Paths in Life

It was a difficult visit a while back. I wanted, needed to talk about how being separated from my son affected me all these years, how finally knowing who he was, how he was and be able to touch him has altered the path I was on. He didn't want to or couldn't talk about it. I think the latter.

The old fear of loosing him again surfaced. How devastating it would be for me if he ever decided a relationship with me could no longer happen. I realize to tread so carefully is not being truly me but the alternative in my mind makes it the only option. I vowed not to bring up the dreaded "a" word. Adoption would not cross my lips in his presence again I promised.

The next two visits were okay, they were fun and light and I actually felt myself relaxing and showing more of me to him. I accepted the long pauses in contact, the silent weeks that came and went. Then one morning I heard the ping of an arriving text message. Curiously I looked and it was from my son. He wanted to share with me a song he'd heard. He said he bet I would cry. It was a wee bit before I could check out the lyrics to the song he shared. He was right... I cried.

My son, Mr. "I Don't Want To Talk About Adoption" was sharing a song with me that talked about the paths in life, wondering how it would have been if we had traveled them together and hoping they would lead back together again. The video was of a man searching for his first mom, finding her and leaving her a note. It put a smile on my face and a hope in my heart.

Our relationship is a growing one. I realize that so is my relationships with my other children. Life is a journey down the pathways that meander together and apart all the time. I also realize that in his own time, in his own way my son is acknowledging me not just as the woman responsible for giving him life but for loving and nurturing that love for more than 40 years in my own way. That seems to be something he accepting.

Check it out sometime... Dean Brody's Trail in Life. I think you'll cry!

The Papers

When I arrived home from work, it was there... the letter I was waiting for.

For so many years before I knew where my son was I waited and held my breath as the mail truck drove past my house. Each time it did just that, drove past. This time the letter was in my mailbox. As I stood in the kitchen I hesitated for a long time. This was the moment I had waited for. Carefully I cut open the envelope, lifted out the letter. I don't think I saw anything but my name and the name of my baby, the one I gave him. I turned the page to see the copy of the adoption order. I knew what it would say and there were no surprises. The next paper, the revised statement of birth was the one that was the paper that broke me. There in black and white was the evidence of legal injustice. (There were three forms, copied from originals. There was the "Statement of Birth" that I in part completed (I have more to say about that another time), there was the "Adoption Order", okay we all know what that is about and there was the revised "Statement of Birth" which would be the copy kept by Vital Statistics as a birth certificate. Much of the later form was blacked out where the information was not about me or my son but of the adopting parents. Interestingly the doctor's name in the revised paper was blackened out. I wonder why... he was my doctor!)

I cannot begin to explain the surge of emotions, all trying to rise to the surface at one time. All I could do was cry. Standing in the kitchen two years almost to the day from when I mailed off my original request to have a copy of papers that changed my life, I cried. Thirty nine years, 5 months and eleven days after I gave birth to my beautiful son there I stood, a young girl in an old woman's body, and all I could do was cry.

I had expected there would be emotion. How could there be anything but emotion to see a reminder of the reality I had lived with all these years. But I did not expect to feel what boiled inside of me. I have struggled with this post. I have tried to find the words to describe the feelings that enveloped me when I received the papers in the mail.

Looking at the papers I was transported back to my hospital room in 1970. I was hunched over the small over-the-bed table carefully filling out the papers before me, a statement of the birth, a witness for all time that I had given birth to this beautiful baby. It was an important paper. I was 16 years old and I had to make sure that I did it all correctly, like an important exam in school I wanted to pass this important next step. Using my best printing I tried through my tears to ensure the information was all correct. I didn't want to cause any more "trouble". I wanted to make sure it was recorded forever that I was his mother. My tears likely stained the original but of course I wouldn't be able to tell. They had only sent me copies. That flash back was superimposed on top of the image of my son today. Superimposed like the name someone wrote across the name I gave him with the name he has today. I wanted to scream "no, no, no... this is my form, this is my baby, leave it/us alone!".

When I was first reunited with my son the things I was dealing deep inside me were about him, my love for him and the lost years. This was about what society and my parents did to him and to me. There was a difference.

When I calmed myself I wanted, needed, to talk to my son. I needed to hear his voice again to ground me in the reality of today. I picked up the phone and called him, just to hear his voice. I think he was curious to know about the papers when I told him they had arrived. We don't talk much about adoption but in that moment he knew I needed to. I tried to make light and teased that he was stuck with me. I think he sounded pleased about that and if it would be possible to feel a hug through the phone, in that conversation I felt hugged. The papers didn't bring the healing I had hoped for. It was my son that brought the healing. I still feel the hug as I write this.

I have more to say about the papers, how I feel they were altered and how I believe adoption in that baby-scope era was about secrets and lies. I have much to say about our rights and rights of our children to know their truth. When I feel stronger I will write more. For now I am exhausted and will take a day or two to rest in my hug, feel what I feel and put in perspective this latest tidal wave that has just washed over me. This journey of adoption reunion is hard work!

The Waiting Game

I am waiting...
It seems that waiting is what I do most along this journey of reunion. There is a verse in the Bible about waiting found in Isaiah. "But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint." I am waiting...

I felt at times close to fainting. A bit dramatic perhaps but there are moments when that is exactly how I felt. The renewing of my strength at times felt so far away.

I waited to find out if I was really pregnant the summer I was fifteen. We didn't have pregnancy dip sticks in those days. Although I knew on one level the moment I became pregnant I waited, watched and hoped my period would start. Waiting...
I waited to deliver my baby. That was a wait I actually never wanted to end. I loved my baby and knew once delivered he would be taken away from me. I remember holding my swollen stomach and wondering if he could feel my hugs. Waiting...
I waited for the moment my son turned eighteen when I could mail my request to be placed on a registry to be found. I literally left the house in the early morning hours of his birthday that year and mailed my application. After that each time the mail truck would pass by my house I waited to breathe, hoping it would stop at my door with a registered letter telling me my son wanted to find me. Waiting...almost fainting.
I waited after I received an email from my son's adopted sister. I waited for her updates and for answers to questions. I waited for her news and I waited for the moment I would hear he decided it is time to meet. That wait was the longest. Waiting...
I remember waiting in his sister's living room for the moment I would lay eyes on him again. It seemed to take an eternity for him to walk from one room to another. Waiting...
Now I wait between emails, between phone calls and between visits. Waiting...but a waiting I do with a peaceful heart...

