Adoption Loss -- What's that?

Hmmm... another post that hasn't seen the light of day...

I have some work to do. What is it? Oh yeah, what is adoption loss? What is it that makes me want to run and hide when I hear someone walking towards me as I write? I'm an adult now. I've raised two awesome children. I've got people telling me I'm all kinds of cool on a regular basis. Why do I feel like I just got the rug pulled out from underneath me by a simple, "What's that?"

My mind arranges lots of information explaining it from the various points of view: adoptee, adoptor, and mine. Explaining is not what I want to do. I want to be free in my own skin, not to feel like I have to explain my feelings or my situation or me. Explaining my feelings is trying to carve out a niche for myself, to say it's ok for me to be.

I want to look at adoption loss and just see it. To see it without trying to fix it up or hide it or run from it -- without judging myself. My adoption loss in tied up in Joy's adoption loss, which is tied up in her aparents adoption loss.

Denying my own pain blocked me from acknowledging Joy's. I knew nothing worse than giving up my daughter was going to happen to me. I found cold comfort with all the "You did the right thing". Yet I clung to, "She's in a good family". She's being loved, nourished, nurtured, cherished by people who were devoted to providing for her growth and development. I may have been worthless as a mother, but at least I helped to provide some joy in their world. Seriously, I thought of surrogacy as a noble and charitable act, though I wouldn't consider myself a volunteer.

So adoption loss, what's that? Losing. Losing my baby, losing my self worth, losing touch with reality.

It's Christmas

IT'S CHRISTMAS!!! Actually it's December 23rd and I didn't bother to look on the internet until 5:30pm -- because I met Joy and TomTom for breakfast today. They stayed in a hotel just fifteen minutes from me on her way to visit the home she grew up in. We were a little self conscious exchanging gifts for the first time in years. But we did greet each other with a great big hug. I was reminded of a phrase on my younger daughter's blog, and I quote "really good non-wimpy bursting with love hugs". In contrast to our previous tentative physical relationship we moved in that direction in a big way. I even hugged TomTom when we said goodbye although I wasn't sure he was expecting it...

Hugging. Affection. I wanted to hold Joy when we first met. For the first few years I wanted to hold her, to comfort her. But she was very hesitant to let me touch her.

I don't recall any physical affection in my "family of origin". But once I got out of there I gravitated to very affectionate circles that expanded until when I was 28 my father said , well if everyone else can hug you I can too. So our big hug may have been the "best Christmas present ever".

Anyway breakfast was lovely. We could see the ocean and hear the waves. The waiter was a bit goofy but the sun was shining and we were in a small haven. Simple chatty breakfast. As I was leaving I found my camera! Joy said "oh no". But I promised I wouldn't post them on the internet and we got the hostess at the restaurant to take our picture. All three of us together.

Searching

I was found almost seventeen years ago. I never took the concrete physical steps to look.

Over a week ago I looked for the Childrens Home Society on the Internet. I found a listing near the city I "signed the papers" in. I wrote down the address and the phone number, thinking I'll probably have to write to make an official request for information. But it would be faster to phone. Joy told me the limited information she'd been able to retrieve about her early life was not what I'd been promised. She wondered why I didn't know what had happened. Reading about other's searches finally spurred me to ask myself what happened? For a long time I thought there was no reason to ask about the past. I know where she is now.

But maybe there is a reason to look into the past.

It took me at least a week to make the time to phone. I mean I meant to do it yesterday but just didn't get around to it. Today it was definitely on my to do list. As the day wore on it became apparent that I was procrastinating, avoiding it. It was a time to assert myself, to take care of my self-- the one that was powerless and had given up when no help was forthcoming. It's time for me to ask, to say what I want.

So I called the number and got a menu for child care referrals. I hung up instead of pressing 1 or 2. I wasn't prepared to tell someone processing requests for childcare that I want to know what really happened to the baby girl they took so many years ago. I'll have to look around for a better phone number. This is harder than it looks.