Memories of Mother’s Days

UM

One of the nicest Mother’s Day I ever spent was in Paris.  It wasn’t our Mother’s Day; it was French Mother’s Day which as far as I can tell comes the last Sunday in May.  My husband and I rented an apartment in Paris near the Place des Vosges and our daughter flew over to spend the weekend with us. We didn’t realize it was Mother’s Day in France when we made the arrangements. It just worked out that way.

Mother’s Day in Paris

My daughter insisted that we NOT meet her at the airport so we agreed to meet at the RER station near Notre Dame. The RER is the train that comes in from the airport.  We spent an anxious hour when she arrived about an hour and a half later than we expected. The Paris gendarmerie were starting to look at my husband and I with suspicion because we were hanging around the square in front of Notre Dame for so long.  But she got there (delay in coming through customs) about five minutes before my official panic time and we had a great weekend.

There was a little drama. Something went wrong with the bathroom door in our apartment and our daughter got locked in without having locked the door for a couple of hours. But we got her out and went for a Saturday tour of Paris on the Number 69 bus. To the Eiffel Tower and then all the way back across town to Pere La chaise

On top of the Pompidou Centre

Cemetery. The bus is a highly recommended cheap tour of the city through neighbourhoods you might not otherwise see. Often the street seemed about two feet wider than the bus.

Sunday we strolled through the shopping district to the Centre Georges Pompidou and had a wonderful lunch at the rooftop restaurant.  We wondered through the left bank. Tried to find all the places I remembered from my last trip to Paris which had been many years before.

The next day, when it was time for my daughter to go, we went back to the same RER station in the early morning hours. She went home, we went to London. It felt very strange. Very strange to go our separate ways.

Saying Au Revoir

The last entry in my diary the year I got pregnant was “Mother’s Day!!!”. That’s all it said.  Although I write a lot, sometimes when things are really bad I stop. It’s just too painful I guess. My son was born seven months later. The beginning of the big silence that didn’t end for over eighteen years.

This is a day that is sometimes difficult for mother’s of the adopted.  I’m thinking about all of you and hope you are spending the day with those you love and who hold you dear.

Peace

UM

Adoption Reunions and Expectations.

There is no UM typewriter here because this was not written by me.

But it is a very excellent look at what is often going on in reunions.

Expectations and Reunions

April 10th is Always Mother’s Day to Me…

UM

It is now 26 years since I met my son on April 10th, 1987.  I have written and celebrated that day many times.  If you would like to read a couple of those posts that reflect on that day,  here they are. 2011 is complete with photographs.

2011, 2012.

Meeting my son  changed my life for the better. I still celebrate it even though for the last eight years things have not been going so well. For the last four years they haven’t been going period.  I have made a few attempts to reach out. I never wrote about them here because I don’t really believe in giving a blow by blow description of everything that’s going on.  Let’s just say, things remain the same.

I heard on the news today some one has decided  this is International Anti-Bullying Day. Perhaps you have seen the Wear Pink Campaign. It is rather ironic that it International Anti-Bullying Day should fall on April 10th because I feel that it was my son’s attempts to bully me (and his father) that put the  distance between us.  The last time he communicated with me, from what  I could tell, if there was going to be a relationship, my role in it  was supposed to be that of whipping girl.  When I  refused to play it, he tried to embarrass and hurt me.

He wrote to friends saying nasty things about me.  And then he went on Twitter. I said to my husband, I think I’m getting cyber-bullied by my own son.  Definitely not a trust inducing exercise.  I wrote about what happened here a few months later with some help from Eddie Money.

The events that I describe in that post  occurred right around this time of year. There was often trouble around anniversaries, like his birthday, with my son.  Of course I have some sympathy for that because I used to get  troubled around his birthday every year too until I figured it out.  Many people, adoptees and mothers, have written about the triggering anniversaries can cause so I won’t say any more about that here.

But I do want to say a bit more about mothers and bullying.  We don’t respond to it well.  I don’t know that many birth/first/natural mothers IRL, as they say, but I do know quite a few of them on line. Most of these women seem quite strong to me. I suspect most (all?) of them would say that they are strong women too. And, in the next breath they will admit, they can’t believe they were so stupid as to have lost their children to adoption.  There may not be a lot of guilt but there certainly is a lot of regret.  Where was all that strength then?  But back then, when we lost our children, we were the women/girls people told us we were. Most of us have vowed that we will never let something like that happen again.

Bullying can consists of one or more types of abuse – emotional, verbal, and physical. It typically involves subtle methods of coercion.  For most of us that coercion involved destroying our confidence in our ability to raise our own child. Most of us know now that was ridiculous. We weren’t lacking in ability or potential, we were lacking in support. And that is why, when someone, anyone, tries to tell us who we are, we don’t buy into it.

