My Son's Adoption - Part 1 of 4

Some of you may or may not know that my oldest son’s biological father dropped out of our lives when my son was 2 years of age. That was 8 years ago. Now, I am nearing my oldest son's adoption to his “acting father”, of who has been his father for the last 7 years. 7 years is a long time, so it’s time to make it official.

Although it is a sea of legal paperwork that primarily consists of crossing the t's and dotting the i's, it is also a moment in time that is special and of great sensitivity to our family.

When I first spoke of the possible adoption with my son, his natural answer was "sure" but it inspired a curiosity to know more about his biological father, which I answered with ease and openness. He then asked to see a photo of him. At first I was shocked and hesitant (only because I didn’t want to hurt him, not because I wanted hold information), so I came right through and handed him a photo of him at the tender age of 2 weeks in his biological father’s arms. He looked at the photo shell shocked and confused and replied instantly “oh my goodness, he looks just like me!” He asked his first name and wanted to know what kind of person he was, how tall he was etc…, which I answered fully. For a few days to follow, he was withdrawn, moody and depressed. He did fully recover and did speak to me about his issues during this time, primarily being that he wanted to call him and reunite.

Over these last 7 years, I have always been quite frank and supportive to keep the openness flowing on this issue. Obviously with my past, I am more than equipped to respect this great need for biological knowledge, which I am sure I have done a good job of feeding his need. A few times a year I ask my son if he wants to know anything about his other biological roots, and most often it’s answered with “not really” or “not right now”. I always leave the conversation with “anytime you want to talk, or know anything about him, just let me know.”

I have spoken with my son on several occasions about the adoption over the last year, and he doesn't have much of a reaction. He simply says, "yeah ok, nothing changes so what is the big deal?" I suppose that is the best answer a parent could hear, but he did have one caveat; that his name is not changed. He is Keall, and he believes at the age of 10 that it should not change, and frankly I won't argue that. We all support his decision; it is his to own.

Even though he tells me with a nonchalant attitude that there is nothing of real great grounding breaking importance, I will still treat it as such. Also due to his age and sex, his curiosity and need for biological connection is not currently at the forefront. One day though, he will realize the importance and the official ceased connection between himself and his biological father that he hardly knew…and that moment will hurt.

Hopefully I have built a support so he trusts me to break his fall.

More to come…

Birth Mother Letter

I just came across my first (and so far only) letter to my birth mother that I wrote on May 22, 2005.

This specific day entailed my reunion in Prince Rupert at my spot of abandonment. On May 21st, I met Ron, who was the man that found my body laying there on the doorstep on October 14, 1977, however this brief meeting was not enough and it was a little impersonal with Ron and his wife there.

So, I returned on the 22nd to re-live the moment alone. It was so incredibly painful that the adrenaline flow literally hurt my body, mind and soul. I sat at the very spot I was layed at and the emotion over came me. I fled with sobbing

tears and a very hurt heart.

I arrived back in my hotel room that night, still shell shocked and alone. I could not eat or rest; my mind was racing with the sights, smells and every nuance of that brief reunion. Instead of laying in bed driving myself crazy, I wrote this letter at 3am in a very primal, child-like tone.
After 3 years, I still can’t fully express in words of the re-lived trauma, yet enlightening and therapeutic process this was. It truly haunted me for months after the fact and I couldn’t even speak of it without the tears for at least 6 months.

Please excuse the grammar and sentence structure…I am surprised I could even write this well with all the tears I shed that night…

May 22, 05

Dear mom,

Today I went to the Hospital and sat at the very spot you left me at.

It was so painful mom. Actually, I don’t think I would put it into words.

This moment of separation has haunted me for years and ultimately affected my whole life. This moment I was so young and fragile. So unknowing and so vulnerable.

You walked away and I imagine you said good bye forever.

So today I stood at the same spot and I seemed shell shocked. I didn’t know what to do or say.

So I relived it without you.

I sat down.

Sat down at the same spot you left me at 27 years ago.

Mom – I know we may never meet again and knowing I was in the spot you (most likely) were also at was so painful and made me feel so alone.

