Though it has actually been less than two weeks, it feels like a wide stretch of time has passed since I’ve added any new thoughts or musings here.
Part, I know is time. Life has changed so much in the past couple weeks and I am still running a step behind myself, trying desperately to catch up, never quite getting there even with the best of efforts.
But another part, is this struggle between emotions. A constant contrast that lingers in the fact that I am, at the moment, in the best time of my life and yet still feel a pain and a hurt that at times, brings a tear (or two or three or more) to my eyes.
“The glass is half full.”
That’s how I like to believe I view most things in life. It does no good to dwell in the bad, to always wonder what evil lurks behind the next corner. What heartbreak might be waiting in the next week . . . month . . . year.
And yet, it seems, when it comes to the messy, confusing maze of adoption, I have a very hard time with that philosophy. It’s difficult to see the glass as half full when it has been dumped over, broken, and kicked to pieces for so many years. It’s a jumble of shattered pieces that takes time to glue back together to even resemble a container that can actually hold the liquid to be “half full.”
So, I sit here in the most amazing miracle – having my oldest son back in my life again. Being able to talk to him, hold him, love him in every way. To reach out and actually feel him, know him, be a part of everything he is and, hopefully, will become.
And yet, there is always a reminder too. An ugly knowledge of what he has faced through his childhood, become a part of without any decision of his own. A fate placed before him before he ever became a part of this world.
And I, no matter what I have learned and come to understand, still hold a part of the blame in not being old enough, strong enough, wise enough, to save my own child . . . my own flesh and blood . . . from a fate he never deserved and never should have been forced to face.
And that is where the battle of emotions come into play. It is there where I can smile greater than I ever have. My heart full of a joy . . . a completeness . . . I never imagined possible. And yet, still find the tears blurring my vision as I watch ALL my children together. The painful tug on my heart as my oldest son jokes and laughs with his brothers and sister, steps into that part of our lives that has always been empty without him.
He should have always known that. It was his right from the moment he was born. He is a part of us just as much as we are a part of him and he should have NEVER been denied being surrounded by his family, loved and accepted for who he is and what he is because he is one of us in every way, shape and form.
He is my son. Loved with all my heart. Cherished with everything I have inside me. And I look back and question why?
Why was he taken away from that . . . from us? Why did they tell me he would be better off without his family? Without the love and loyalty we share with every member, no matter who or what they are?
He deserved to know all of us from day one. Deserved to be a part of what he was robbed of for almost two decades. He didn’t do anything wrong. Didn’t ask for the separation, the denial of who and what he was. His only act was being born to a mom who was sixteen and . . . shock, gasp, dismay . . . had sex with his father before marriage.
He did nothing and yet was cheated from everything he deserved. Cheated from parents who love him for who and what he is. Cheated from siblings who are so much a part of him, share so many traits and talents he never had the chance to see in another.
Cheated from grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, who love him and treasure every moment they have with him in their life.
Where do I ever find those answers? How do I ever explain to anyone that over twenty years ago my oldest son was robbed from all of that the minute I placed him in the arms of another woman?
I have to stand up and take on my shoulders the heavy reality of what my son missed out on . . . was denied for no other reason than being born.
And yet, the giant billion-dollar adoption industry – growing stronger and stronger by the day – will never stand up and admit their hand in my son’s fate. They will never look him in the eye and tell him that they truly didn’t give a crap about his well being but cared only about the dollar signs and the childless couple willing to pay whatever it took to have a child of their own.
They won’t, because they never cared from the start about the innocent baby I carried inside of me. They didn’t care if it took lies and manipulation and coercion to be sure he lost everything that was his right so that he could fill the needs of another woman and take the place of a baby she could not have on her own.
He was used in every ugly, disgusting sense of the word. Used for money. For selfish needs. For justification in a world that sees nothing wrong with separating mother and child from the moment of birth.
And now it is he over all others who pays the steepest price. It is my sweet, dear son who will face realities even I myself cannot imagine. Not because he was saved from some awful fate. But because the adoption industry saw in him a great commodity – a white, healthy infant boy.
Above his head was not his heritage, blood and rights as a human being. Above his head was dollar signs. Blinking for their greedy hands. A parcel, a mere being, they were more than willing to force great sacrifices on for the good of their pocketbooks.
They never gave a damn about my son!! Never did they care about him then and they sure as hell don’t care about him now. He is nothing more than a product. Another lost soul in their continuing quest to make money off of selling babies to couples who are willing to pay for them.
Adoption did not give my son the “fairy-tale” life. It did not save him from a dark, undeserved childhood of unmentionable terrors.
It robbed him of his family. Took away the acceptance of those who love him unconditionally. The understanding of what it is like to look at others who share your blood, your heritage, and understand everything you are and have become because of that.
In my world . . . my son’s world . . . adoption was not the answer. It was the crime.
One he has to pay the greatest consequences for.
In Other Words: Susan Harness and Sandy White Hawk
29 minutes ago