I think when an adoptee attempts to bully it often has its basis in growing up with the birth/first/natural mother myths that abound in adoption.  The myth that the adoptive family was always better than.  The original family lesser than. The myth that mothers are troubled or drug addicted or worse. When I first contacted my son, his adoptive father told him to be careful if that woman asks you for money.  It’s laughable but then really it’s not.  That kind of attitude enters your brain by osmosis.

But enough about bullying. Even though the irony of the juxtaposition of Anti-Bullying Day and our reunion day was too strange to ignore, I have strayed farther afield than I intended to do.

It’s the anniversary of meeting my son. I am remembering and smiling.  I remember the wonderful visit I had with him. It was at this time of year too. Ten years ago this week. I hope my son is doing well. I hope he is happy. I hope he has found someone who loves him and who he loves back.  And although we may remain apart, I think of him often. I hope he has found peace. I will always be grateful that we were able to meet.

Peace

UM

For those who fought for the truth to be heard, we hear you now…

UM

Those are the words of Australian Prime Minister Gillard in her apology to mothers, adoptees, sisters, brothers, fathers and others harmed by forced adoption.

I’ve said it on this blog before, what happened to us wasn’t right.  As in Australia, here in Canada there was no informed consent and there were oh so many lies.  Lies about our ability to raise the babies we had given birth to, lies about the known impact of adoption on us and the children who were relinquished, lies about the perfection of the adoptive parent pool. Some of us were not permitted to see or hold our babies.  Well, Australia after considerable study and research, has come to realize these practices were wrong and inflicted great harm.

So, be you mother, adoptee or one of the others, get out the Kleenex and watch this all the way through.  Australia so gets it, it is unbelievable.

Australian Prime Minister’s Apology to Mothers and Adoptees.

I just wrote to the Honourable Julia Gillard in Australia to say thank you. If you would like to do the same, here is the link to her website.

Julia Gillard, Prime Minister of Australia

Will we ever see this happen in this country?

I hope the day is coming.

Peace

UM

You have to start somewhere…

UM

UM has been silent for quite awhile.  Things were going on that I won’t go into here.  Do I want to start writing my blog again?  To be honest I’m not sure.

Do I still believe in adoption reform and adoption activism? You bet.

I am encouraged by all the great voices that are out there. All the people that are starting to get it.  All the people who call individuals and institutions out when they spout the old adoption party line – ignoring all the voices, mainly adoptees and mothers, that say the party line is inaccurate, self-serving and offensive.

I think slowly things are changing.

I’ve seen many, many posts that I wanted to pass on but didn’t so today I am going to do it.  because, as I said, you have to start somewhere.  One is about adoptee anger and how it just may be justified and the other two are  about the burden of being told you must feel grateful for being adopted.

Here they are. All written by adoptees:

Why Anger is Necessary

and

Who Is Entitled to My Gratitude

Adoptees’ Perspective on Love

And one more, also by an adoptee, that kind of reflects how I feel sometimes.

Adoption Doesn’t Feel Real

Peace

UM

Helen Gurley Brown (and adoption)

Go to Birth Mother First Mother Forum and read the link between Lorraine Dusky, Helen Gurley Brown, Cosmopolitan Magazine and early adoption activism.

Lorraine freelanced for Cosmo and also wrote BirthMark.  One of the earliest books about birthmothers’ experience of adoption loss.

Randy Travis and me (and adoption)

UM

I am not a big fan of country music.  That makes it sound a bit like I don’t like it.  That’s not it, it’s just not usually my go to music.  Rock and Roll!!!

But there was a time that I listened to a lot of country music or to be more specific, a lot of Randy Travis.  The year I was looking for and found my son, there were two CD’s I played all the time, at home, in the car, everywhere. One was Randy Travis’ Storms of Life and the other was Famous Blue Raincoat, the songs of Leonard Cohen (See my page About the Name) as sung by Jennifer Warrens. I played both of them for my son’s father.  He thought Famous Blue Raincoat was beautiful.  He thought it was funny that I was listening to Randy. But I digress.

As far as I know, Jennifer Warrens is doing alright; Randy Travis is another story.  He was found, apparently, naked and drunk, on a highway. He seems to have fallen on troubled times.

Now I guess if you are a songwriter, it’s all material.  Maybe there will be a Storms of Life II.  But that is kind of flip and I really don’t want to be flip about Mr. Travis because he was there for me during a challenging time. I doubt that he will find his way to this blog but if he does I hope he will read and know his music meant a lot to me.  I still have his songs on my itouch.

Here’s the title track from Storms of Life.  I remember singing this in full voice while I was driving around the province, tracking down clues, looking for my son. It wasn’t my favourite song but you’ll get the idea. Particularly if you’ve been there.

Peace

UM