This week I wait for a letter that is to come from the Ontario government to to confirm what my heart knows. Adoption records opened June 1st in Ontario and here it is mid-August and I have heard nothing. I wait...
I don't need to hear from them to know my son. I applied for my records because I can. But once again the waiting just seems to go on and on. When I called the office that looks after the documents yesterday, they told me it had taken longer to process the vetoes than expected and the first wave of applications were being mailed out this week. I would expect mine to be one of them because I applied in September 2007 when the records first opened and these were to be the ones first addressed. Waiting...

I am waiting for the end of the beginning. Like the anklet I had made to celebrate the fortieth year and the opening of adoption records and the illumination of secrets and a love that has endured through all this time, the waiting will have come full circle and I will soar with the eagles...meanwhile, I am waiting...

In Celebration of June 1st, Adoption Records in Ontario

Today is the day adoption records are opened in Ontario, Canada. Of course we know government office workers are working hard to process our adoption records requests and we celebrate...it is June 1st!

I started this blog as the time ticked towards open records in Ontario a few years ago. Then they closed again because of a few people too scared to look deeper into their own souls. All around them adoptees, birthmothers and a few birthfathers were desperately wanting records opened. Those touched by adoption have lived years carrying the grief caused by adoption. Now we all stand at the opened door, ready to cross through, those touched personally by the pain of adoption and those who caused the pain. What will be on the other side? For most I pray it will be tears of joy, for some unfortunately there will be tears of disappointment and for some I hope there will be realization and a seeking of forgiveness.

Opening records will not impact me the same as it will a mother who has mourned her empty arms all these years. I have been reunited with my son and I am in relationship with him today. I have applied for my record just the same because I am hoping it will give me a sense of righting a wrong that happened so many years ago, thirty-nine years and two months less two days, but who is counting. That wrong was committed by a faceless entity that embodied society, the government, the social worker and my parents, all who said I could not and should not raise my baby. They did what they did and I was left to live forever with the consequences. Am I still angry, you betcha! But please don't mistake that for the place of joy I now live in today in reunion with my son and June 1st is here!

There is no doubt in my mind that the son I have been reunited with is the son I had taken from me in early 1970 but I still wait for the records to be sent to me. I know I will cry the day they arrive in the mail. I am hoping I will feel I have come full circle and now what is left is to live from this point on, to build new hopes and to make new memories.

I met a vendor yesterday at a yard sale. She makes anklets of crystal and silver beads; some of them have letters on them. They are lovely. Thirty-nine summers ago I wore an anklet, a gold one. It was the type that had a small place to engrave a name on it, like an ID bracelet. I remember buying it and having my name engraved on the outside of it, but secretly on the inside I had the name I had given to my son in the hospital when I was forced to name him and fill in the papers. I had "Paul" engraved on the inside. When I first started to wear my anklet my parents reminded me that it was the "streetwalker" who wore an anklet. It made me love to wear the anklet all the more. Maybe it was a bit of defiance, maybe a bit of "call me one, I'll be one", maybe it was in alliance with all women made to feel they were outcasts because they didn't fit neatly into an ideal. I wore that anklet for years and still have it in my jewelry box. Like carrying my son secretly in my heart I often found ways to carry him publicly. Yesterday I asked the vendor to create an anklet for me of the crystal and silver beads spelling out his name today as my way of celebrating June 1st. It will have his name on it... and I will wear it both publicly and openly... like the records unsealed it will show his name. I will wear it this summer as a symbol.

Happy June 1st to all people touched by adoption in Ontario, Canada and to all the people around the world who still live in hope that adoption records will become unsealed in their lifetime.

A Birthmother's struggle with Mother's Day

Mother's Days have come and gone over the past 39 years. Some remain in my memory as very painful days, others simply as days that I wished would be over quickly and forgotten. All of them were days of incredible sadness. Many a year the sadness was hidden until late at night. I would look forward to going to bed so I could turn my face into my pillow and cry. I felt guilt for not appreciating what was around me, three beautiful children I raised and a husband who loved me. But always there was something missing. Even after reunion there was something missing and it was lost that first Mother's Day in 1970!

I have written about my first Mother's Day in previous posts, the month after I gave birth to my first born. I remember all to well the painful experience of suppressing the urge to stand up in church and shout out "I AM A MOTHER TOO". I remember the tears that rolled down and the depression the enveloped me only to remain a constant companion for all this time.

I am not sure what part of the secrets and lies that haunt every Mother's Day I have had since my first that I hate the most. The lie that I was not a mother when I was, the lie that I had three children rather than four, the lie that I would forget about my first born and that other children would come to replace him. All lies. The list goes on...

Now that I am in reunion the painful memories of past Mother's Days are mixed with the struggles of questioning what role I play in my son's life and the fear that he may "give me up" one day as I did him so many years ago. For the four years we have been in reunited the realization that reunion does not wipe away the years in between or dry the tears of heartache and separation adoption caused is only slowly coming to my understanding.

And, there is another realization I am coming to. I may not have been able to control what our society did to me as a pregnant, unwed teen, I may not have been able to control how my parents sent me away and the lies that followed, I may not have been able to control a lot of things about what happened to me or to my son but the one thing I could control was the love I held for him. For all the years that have past and all the years to come it is the one thing no one can take from me, my undying, forever love for my son. That is what makes me a mom. I know I was not the one who wiped his runny nose when he had a cold, or listened to the excitement in his voice when he caught his first fish, or scored his first goal in hockey, but I was the woman who carried him for nine months and always loved him.