It made me feel so hurt.

It reminded me of this life we shared for 9 months and you couldn’t continue with me no more.

I feel rejected, confused, hurt,

I don’t have answers and long to know why. Why me? Why would you do this? If you knew how much pain this has caused – would you have done it?
Why couldn’t we stay together?

How could you leave me? I was your little fragile baby. Your baby you made. I was your baby that grew inside of you. I was and still am a part of you.

Now the doorstep is forever burned in my memory and I will think of it often.

I will think of you often too, if only I could have remembered your face when you said

Goodbye.

What I am thankful for...

A few weeks ago, I found myself at my son’s school participating in a student led conference. I sat in a regular student chair and overlooked his accomplishments. Half way through, he pulled out his journal and started showing off his entries. We turned to a page called “What I am thankful for”. At the very top, he wrote that he was “thankful for NOT being abandoned.”

I reacted with a slight surprise and my son turned the page with a semi-smile. I think he felt uncomfortable. Yesterday, I asked him about his reason why he thinks being abandoned is not a good thing.

He said "just because, and no offence mom, but its not a good thing". He went on to describe someone who is sad and feels unimportant and left out. I suppose that is not a desirable thing to be, feel or aspire to. I suppose I must agree that he should feel thankful for NOT being abandoned.

So, with this new found awareness of my son’s acknowledgement, I found myself pondering what I am thankful for, and I think I can say it would be as much as a “normal” person, but with a different twist.

I am thankful that I am alive and that my biological parents chose to abandon me in a semi-safe place; thankful that I was placed in a good home; thankful for my good health; thankful for my children and their great health; my family (even if they are not my biological, that does not matter); thankful for my great friends; thankful for my success and my strength and courage.

This exercise has reminded me to remember my good fortune. How about you?

Bulgaria's Abandoned Children

I came across a gripping and thorough documentary on a Bulgaria orphanage, that was anchored by Kate Blewett and produced by BBC. If you have an hour and a half, please watch it.

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-9176914173325307126



Keep in mind that this isn't limited to Bulgaria, this is a wordly issue.

Handicapped Reunion

I had a very interesting, but traumatic dream last night. I dreamt that I was meeting my biological parents.

Oddly enough, I met my biological father first. I wasn’t too impressed, nor did I show much emotion (even though intellectually I know my life would not be here if it was not for him). I don’t remember much from this part, except he was taller than me, and we hugged. It wasn’t emotional.
Then, a few moments later, a stranger said “its time” and brought me to meet my biological mother.

She was extremely obese, looked rather unhealthy and was in a wheelchair. She had long brown hair, fair skin and I was searching her face for a resemblance, almost confused at her physical state. She was silent and did not say a word. She looked sad and guilty, but did make eye contact. She was accompanied by a few other people who were at her side as we both walked towards each other. I was alone, nervous and scared.

As I walked towards her, I thought “wow, this is it. This saga is finally over. I finally have my answers.” I looked at her and she held out her arms for a hug. I leaned down and hugged her. As I felt our bodies embrace and touch, a burst of tears flooded down my face. My body felt an instant adrenaline rush with acute pain. I was so overwhelmed with emotion that I could not stop crying and holding her.

I then woke up.

As I type this the next day, I think to myself, what did this person represent? A wheelchair confined, unhealthy and silent woman? Is that any significance to my stigma that I provide this situation? Is that fair for me to judge her as person who is struggling; unwell; guilt-ridden and confused? It is quite symbolic to paint her helpless, and perhaps that is my way of protecting myself. On a primal level, I want her pining; aching; recognizing and paying for the pain she has caused me…

Hope

(My son just minutes after he was born).

I found myself at the Bowring store on Saturday with my eldest son. We were looking through the Christmas decorations and I found a very interesting decoration. It was a jeweled encrusted word “Hope”.

For those that don’t know, my first name was Bonnie Vanessa Hope. Apparently, the nurses at the hospital gave me this name. The word, or rather name is quite common for abandoned babies. Many orphans are given this last name, and even orphanages are frequently named with this word.

