Randy Travis – Songs to Search By…

Friday, July 12, 2013


This is an update to a post I did earlier. Randy Travis is going through a hard time right now. He suffered congestive heart failure and now he has had a stroke. He is in critical condition.  I am very sad to hear that and my thoughts are with him, his family and friends.

There was a time when I listened to 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 by Randy Travis.  Read the rest of this entry »


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

Wednesday, April 10, 2013


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 to him. 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. Read the rest of this entry »

Randy Travis and me (and adoption)

Wednesday, August 15, 2012


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.



Mothers Day

Sunday, May 13, 2012

20120513-183848.jpgWhen I was pregnant with my son, pretty much alone and terrified, one of the last entries in my diary was noting that it was Mother’s Day. I notice i often stop writing when things are really troubling me. I think that Mother’s Day when as far as the rest of the world was concerned I was not worthy to be a mother was pretty much the worst one I have ever spent. It was a long way to December when my son was born. To be alone is a terrible thing. To be given the message that you are not worthy is a terrible and sad thing. It is also a lie. Everyone is worthy. I was worthy. More than worthy. So was my son.

I think often of adoptees who have gone in search of their mothers and found them wanting. Wanting in love for them. Rejecting of them in reunion. I don’t understand that. Studies have shown that a very high percentage, around 95%, want to meet their children lost to adoption.

When I read of rejections I want to write to the adoptee and say how sorry I am. I’d like write to the mother too. I don’t understand their response but maybe at some level I do.

When you lose a child to adoption the only way to survive in a world that refuses to talk about or acknowledge your loss is to shut down some part of you. I think sometimes that this is what these mothers fear, opening a flood gate and being overwhelmed by the pain. It is a legitimate fear.

At reunion you truly discover what you have lost. Or maybe you just allow yourself to feel the loss in a way you have never felt it before. I think adoptees go through this too particularly when they have been raised to believe they were rescued from a terrible fate only to discover that may not be true. The original fate if it had been allowed to play out, may not have been that bad. In fact, it might, with a little support, been quite good. Might even have been better.

Strangely, it was my son’s father who taught me something about children. When I found my son, his other children were in their late teens. (His son is 10 months younger than my son – but that’s a another post for another day.). My son’s father said to me, “Sometimes, if you let them, children will help you.” I believe that to be true in a general way but I’m not so sure it’s true for parents and children who have been lost to each other through adoption. I think the feelings of abandonment are too strong. And so the dance of hurt begins.

Sadly sometimes the hurt wins.

I’m not sure why I wrote about all of that. It just came out. I was going to write about how last year I had two Mother’s Days, one here the other in Paris France. So I’ll talk a bit about that now.

By happy coincidence my daughter was there for both of them. France celebrates Mother’s Day later in May. Both Mother’s Days were very She came to spend the weekend with us. Wonderful! In Paris, we went to lunch at the rooftop restaurant, Centre Georges Pompidou. It has a magnificent view of the city. I highly recommend it.

Thinking about my two Mother’s Days got me thinking about the whole Mother’s Day – Birth Mother’s Day debate.

Why don’t we change the name of this day? Why don’t we just move that apostrophe. Or get rid of it all together.

Mothers’ Day. Would that solve the problem? No need for the separate but allegedly equal Mother’s Day and birth mother’s day (There are no capitals there on purpose.)

Mothers Day. I kind of like it.

Much wisdom, per usual, over at The Declassified Adoptee on the subject of having two mothers.

Happy Mothers Day to all mothers and their children.

We are going out tomorrow because my daughter had to work today. She works hard I am proud to be her mother. I am proud to be my son’s mother too.



Thanks-Giving Item #4 My Daughter

Saturday, October 18, 2008

ImageChef.comThis is a big reason to give thanks over there to the left. My daughter.

If I had never met my son, I would never have had my daughter. She was born about a year after I met him. If he had been unwilling to meet with me, I don’t think she would be here.

If you had met me back then, before I found him, you would have thought (and of course you wouldn’t have known about him probably) I was a person who didn’t like kids particularly. The thought of being pregnant sent me into a panic. To me, being pregnant was equal to complete loss of any control over my life.

Just a few fears left over from the first pregnancy – I don’t think I realized it then but I think that is what was happening.

Shortly after I met my son, I knew that I could have another baby and it would be OK. He lived with us shortly after she was born and, of course, to her he was just her big brother. Which was great on one hand but on the other hand, I knew someday I would have to tell her the truth, that I had not raised him.  I told her when she was about 5. She was very understanding and gave me a big hug and said she thought she was very lucky.

I feel very lucky to have her too. She’s grown up now, in her 3rd year of university. But in having her I did learn that I knew lots of things about being a mother, I knew them naturally. I was OK.

I will always feel I owe my daughter and the experience of being the kind of mother I never got to be with him – to my son.

Ironic but true.