A mother is known by her love for her children. This year as Mother's Day approaches I am going to try to focus on what it is within me that qualifies me to be a Mom, his mom...it is the love I hold in my heart. This is my fortieth Mother's Day and perhaps there is hope that I am coming of age!!!
Happy Mother's Day

Painful Birthday Memories

Today is my son's birthday. Another year, another birthday. I love my son but I hate his birthday and the memories it brings. I hate remembering the feelings as they flood over me, many of them are nameless and painful as are the ones I can remember like loss, anger, shame and abandoment to list a few. I am having more trouble keeping my feelings under control as time goes by. For more than 35 years I would only allow myself to "feel" anything on April 2nd and April 3rd. If emotions came up unannounced at another time I would push them down. Lately feelings have come over me unannounced and there is no control.

I wonder now that I am in reunion with my son if he feels emotions too on this, his day, that he has not known or named before. I wish we could talk about it. Our reunion is just not at the point where we talk the emotional stuff. One day.

I put my energy into purchasing a gift and a card that lifts up how I feel. The gift is never good enough to please me although he usually is very grateful. It is a part of the ritual I need to do. It is my opportunity to touch him again. I wish I could wrap him in a blanket again, hold him and feed him as I did 39 years ago for the three days we were together as mother and child, pretending all was right. That is why I hate his birthday. It was a good day. I had my baby in my arms and that is what I miss even now.

Happy Birthday Baby.

Beyond the Paper Work

I started to write this blog as the legislation was about to change in Ontario allowing birthmothers and adoptees the opportunity to know each other. That bill was vetoed and it stalled the information being shared to make that possible. After trying for a second time to open records June 1st 2009 will see that dream realized.
For those following this blog you know I am in reunion with my son. It is a comfortable reunion but still a painful journey as I try to navigate reunion's pathway.
I have been thinking about how important it is to me to have the information from the original birth record and to access the adoption information. I have also marveled at how I have accepted my son into my life without any formal or legal acknowledgement that he is in fact my son. Many of the birthmothers I have had contact with have done the same thing...no tests or legal documents to prove that the children we claim as ours truly are ours. My heart is the only test I have ever needed. In every ounce of my being I know this boy/man is my son. The rational may be his birthdate or the place of his birth or his looks being so much like mine. Maybe there is rational is a temperment much like mine, his similar actions or mannerisms that make him seem to be my son. Interestlingly he has accepted me as his natural mother too, no questions asked. I could have dropped from the sky, knew he was adopted and a few things about him and just happened to claim he was mine. What is this bond we have?
From the first time I was told by his adopted sister that she may have some information for me I knew this was my son. My heart quickened and I was reminded of the first time I felt him move inside me. For the longest time after when I would see his picture or hear his voice I felt that "quickening" just like a mom feels her child stir inside her womb.
It all comes back to the heart. I know, I just know he is my son.

The government has kept the applications we submitted the first time they were going to open records. Mine will be amongst the ones they first process. I still want the paper work but it is not to prove anything. It is to somehow right a wrong that was done although I know full well I won't be satisfied. The wound is too deep to be mended by a piece of paper that should never have happened. My consolation is in knowing he is mine, always and forever.

Adoption, the Life Sentence

While I was listening to a song last night that had nothing to do with adoption, it struck me that even the most dangerous criminals have a chance at parole. As a birthmother I have no way to escape this life sentence impossed on me 38 years ago! Do I sound angry? You betcha!

There is no escaping the bars of feelings that surrond me. I can well imagine how that person trapped behind bars, jailed for a crime they truly did not commit would feel as the minutes of their lives ticked by with no way of getting out. I wondered why I was so facinated when a local man was released a few years ago from prison. He had served almost 20 years in jail for a crime he did not commit. After being tried and found guilty of killing a young health care worker in Saskatewan in the 1960's he was sentenced to life in prison. Even that is only 25 years...I am at the 38 almost 39 year mark!

I know now it was not because of the sensational media coverage I was so intense on following his case. It was because I felt I have been wrongly tried and convicted of a crime in a sense. My crime was two fold...having sex without being married and getting pregnant without being married. I had been place behind bars of self doubt and inner loathing imposed on me by the society, social worker and family members that were suppose to protect me. Unlike the man jailed unjustly I have believed for all this time I deserved the sentence imposed on me. And just like the young man wrongly convicted of a crime he didn't commit, I trusted the system to do what was right. How wrong we have been.
I am not a political activist by any means. I want to protest the crime and something inside of me wants to scream injustice for us all...all the birthmothers who trust the system when it said you will move on, you will have other children and this is for the best. #(*$%^#&*$ I am angry.

Today I am in reunion with my son. I love him dearly and have an opportunity to move beyond the pain of relinquishment. Every once in a while I reflect on where we have been, imagine how it would have been to raise him and again I become angry that somehow I had trusted a system to know my best interest and his and it failed us! Angry that I accepted I was a criminal and the life sentence given to both of us. I am not sure how he perceives adoption in his life or how he has or has not worked through those feelings. One day I hope we talk about it. Right now I am too angry. (*%&(#&%

The Birth Mother's Siblings!

I have two brothers.

I am not sure why my siblings do not acknowledge my first born. They do not understand the path I have traveled to be where I am today in reunion nor do they ask about it. They do not mention my firstborn in any conversation and when I bring him up they ignore me and the comment. I am surprised by this and to be quite frank I am angered about it. He is close to their ages and have much in common with them. One brother is a principal, my son is a teacher. One brother still plays hockey, my son does as well and coaches too. One brother has gone to the provincial curling tournament the past few years, my son curls as well. The list goes on and on.

