The third side

Wow, what a week I’ve had. Here is my unselfish side that stays with a friend no matter what, and my selfish side that wants to scream and rail and run, battling it out with one another.  The unselfish and loyal side won, but at a high cost to the other.  Good luck making sense of the rambling, but I had to get it all out.

My sister had a baby and gave her up for adoption. Rather than leave her to be alone for this, I drove her to the hospital last week to have her baby.

The back story here:  I was adopted at a few weeks old. My parents conceived my younger sister when I was 2. I struggled, as do many, many adoptees, with self-esteem issues, a fear of abandonment, and feeling there was something wrong with me that my mom would throw me away. The feeling that I never really belonged, and I wasn’t a “real” child of theirs.   But I had parents who loved me, and taught me about God. I love them as my parents. God has done a lot of healing in my life in this area, but there are still things left, as I found out last week.

When I was in my early 20′s, I met my birthmom. While it was cathartic to learn she had been forced to give me up, I don’t have the same bond with her that I do my adoptive parents. She was my ‘mother,’ but they were my “Mommy and Daddy.” They were very insecure about my meeting her, but they learned that my feeling for them didn’t change (in fact, grew stronger) with the addition of new family members. My feelings towards my biological mother are probably akin to a much loved aunt.

I also met my 3 biological sisters at that time. One of which I started this story with, as she is the one who had a baby.

Also, my husband and I have adopted a child. After 3 biological children, we adopted a 7 year old girl 4 years ago. That has been a roller-coaster in itself.  Our beautiful princess who has added so much to our lives, has her share of baggage.  I feel for her and her own pain, grief, and sense of abandonment.  I hope we can help her with all of that, since I am not ignorant of what it is like to be adopted, although her story is so much deeper than just that.

Back to the present:   My sister, a single mom of several children, decided to give this baby up for adoption. I wanted to adopt the child, but I knew (duh) it wasn’t my decision to make. Unfortunately for me, happily for them,  she chose a couple who had no children.

It was hard, but it was a whirlwind from labor until hand-off, when the adoptive family took custody and left with the baby. Off to their anonymous home, in an anonymous city, possibly never to be heard from again.

WHAT?!!??!! Reality comes screeching in. On top of grief and loss, the old ‘Rejection-complex’ rears up.  Abandonment issues come to the surface.  Knowledge of how that little person might feel in the future pops up.   Why didn’t my sister let us raise the baby? She could have had a completely open adoption with us. The siblings would know each other, etc… (and yet, the new parents were overjoyed to have her, and baby will be very loved, even though they  probably won’t know their bio siblings and other family.)  I’ve been reading up on open adoption where the bio family and the new family become one extended family to one another.  To me, the product of a closed adoption, that sounds wonderful, and this anonymous (first names only) adoption is back to the old days when out of wedlock births as well as infertility was all so “shameful.”  I’m not debating here, just sharing my viewpoint as an adoptee.

I didn’t realize how much pain is still there from being adopted. I didn’t realize how much this was going to mess me up, or I might have walked out and allowed her to do this on her own (except that isn’t my way… I took the hits until I thought I wouldn’t make it, but they kept coming).

So I’ve been adopted, I’ve adopted, and now I’ve stood there and watched a baby disappear from our lives into the void of adoption. It sucks to be on this side! This isn’t the fairy tale. This isn’t the happily-ever-after. This is the side of raw grief and pain. Of empty arms and tears. Mine, anyway. So far my sister has shown no reaction except relief and gratitude – which makes me feel worse, because I wasn’t wanted either, you see?

Between the reality, and the projection of my own rejection complex (and being rejected to be the parents of this child) I’m hurting worse than I have in a long time.

This side of adoption isn’t as much fun as the side of the adoptive parent… but it is reminiscent of being adopted, and the emotions that come from it.  I had no choice in whether I was adopted or not.  I also had no choice about this adoption.   I can’t go further with that, or I’ll start crying again…  And no, my sister seems to have no idea how high the cost was for me in doing everything she asked of me… and I prefer to keep it that way for now.

Early tonight I was saying to my newest family member (in my head of course), “There is NOTHING wrong with you.  It wasn’t your fault.”  And the tears started to flow.   Because I know that was the root of my own struggles for so long.  I can only pray this child never feels that way.  Hopefully the  new mom and dad will find a way to reassure, and they will grow up without that pain.

Most stories have 2 sides to them.  Adoption has 3.  And this third side seems sad and empty….

sometimes life ain’t easy

A cousin of mine has committed suicide.

I didn’t know him well.  I knew his sister much better, because she has kids my age.  They live about 3 hours away from us.

My mom is taking this really hard though, because she did know him well, even though she hasn’t seen him in awhile.

I was already going to be in their town on Monday at a doctor’s appointment, so my mom is going to ride along with me,  We’ll be able to attend the viewing, and give our condolences to the family.  But what condolences can I offer them?  This sucks.

grief takes time

Grief doesn’t go away overnight.  I can feel the effects of it on my life even though I’m not actively thinking about it very often.  My friend called me on it a few days ago.  She wanted to know why I’m upset with her.  Huh?  I’m not.  I’m upset with EVERYONE (but no one, if that makes sense).  Especially MYSELF for being overwhelmed by everything, irritable, grumpy, depressed…

My kids are probably glad they are starting school today.  I am too.  I need some time by myself.  It will only be a few hours a day that my littlest are in PreK, but it is more than I have had all summer.

It hits at strange times.  When my two oldest got into trouble for spitting off the high ride at the amusement park, I was horrified.  I told my mom and she laughed, and I wanted to tell my dad (he would have thought it was hilarious).  But he isn’t here anymore.