My son looked at me concerned, and he said “oooh, mom, that’s your name right? I mean, your first name right?” I answered quietly “yes.” He then replied, “oh well, we shouldn’t get this since it will make you too sad.” I agree and we moved on.

I went on with my day, but later I thought about this more. Where is the line that we draw on the uncomfortable feelings and embracing this with a positive outlook?

I don’t think there is a clear answer. Every situation is different, timing is different and the point in a person’s life is different. I suppose for me, it is Christmas, which is a stressful time (good stress is still stress), and I’ll admit that I have always felt sadness at this time of year.

Do I need a trigger hanging on my Christmas tree? Do I need this name taunting me as I walk by? No.

Should I embrace this word as something to empower me and remind of what I have today? Well, perhaps that’s a novel idea, but for the season, I will tuck that away and keep my virgin, untainted tree just the way it is.

Traditions are meant to be kept.

This time of year can be particularly overwhelming and challenging for the families. Meltdowns are certain. Hyperactivity can be the norm, or a distant and detached frowning child. Either way, consider evaporating these situations with traditions. The more set traditions you have, the easier your holidays may be.

Here are some simple ideas to consider, and keep in mind that a tradition can only be if your family commits to doing this each and every year. Radlet’s love a controlled, steady and predictable environment. Setting up your child for anything less causes more stress and anxiety than needed.

Having these said traditions will give the child some normalcy to the riot of santa, presents and visitors, and may bring a bonding component to the family.

1. Take a family photo
2. Visit Santa
3. Find an easy cookie recipe and make them together
4. Do a special activity (my family does the Christmas train ride every year)
5. Make a gingerbread house together
6. Decorate the Christmas tree together
7. Have a Christmas party at the house (inviting the child’s friends) to encourage and test your child’s social skills
8. Have one set place for Christmas dinner each and every year (if that is possible)
9. Have a quiet day at home of relaxation on Christmas Eve and Boxing Day
10. If you are religious, choose one set day/time each year to visit the church i.e. Christmas Eve
11. Create a sense of belonging and ownership to the family by taking your child out to choose their gifts for your husband/wife and siblings. This may be a strenuous activity, but again, keep it light and fun and don’t do an 8 hour shopping marathon! Also, try to do the shopping early so your child feels prepared and you forego the crazy crowds at the mall
12. Give your child one special chore to do in relation to Christmas decorating
13. Create or buy an ornament for each year for each child (with the date written on the back)
14. Create a tradition with the parent who is typically not the main caregiver (this is typically dad). This will be paramount for creating a stronger bond
15. Make santa’s snack together and have the child intimately involved in cutting carrots, putting cookies out etc.

The night before Christmas, or before a big family get together, explain exactly what is going to happen at the event. Explain who is going to be there, where you are going and how long you will stay. Keep it positive and bring some quiet activity for the child to do.

Try not to travel at Christmas time. It is already such an overwhelming event, that it may push the limits too far for your child. If you can vacation at another time, you may as well save yourself the possible grief.

Some families choose this time to teach and show respect for their child’s native home. I do applaud this idea, but it has to be done delicately. Watch out for warning signs of your child feeling overwhelmed; overly excited or anxious. Also keep in mind that just because your child may come from China, it is not a reason to serve an Asian meal. Keep it true to your families traditions. You want to honor their background, but not confuse or create additional anxiety.

As an adult “radlet”myself, I absolutely adhere and enjoy my families traditions. We always do the Christmas train, at least a few days before Christmas. On Christmas Eve, we go to breakfast or brunch in suits and dresses at the fanciest restaurant open; we decorate the Christmas tree together (and I re-arrange my children’s ornaments later without them noticing); we buy a gift for a sick child at the children’s hospital and deliver it on Christmas day to remind us to be thankful for our good health. On Christmas Eve my boys get one gift each (a tradition I carry from my childhood), and each year they receive pajamas. On Christmas Day, I go to my parent’s house for a big Christmas dinner. I never travel at Christmas. It is far too special to bail out on family and yes, my strict traditions.