When I first started the journey of reunion I was absolutely shocked so I contacted my youngest brother. We had always been close but not once in thirty years had we every mentioned I had gone away, had a child and been forced to give him up for adoption. Not once in thirty years had we mentioned the pain I carried daily in my heart. I called my brother for two reasons. One was because I thought that after all this time it was the hour to stop the secrets and the lies. My other reason was to share with him the power of the computer and especially the internet. Computers are his life's work and his world. I thought that alone would be of interest to him. After initially sharing my son and our reunion with my brother it didn't take long before we slipped back into the politeness of just not mentioning my first born again. Did he not care? What does that say about his love for me?

My other brother was a different story. We had grown up always close, sharing the same bedroom and much of the same memories. There are only 2 1/2 years different in our ages unlike me and my youngest brother where there is 10 years. I knew when I got pregnant that my parents were angry and I was forbidden to talk to my brothers about it. This other brother and I had never spoken about what had happened, so I wrote him a letter... a very, very long letter. He didn't respond to me and when I asked him if he got the letter at first he acted like he couldn't remember. Then he told me that it meant nothing to him and would not speak of it! I was hurt and angry. What had I done wrong? I explained the reason for my silence and my pain. He simply replied again it did not concern him and he didn't care. I know how I think what his reaction says about his love for me.

Maybe they don't realize they have a label on them too...The Birth Mother's Siblings! How shocking is that?!?!?!

I have thought about this long and hard. Are they protecting my parents and what they thought was the reaction in the '60s? Are they truly disgusted with me for getting pregnant? Or do they simply not understand what it is like for a woman to have a child and then to have the child taken away from her.

What about their nephew? What about my son? Somehow I think I want us both to be embraced and restored to the family as if this nightmare so long ago never happened!!!

I don't have an answer for their reaction. My reason for penning this is simply to bring to light two things. First, it seems to be a common reaction for siblings of birth mothers (first mothers, natural mothers) to be somewhat disinterested. It was a past shared more than they realized. My parents parented the way they did because of what happened to me and their reaction to my situation would have most definitely affected my brothers in a subliminal way. My place in the family has been altered or affected by what happened. I am very aware that I am looked down on even these almost 39 years later. I am viewed as not very "smart" albeit I have more formal education than my two brothers or my parents. That statement alone points to the mindset of the '60s where getting caught just didn't happen to "nice" girls. You just must have been pretty dumb!
The other reason I bring up my siblings reaction to my reunion is to share with you the possibility that birth moms (first moms, natural moms) are still not seen by others with any compassion or understanding. The validation we need comes from other moms in similar situations and from within ourselves but not from society in general. And, I would venture to say not from our children either. Theirs is a different history and a different pain along their path of reunion.

The pain of relinquishment and the anguish we experience in our journey of reunion is ours and ours alone. We want to cry it from the roof top but no one is really listening except for the the ears of those along our path. They hear us and add their voice. Perhaps as the voices rise up and become loud enough we will be heard..understood is another matter.

Add your voice to the throng if you wish. Question, demand and expect answers to your questions. I understand that for 38 years, 10 months and 11 days I was not allowed to question or demand anything. As I do that now I caution myself not to live in the past but to look forward. What does all I did and experience mean for today and tomorrow? A question for another day.

Grandchildren in Adoption Reunion: A Second Chance

Grandchildren are a delight, everyone will agree. I have enjoyed being a grandmother for almost 11 years however the grandchildren from my son, the son I lost to adoption, are an added joy, an unexpected second chance. I cannot express in words what my heart feels when I look at the two children my son has given me to love as a grandmother.

This summer I spent a short few days with them. For the longest time I was content to sit and watch the interactions between my son and his children. He really is a wonderful father. I couldn't help but wonder how it would have been to have raised him, to have heard his giggles of delight or his emphatic "no" as a two year old. Watching and wondering became overwhelming at one point. I knew if I sat much longer I would have started to cry. At that point I just wanted to be alone with my grandchildren. I asked him if I could take them for a walk to the park.


We took our time, stopping to see every rock and every flower along the way. We held hands and laughed and for a few minutes I was the teenager living a dream. I struggled to remember these are not my children but I realized fully they were my second chance at mothering my son. I pushed them on the swing, caught them as they flew down the slide and we climbed on all seven teeter-totters! It was the best part of my whole vacation.


When we came back to my son's house almost two hours later I think I saw a look in his eye that also wondered if walks to the park would have been a part of the "if" I had raised him. It solidified my relationship with my grandchildren to be sure. I was the grandmother who took them to the park! But it also established a picture in my son's mind of who I am... the grandmother to his children, the woman who was related to him not just through blood but also through a thread far stronger than any imbilical cord.


Grandchildren do much for us. They keep us young at heart and they allow us second chances. Living through this thing call adoption reunion is like walking an uncharted path. I would never have dreamt that holding my granddaughter's wee hand or pushing my tiny grandson on a swing would have healed my spirit as much as it did.

The Burden of Reunion

I haven't posted for awhile. It is not that all things related to adoption are settled but simply I have had computers woes! But, after being silent for so many months I thought I should at least explain to my faithful followers, you know who you are, where I have been.

Reunion continues to be my path and my burden. Please do not get me wrong. My first born is not my burden. He is my delight. It is the journey of reunion that haunts me and weighs me down. It is the memories of what was, the lost hopes of what could have been, the continued ache of loss and the anger that rears its ugly head in my mind that is the burden. Just like we were not told so many years ago that the pain of relinquishment would stay with us all our lives, no we did not go on with our lives and forget, we were not told that reunion would make everything right again.

I must in my simple mind admit I thought if I could just hold him again, if I would just know he was well and happy, if I could just see him one more time all would be well. I had no idea the pain reunion would bring. The waves of grief and sadness that come over me even a few years into the reunion stun me in my steps. I hate the times of silence when I haven't heard from him. I hate the months between contacts but that is not what I am talking about. The "tsunomi" of reunion is what I call the never ending, spontaneous wave that comes over me while I am doing the dishes or out in the garden, when I am not thinking of my son or the past. I really thought in my pollyanna mind that all the pain would be wiped away by the first greeting and hug.