My parents live next door.  My dad would have been sitting on the porch this morning watching my kids get on the bus.  He would have prayed for them today and thought about them all day.   When they got home this afternoon he would have been calling right away to find out how their day went.

Yes, I know all the answers.  He is in a better place.  He is happy and healthy there.  I know, I know!!!!  BUT I STILL MISS HIM!  And it hurts.

the memorial service, finally.

I haven’t written yet about my dad’s memorial service last month. I wasn’t ready. I miss him like crazy! Whenever someone so close to us leaves, it is quite a process to work through. I was very sick with bronchitis and a sinus infection for the service and wiped out for weeks afterwards. I think the stress was a huge factor. I thought I would pass out during the service. The floor was moving (fevers do that) and I had visions of passing up on the way to sing, and taking out the funeral flowers, landing sprawled in front of the alter. I asked God that if that happened, to let me stay unconscious until I got to the ER. Thankfully, I stayed upright, although miserable.

The memorial service was handled by the church my husband and I left some years ago. You can read about it under the spiritual abuse catagory. I have been there only a few times since we left. Once for a wedding, and once for a community play that my kid’s friends were in. As far as I can tell, nothing has changed. I don’t know if that is a fair observation considering the circumstances, but when we met to practice the music, we were immediately lectured on not touching anything on any of the equipment. So, me being me and all (I never would have done this back then), I announced back that I would push every button twice when we were done. The pastor gave me a questioning look and kind of grimaced back. He didn’t know if I was serious or not. I wasn’t… but I was, ya know? No… I didn’t push any buttons. But I was tempted!

I have a DVD of the service, but the sound isn’t good so I probably won’t put it on here. We watched a slideshow of pictures of my daddy’s life, which immediately had us all in tears. We (some of my mom’s friends and I) sang some songs that meant a lot to my dad, and then people shared what they remembered about dad, and his faith. It was amazing to hear the stories of the lives he had touched. His faith was such a huge part of who he was, that they all talked about the impact he’d had on their lives. The pastor talked about his friendship with my dad (I’m not going to talk about that, because I would seem cynical and downright bitchy if I did). I know he loved my dad…

It was heartbreaking that my 9 year old son sobbed throughout the service. Deep, wrenching sobs. He told me later that “Papa knew me almost my whole life mom!” I just held him through it, except for the parts when I was singing. Afterwards I had to take him for a walk around the parking lot to get him out of the deep grief. He feels things so deeply… like his mom I guess. I hope he never learns to bury it, like his mom does.

Then we sang some more songs. I finished by singing ‘Nothing but the Blood’ and ‘Amazing Grace’ acapella. It sucked. The bronchitis and sinus infection, plus the grief, equaled “no voice”, and I totally missed a few notes because of it. But I did it anyway. My dad would have loved it! I was on the worship team for a short time, but part of the abuse we went through involved me being shut out from the music ministry. So I NEVER expected to be back on that stage singing. I was bummed that I couldn’t do a better job… but I wasn’t doing it for them. I was doing it for my dad. Later everyone said how wonderful it was… and maybe they meant it… but I know how I can sound, and that wasn’t it. Oh well… get over it, Heidi.
My sister talked a bit about dad and played the song “Thank You for Giving to the Lord”. Then it was over. We had to walk out in front of everyone, and head to the meal. Here was the really fun part. Socializing with people who don’t understand why we left. “We miss you”, “We wish you would come back”, “I don’t know why you left, but we hope you’ll come back”. UGH!!! Just say you are sorry about my dad, give me a hug, say you are praying for me, but DON’T MANIPULATE US RIGHT NOW!!!!! And the truth is, nobody there except the pastor and his wife know why we left. It was covered up… but also we chose not to advertise the reasons.

I did tell one woman, after she said “You really should come back here where you belong,” that it would be “interesting” if we ever came back. She was offended, but I didn’t mean it offensively. It would be “interesting.” Probably not in a good way, because I’m not the timid follower I was then. HA!

So that was it. It was so much more than a memorial service for my dad. It was a trip back in time. It was emotionally draining on so many levels, on top of being sick. Kathy, at The Carnival In My Head also went back to her old church for a memorial service. Reading her post today reminded me that I haven’t told y’all about my dad’s yet.  (and her post is much better than mine!)

Something I’ve never been very good at

I’ve never been good at grieving. In fact, I’m downright bad at it. I’ve never really done it the right way. I have had to cry for people years later (or never) because I have stuffed it all way down deep inside. At times I’ve cried for another reason… when I was 13, a family close to us lost a 3 year old boy to Leukemia. I finally cried because they were moving away, but never for the deep grief of losing the little guy.

I know this isn’t right. I’m trying to do it the right way this time. Perhaps because this is so near and dear to me, I find myself bursting into tears at strange times. I am someone who has gone years between tears, so it is strange for me to be so emotional.

I’m singing at my dad’s memorial service tomorrow. I’m not sure it is right, because I will have to detach from the grief in order to sing. But at the same time, I know he would love to have me sing. If I can figure out how to put the songs on here, I will (unless I lose it and cannot sing, which is entirely possible). We chose songs that meant something to my dad. Memories of him worshiping to these songs are precious and poignant.

He would love the service, because every step of the way we are deliberately honoring Christ. We are also honoring Dad. His life, and the legacy he leaves behind as one who loved Jesus with all of his heart, and who continually pointed people towards Jesus, and a life of freedom.

I find this season to be a bit strange. I’m offended by things I would never normally be offended by. I’m angry at times. I’m tearful and sad. Depressed. Withdrawn. Tired. But when I look into the emotions, I find that it all goes back to the root called “grief.” I hope that people can forgive me for my reactions right now. And what a lesson it is for me. I’m hoping I’ll be able to show grace towards people who are grieving in ways that I wasn’t able to before.