I have told much of my story already, but I know so many of you have a voice and a story to tell too. Maybe you don’t have a blog or don’t feel that you want that exposure, but still have something to say?
Please, feel free to send me your stories and I will post them here. I can give you credit or keep you unknown; whatever works for you… whatever I can to help you tell your story and share your adoption truth.
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My birth mother’s husband knew about me from the beginning. He married my birth mother after I was out of the picture. I remember him pulling me aside in their living room and saying how he regretted he couldn’t see what I looked like. He had lost most of his vision to cataracts and diabetes and could only see shadows and outlines. We shared my secret in common, he the only cast member in this charade that seemed real.
Your strong-arming and personal desires created a statistic out of us, a punch line, a stereotype and titles that we will forever be known as….a birth mom…a birth child, now YOU want a relationship with MY son.
The setting is unmistakably Hawaii, and Shelley and I, classic 1968: blond and tan in our stylish mini-dresses, the telltale bulges of early pregnancy thus far absent from our slender frames. We were girls waiting to become women, my friends and I — eighteen years old, but girls nonetheless — on the verge of grown-up lives that we could not yet envision.
Children and young people of all ages are in need of a foster home, but some people seem apprehensive about fostering a teenager.
I look at the photographs of my childhood and I can see the big smiles, and all the gifts under the Christmas tree. I can see how most people would look at me and see a happy adopted 16.5 year old girl. Most people would think I am lucky to have two families, other adopted people may think I am fortunate to know my genetic history, my heritage and where I came from. But what I see is different from what other people see; I can plainly see the pain behind the smile.
Forced adoption is a drastic step; there aren’t words to express the trauma it causes to all concerned. It surely should be preserved as a last resort, a final call for those cases where children are in grave danger and need a fresh start. In the case of loving parents who also happen to use illegal substances there are almost certainly much more appropriate methods to help, if help is required.
They agreed to send updates (letters and pictures) every 6 months until she turned 18 and kept up with that until about 3 years ago when the updates suddenly stopped. No explanation, no warning, nothing. The updates were being sent to me through CHS so I called the agency and got the run around. This, to me, is one of the most heartless and cruel things that can be done to a Mother and I’m in utter shock that this is actually happening.