If I could pass along one caution to newly reunited birthmothers it would be that reunion is not a fix all. It is just a part of the journey that we embarked when we were forced to relinquish our children. The journey of reunion may even start before we have been reunited! When it is all said and done I would not trade this journey for all the world today. Don't get me wrong. It is not that I would have wished this life on anyone nor would I have thought I would have had to live adoption relinquishment and reunion. It is not the choice I would have picked. However...

I will embrace it and I will make the best of it and I will thank God everyday for the son He gave me. I will thank Him for the son who has come back into my life in a way I never hoped and I will rest in His promise that He will not give me more than I can bear but will be there to help me through.

I am who I am today because I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy 38 years, 3 months and 26 days ago, but who is counting, and I know that I am blessed to have him back in my life, tsunomis and all!!

Thanks for keeping me on your list and hopefully I will be able to post more often soon. I am heading off in a few weeks to see my baby boy again....I'll keep you posted, literally :-)

Thoughts on Birthmothers and Mother's Day

Today is Mother's Day, not birthmother's day, not adopted mother's day, not going to be a mom day or had a child but it died day. It is Mother's Day. I am a mother. It is my day and has been for 38 years, one month and 8 days but who is counting.

I remember well my first Mother's Day. I gave birth to my son only the month before. When I sat in church on the morning of Mother's Day the pastor asked who was the most recent mon, who had the youngest child. I rose a hand in my heart. Me, look...me! I wanted to yell. Look at the stretch marks, the loose skin around my middle and the circles around my eyes from crying every night. Look into my heart. You'll see, I am a Mom. I wanted to shout from the roof top that I had a beautiful baby boy and I was proud of him. But he was a secret. shhhhhh I was his mom and that will never change but I could not tell anyone.

Instead of me standing up a woman rose and showed her three month old child to the congregation while her husband sat next to her in the pew. She was the mom they recognized as being the most recent mom, not me. I fought back tears and for the rest of the service I thought I should leave. I was in a church and truth was I was living a lie. Wasn't lying a sin? I didn't realize I would be living a lie for the next thirty-five years!

Mother's Days have come and gone over the years. Each one was rippled in sadness as I remembered a child I could not know. As the children I went on to give birth to and raise were born and in their own ways celebrated Mother's Day with me my heart still wanted to shout..."there is one more that should be celebrating too."

Mother's day is not just about children thanking their mothers for mothering them it is for all mothers to reflect on their role as a mother and the blessings of motherhood. As I have done that over the years there has always been a sadness was that I did not have the opportunity to lift up the one that I had lost to adoption.

The past four years things have been different. I have been able to feel a greater sense of the complete spirit of Mother's Day. For the past four years since I have been in reunion with my son, he too has remembered me on Mother's Day, usually with flowers. Although he does not call me "mom" he does acknowledge me on the day. For that I am happy and I will always be greatful for the blessing of being his "mom" on Mother's Day and everyday. This year he sent me "mums" and in a way I feel like it is "mom" come full circle. Today I can shout it from the roof tops and I have the mums to prove it!!!

Some birthmothers celebrate birthmother's day the day before Mother's Day. They see themselves as first mothers and want to celebrate that doing symbolically the day before Mother's Day. I prefer to see myself as just Mom and so Mother's Day is my day. Call me what you will, I will always be my first born's mom. I may not have raised him, but I have always loved him. In my books, stretch marks aside, that is proof enough I am his mother.
Happy Mother's Day....

Reunion and the Fear That Lingers

Being found is only a first step and a baby one at that...no pun intended.

It is eight years this month since I received an email in response to a library sign-in I placed in a guest book a few months before. I remember the day as clearly as if it happened yesterday. Reading my emails was something I did faithfully each afternoon before I headed out to work. There was an email from a woman who said she may have more information for me and that it was possible the adoptee I was searching for was her brother! I am so thankful for her curiosity and her boldness.

A few emails later, a quick family meeting and it was decided I was indeed the woman who gave birth to her brother. As for his response I would have to wait five more years before he would decide that he was ready to meet me. I have been meaning to ask him why it took so long. I think I am a bit afraid of the answer. Maybe he just didn't care. Maybe he as thinking that to meet me would take away something from the family he always thought of as his only family. I suspect it is the latter but I am somewhat a bit nervous to have any conversation with him concerning the issues surrounding adoption which leads me to the focus of this post.

Why is it that I am so fearful to push forward in my reunion with my son? I suspect the answer is complicated and there is likely a multitude of reasons. One reason would be that I have been conditioned for so long to stuff any thoughts and feelings about adoption and being a birthmother as far down as they could go. If I remember right, as birthmothers we were told we would forget...I am still trying to figure that one out! If I was to think about my son in times past I would be picking at a wound. The scab never really healed and always bled just a little.

I still wonder at my place in his life. I asked once what he thought of me and our reunion. His answer was if he didn't like it I would know. That was very early on in our reunion and since then I have felt him warming up to me. The last visit I had was much more personal and he seemed more comfortable with me. We have not had a heart to heart about adoption, how it impacted him as a child or what he thinks of having me in his life now. I do read between the lines a lot and there are some good lines to read. I know that he is condsiderate of me and is thoughtful of me. He is polite and caring by nature I suspect which is always good, especially for me. I believe in my heart he would never hurt me and I do believe he considers me to be a part of the family. I am the grandmother to his children and that gives me a comfortable name. But am I his mother? I didn't raise him and he struggles not so much with what his adopted mother would think or feel since she passed away a number of years ago but I think he struggles with his acceptance with his siblings should he embrace me. Over the past three years that we have been in reunion he has become comfortable that his siblings have embraced me themselves. I am like a sister to them. They have welcomed me into their family circle to be sure. Not talking about adoption is like not talking about the elephant in the room at times. Acceptance aside, I struggle to know my place in his life although I assume it to be an important one and I suspect he struggles to know his.

