyone other than YOURSELF to take that responsibility.

Krissi, the fact that we (adoptive parents) often feel ill-prepared to deal with the fall-out from adoption is something we should talk about when we talk about reform. I agree with you. As to the rest? That really gets my back up.

1. I was at two bookstores over the weekend and both had a shelf full of adoption books for adoptive parents. I didn’t see one for people contemplating placing their children. Same thing at my local library (although it’s interesting to note that in the poorer neighborhood by my daughter’s old preschool I did see two “so you’re unexpectedly pregnant” books for teenagers, both of which pushed adoption.) So I’d say it’s a little harder to do that research.

2. I counted on my agency to show me the way in a lot of things. That was a luxury that it’s clear expectant parents can’t afford since obviously the agencies show them even less than they show us adoptive parents.

3. Now try going to the search engines. Type in “adoption”, “choosing adoption” and “thinking of placing my baby for adoption.” Tell me how many non-biased sites (i.e., not related to the business of adoption) come up. Who do you think can afford better keyword placement — unbiased adoption sites or adoption businesses? No wonder the search engines are loaded.

4. Say you find a few voices in the wilderness. Say you find the blogs of first parents or some of the keep your baby sites. Now imagine the weight of the people who say that if you place you will be heroic, loving, unselfish, good versus the few small voices who say, “You will also be unbearably sad.”

Considering the way the cards are stacked I can’t condemn any woman who looks back and says, “I wish I had done it differently.” I do believe we are responsible for our choices but I also appreciate how the world sometimes (often) impacts our choices in ways we didn’t expect.

We women get trashed in our reproductive lives: having babies too late to make them without assistance; having them too young; having them with the wrong men; having them and putting them in daycare; having them and spoiling them by staying home; and having them but then giving them up. Yowza. A girl can’t win for trying.

It looks to me like first motherhood is a journey and some women end up in different places — happier or sadder or guiltier or more content. Like anything else, people have to make sense of their own lives and every woman who placed or lost a child through adoption is going to have a different story to tell. But I do know that this industry that gifted me my daughter doesn’t work in a fair and honest manner. I know that. Domestic infant adoption is about getting babies to us — like the lady said, we have the babies. And in that newspaper article, we also have the right to all the tears. Now that’s just getting greedy.