I still have not answered my question. Why am I so fearful to bring up subjects of emtional and personal meaning surrounding adoption with my son? I cannot help but think that I am afraid that if I push too hard, if I sound like it is an issue I will loose him. It is crazy because he has given me no cause to think he could be so easily turned off or driven awa. I do know that the way I was made to feel about myself and how unworthy I am makes it hard to believe that he would accept me unless I was a "good girl". That is something I will likely never get over. The damage cause by loosing my child to adoption is permenant and the scar is deep. My struggle will be to live around it and not cause it to hamper my current relatonship with my son or our future together. I am afraid to call him, I am afraid to bother him, I am afraid to ever loose him again. Yes, that is the reason I move forward so hesitantly. I am afraid to ever loose him again. The pain of living without him for thirty-five years is still so fresh in my mind. I could not live through it again. Fortunately, I do have a sense that my son does care about me....I felt it in his hug when we said goodbye this last visit. I just have to close my eyes and think about his hug...

Never Been Taken Away

I will offer a caution before you read this post. It is filled with tears and anger. Every once in a while it hits me like a tidal wave...no warning but ferocious in its hit.

My baby should never have been taken from me. It is an injustice that can never be righted. It was criminal then and it is criminal now. I am angry and the anger causes too much pain. Will my past ever stop hurting my future? I wonder. Soon it will be thirty-eight years since that moment in history when injustice hit me square in the heart. I know there are many injustices in the world and many far greater than this one I live with but this is my injustice. I wear it like a medallion on my chest and it is stopping me from moving forward in my life in spite of all I do. I cry. I seems to help for a minute but no one sees or listens. I told my mother I just needed some time becasue I was upset...an apology because I still see this as something I shouldn't feel but I do...HE SHOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN TAKEN AWAY FROM ME. Maybe I should have run away in the night. A childhood notion. They would have caught up with me and said that I couldn't care for him. I was too young. I was being selfish. I was not thinking of him only myself and I was bad!

There, now I have said it. Now I can move on...if only for today.

I wonder if the social workers who told us we will forget, have other children and all of the past will be a blur really believed that or if they said it hoping that we would do just that to ease their souls? The only time that child needed you I was told was the moment I gave him life. I don't believe that. The reason I say what I do is because I have just come home from a wonderful visit with my first born. He needed me to be the grandmother to his children, he needed to know where his habits, likes, dislikes, looks, etc came from. He needed to know he was loved and not thrown away like yesterday's newspaper. I believe he needed to know that years ago not just last week. I believe who he is was affected by not knowing and I believe that his future is being shaped by now knowing. Injustices abound!

I am calmer now but I will post this minute in time as it reflects my feeling in the moment. I hope by my outburst that your feelings will be validated too. We have feelings that will not be forgotten when we have other children or marry or carry on. These children that we birthmothers had are our children and they should never have been taken away from us. It just wasn't right plain and simple.
Blessings....

Adoption and Self-Worth

Mark Schultz sings a song titled "Everything to Me". It is a song about a boy (himself actually) thanking his birthmother for the sacrifice of giving him up for adoption so that he would have a chance at fulfilling dreams she had for him.

I have always maintained that relinquishing my son for adoption had to do with love. I felt I had given him up for adoption because I was not the sort of person who would have made a good mother for him at that time in his life and I loved him that much. "A mother's love is something that no one can explain" (Helen Steiner Rice penned) and it doesn't just happen when you are married! But I felt unworthy. My sense of self worth was lower than zero due to the way society and more so, the way my parents made me feel. I am older now and realize that I still struggle with feelings of self worth , likely due to the experience of being a pregnant, unwed teenin the 1960s. It amazes me that we birthmothers were treated the way we were. The punishment handed out was not just the lost of our children but the loss of our self worth.



Anyway, back to Mark Schultz. Last I read he has not searched for his natural mother but he did dedicate a song to her. In the song he asks the question, if you passed me on the street, would you know that it was me? Would you stop or pass on by? My son asked me that question a while back. He asked me if I would have recognized him if I saw him on the street. I told him I thought my heart would know that it was him but that I wasn't sure I would have the courage to stop him.



For years before I had been found I would drive past an area on Northern Ontario and I would be in a panic. My heart would beat rapidly and my stomach would feel sick. I hated the area and would have to drive quickly through it. On one trip along the trans-Canada Highway with my daughter I started to cry for no reason. We had stopped at a donut shop and I was beside myself with tears and nervousness. I told her we had to get back in the car and drive on. We had to leave right then. I don't know if my son passed by or not to be honest but a few years later when I had been reunited I found out that the small town we had stopped in was the town he was living in at that time!!!

I hate it when people say that I should be happy that my son had a good life. I am not convinced that he would not have had a good life with me. Perhaps things would have been difficult at the start. One of my raised son's is almost thirty, married with a young child. They live with us right at the moment. How does that make it different than it would have been if my parents would have allowed me to have come home with my son for a few months or a few years. I don't think it is natural for a child to be seperated from their mother. When people say to me he had such a good life I wonder what they would say if we had been reunited and he was in jail or living on the streets?

We were told we were no good and we believed them... all of us first mothers who were given no choice in reliquishing our babies. That is likely one reason why I would not have stopped my son on the street. I would be too afraid that he would reject me because I wasn't good enough. I guess what Mark Schulz said in his song, you gave everything to me is really not true. If I had it to do over agan I would NEVER have allowed myself to be lied to and maniplulated into thinking that I had to give him up because I could not offer him what he needed. What he needed most was a mother's love, not any mother but HIS mother's love and what I needed most was to be able to give it. What I gave him was what I had been brainwashed into believing was the best. And, that doesn't count for anything.

If I had my life to live over again I would have found a way to have kept him, I don't know how I would have done it but I would have. He would be a different person today and so would I . His life without me was not bad. He was loved, but it was not the unexplained love of a mother who gave birth to him and I know that is different.

Thanks for listening to my rant for the day. His birthday is coming in a 6 weeks and I struggle with this time of year even now that we are in reunion.

Beginning the Search

The sun is shining today. That is a good thing. It is shining both outside my window and in my heart. After experiencing minus 45 degree windchill temperatures for a week, seeing the sun again gives me hope. The sun is shining in my heart today as well for no apparent reason other than I know I am blessed. That too is a good thing and it warms the soul.

My story of adoption reunion is one that is hard to pen or in this medium, type. The dark days of not knowing where my baby boy was, if he was dead or alive were like the wind swept chills of winter days without sunshine. I remember the nights of tears, the times when other things in my world seemed out of place and really it was because he was lost to me. Prayer and love sustained me but I must admit my soul was weakening. I remember crying out on his 30th birthday in sheer desperation that if there was a God out there why would S/He not hear my cry and come to my aid. I wanted peace and if that peace could only be accomplished through death then let it be so.

The internet is a wonderful thing. We can surf and hunt and lurk in places we dare not tread in person. Guest books were common in 1999 and it was one night in the cold dark winter before the turn of the century that I sat lurking at a town I believed in my heart was the place my son was taken to after he left my arms. It was a town in Northern Ontario that I had passed by many times in my travels but had never ventured off the highway. When I would be driving by and we neared the town my heart would quicken and my agitation level rise. I even hated the sound of the name of the town when my Mother would say it. On this winter night I sat and typed in the name of the town. I wanted to see what it looked like, I wanted to see what was the attraction or lack of it.

The site had a library and the library had a sign-in guest book. Boldly I added that there was a male born on a certain date, in a certain city and from the non-identifying information obtained from Children's Aid he had been adopted into a family where the siblings were considerably older than he was. How quick an email is sent these days. There is no hesitation as you lick the envelope, purchase a stamp or walk to the mail box to deposit it. There is no time to ponder the wisdom of sending off such a "note". Gone in a second and with it the opportunity to change your mind. It is a different world we live in. Caution needs to be captured in the fraction of a second that before you had time to contemplate.

As I sat on my sofa a few months later crying out to the God of the Universe for mercy and pity and grace I had no idea that my sign-in was being read by a person half way around the world in New Zealand. I had no idea that the library sign-in of a small Northern Ontario town would be of any interest to a man in a country so far away and that this person would know the post was about my son. I also had no idea that it would take another 5 years before I would know how my cry that afternoon on my sofa would be answered.

We think we are not heard in our prayers at times because the answer is not immediate. I am reminded when I pray that the answer is always forthcoming. We may not know the answer for awhile, we may not like the answer but it is always being answered.

My brother is a computer nerd (he prefers the word geek but anyone who has a brother knows that the word nerd is always a better fit). He tells me that in the world wide web the odds of someone in New Zealand reading a guest book sign-in and know that it was my son is at an exponential number higher than even he could know. He also said my chances of winning lotto 649 would be greater. I think I did win the lottery and there is no amount of money that could ever buy what I gained from being reunited with my son. I am rich and I am blessed. I will continue the story again in another post. Thanks for dropping by.

Not a dirty little secret!

There is a utube spot that I saw recently made from an adoptee. It was unusual because it was from a male adoptee, about the same age as my son, and he was telling anyone who would listen that no one ever stops to ask the adoptee what they may want. First off, there were never consulted about being adopted to begin with and secondly if they wanted to be found and thirdly how they felt about reunions. They always felt they had to do things to please and otherwise they would not be "good" enough. Perhaps they would even be "given back" where ever back was.

I found it interesting as a birthmom to listen to this man. I wondered how much like a birthmother's perspective it sounded. No one asked how we felt about the decisions made for our lives. Imagine how a mother animal would have felt in nature to have had her newborn ripped from her clutches. The milk in her breast ready to flow to nurture her young one and her heart had been primed for nine months to hold this little one next to it only to have it gone forever. The social workers, our society and even well meaning parents felt that they had the right to make decisions for us and the children. Then they decided that these imposed decisions would be for a lifetime.

Recently I had a conversation with my mother. She has admitted that perhaps her and my father, who is now deceased, made a mistake. That was good to hear. But ususally when someone admits to having made a mistake there is a step towards restitution or at least an offer to make what was wronged right again. She cannot give me back the 37 year, 10 months and as many days that I lived without my son but she could open her arms to having him in her life now. That is not what I hear. There is still the concern about "what would her friends say". I hear that he is still a dirty little secret and I will not permit that. I allowed it back then, but not now. My son is not something to be ashamed of. He is wonderful man, a terrific father and someone I am proud to call "my son".

I think that making that decision, to stand up for myself and my son, is empowering after all these years. My heart is still burdened that he is not received with open arms by my mother or my brothers. It is definitely their loss not have him openly in their lives. I will not hang my head any longer in their presence. It may take awhile for the crook in my neck to straighten out from having been bent so low for so many years but I think I will continue to exercise it. One day it will grow stronger and it will be staighter. My son is worth it and I am worth it too.

If you are reading my posts which have been more sporatic than I would have liked. I would love to hear from you. Do you share my journey from a perspective that I could learn from too?

Adoption and the Child Within

The Child Within

Some days I celebrate the person I am because of my experience of living with adoption. Other days I curse it. The space inbetween those two opposites is vast and there are days that I am lost in the middle.

I sat at my counselor's office the other day crying like a fifteen year old girl. The pain of relinquishment as real is if it happened the day before. The realization that I am in my 55th year yet I felt like I was a child made me hate what my adoption expereince had done to me. I was out of sorts for the rest of the day. I cannot turn the hands of the clock back. This is reality. This is who I am. The child within me is just as real as the woman who struggles to accept what has happened even though it is 38 years later.

Perhaps it would be an easier journey if my reunion story was one that was happening without there being 1,000 miles inbetween us. My son is just so far away still, like he is still gone from me. Perhaps if we could talk weekly or I could see his children growing up and participate in their lives the pain of reliquishment would not have the hold on me the way it does.

I wonder if I should be the one to really take control as he asked me to do. My fear continues to grip me that I will say or do the wrong thing and he will ban me from his life. I still carry the "you are not good enough" sound track that was played to me over and over again.

When will I be able to tell the 15 year old child that she is worthy and entitled to live a live without condenmation or shame?

Adoption and Christmas

Adoption loss and Christmas

Celebrating the holidays is always a time to reflect on the past. It isn't just about traditions or about the memories we create. It is also a time to reflect on losses and gains. I have always found certain holidays to be harder on me emotionally than others. I have no problem with Thanksgiving. I count my blessings. New Year's is filled with anticiptation of hope for new beginnings. Valentine's Day has its own feel good thoughts. But for me Christmas is a time that drags up such emotion that it is hard to capture it in one word or a few phrases.

Christmas is a time for family and that maybe is where it starts to get a bit difficult for me. My son had not been a part of my celebration of family for so many years yet there was never a moment that went by during the Christmas season that he was no on my mind. What did he dream of getting for Christmas? Would he be happy? Did he go to a church service or watch the one of my favorite Christmas shows, Miracle on 34th Street? My arms particularly ached for him during this time of year. Yet, I could not tell anyone why I was meloncholy or why I cried when I sang the words to Silent Night. It was the "mother and child" line that g0t me every time and from that point on in the song I could not sing. Tears would stream down my face.

My son and I have been reunited now for 2 years. This is our third Christmas reunited. The first Christmas he called me and I was so filled with emotion just seeing his name on my call display brought me to tears and I couldn't answer! We talked the next day. Last year I tried to call him but there was no answer so again we talked the next day. This year I called him and he said he was just picking up the phone to call me. We talked an hour and a half on Christmas day!

I still missed him on Christmas but I did not feel the emptiness I would have told you about before. There was not the sense that he was missing, just living 1,000 miles away...which he does. Our conversation flowed, comfortable with each other. It was my best gift. Maybe next year Christmas won't seem to be the same as the last 37 years have been.

When you loose a child to adoption the longing doesn't go with it. The empty arms are left behind and with it an empty heart. I am one of the fortunate ones. My Christmas was filled with my other children and with many of my grandchildren. My arms were full but there is a section of my heart that has never been filled by anything or any one else. It is a room locked away that I only enter on days like Christmas. A room filled with years of tears and longing. Maybe there is room in there for the phone call I had last night. Maybe the voice will be louder than the sadness that has filled the room all these years.

Contact, a hard thing to do!

It is really the little things that make you happy.


When I compare my reunion with my first born to others I have read about, both on line and in books, I am often struck by how different mine is compared to others. I realize all reunions are different as each person in the reunion is different. However I often waffle between feelings of times when my reunion is wonderful or it is a dreadful failure. There have been moments when I have considered not continuing to receive posts from an on line birth mother,or natural mother as some would prefer to be called, support groups of any kind. I have had moments when I have seriously considered not staying in the reunion with my son at all. I have doubted whether my son actually cares whether I am present in his life or not. On the other had I have days when I wake up, I read the posts and think I am the most fortunate woman in the world, life just doesn't get any better. Why am I so easily swayed in the two opposites so quickly? What causes me to go from mountain tops to valleys of despair? I believe it is due to the fact I take my eyes off the little things, the things that really count.

Let me give you an example. My son doesn't call me, he rarely emails and if it wasn't for his very considerate wife I would often wonder if I was really in reunion. Yet, he was up front with me from the beginning and told me he would do neither on a consisted basis and I was not to take it personally. I read of women who talk, email and tex-message their first borns on a daily basis. Not so with my first born! Yet I forget so quickly his sense of honour to tell me what he was like so I would not be offended. He struggles to write with any regularity and when he does is always appoligetic at his tardiness.

I don't take initiative on my own to call him. Perhaps he is more like me that the outward physical appearance. He doesn't call either. I don't call him because I am quite frankly too nervous. It scares me to pick up the phone and dial his number. My heart beats fast, my hands sweat and all of a sudden I can't remember for the life of me why I want to call in the first place. I think I am still struggling with the initail feelings of rejection. If I was to call and ever detect a voice of disinterest I would be crushed. My son is so respectful that I must confess those feelings are in my head and not founded on any sliver of fact.

I always find an excuse not to call....it would be too late, I am too grumpy, I'll wake their baby, I am sure he must be out.... This is my issue not his. He has told me I can call whenever I want, visit when ever I feel the need and certainly accepts all emails and letters.

I need to focus on the small things. As they say, count your blessings. He has accepted me into his life, he has told me he is not going anywhere and he always seems so pleased to see me. My focus should be on the fact that I am his mother, the woman who gave birth to him and the one person in the world who would love him unconditionally. I cannot explain the bond of attachment I feel toward my son, It is a bond unlike any other that I know. It is more than a felling and it is more than a need. It is more than a genetic pull. It is a force of nature that is unexplainable. He is and always will be a part of who I am.

Miss hin I may do and struggle to explain the bond and identify the feelings but I cannot deny them. It is that I must hang on to when I struggle in my dark moments of despair. They will draw me up to the mountaintop again when I hear his voice and my heart skips a beat. I remeber well the excitement of my other children being new born and how I hated to be apart from them. When I would return from an hour of shopping I longed to hear their voice, to see their little arms reach up and give me a hug. I suppose that is the longing in my soul for my first born.....he just happens to be older.... by 37 years, 7 months and 21 days!

I must try to keep in mind that what we have is a growing relationship and like all relationships it takes time to establish what is the patterns of contact. Those patterns of contact will change over time as all relatonships do. When I have had best friends we contacted each other every day. We are still best friends but there are times we contact each other once a nomth. I have never had a relationship with my first born and I certainly cannot know what should look like.