Friday, January 16, 2009

Why? Why? Why?

It’s strange how creating new memories can sometimes cause a sadness and a yearning for the memories that never had a chance to exist.

Does that even make any sense?

Maybe it’s only in my mind, or more likely, my heart, where the meaning is clear.

In our house, six o’clock is dinner time, Sunday through Thursday. Unless my children are working or committed to something school related, they are to be home for dinner. This is our family time. A tradition my mom always followed and I continue with my own family and hope my children will carry on as well.

And, in what can still feel like a dream that isn’t quite real yet, I now have all four of my children around the dinner table.

My three boys, joking casually with one another, showing no signs they spent so much of their life separated. My little girl who has had to become louder and more stubborn to get a word in around their constant chatter while always knowing she is easy prey to be picked on by any one of them at any time.

And for the most part, I know and savor the fact that our times around the dinner table are moments I will treasure forever.

But there are moments within the talking and laughing and joking when a strange sadness slips through me. It comes when old memories are brought into the conversation. Funny moments, vacations and holidays, old friends.

Family memories. The kind we should ALL share as one. But we don’t and the knowledge leaves a yearning inside me and brings up the one word that has haunted me for years . . .


Why did I ever allow anyone to try and tell me it would be better for my oldest son to form memories with another family? Why did I ever believe them when they told me being a good mom meant never giving him a chance to be a part of what his siblings shared in the years after he was born?

That isn’t a good mom. That’s hell. A terrible hell that took away from my son what was rightfully his. What should have never been denied him.

So why did it happen?

Why, when I was in the hospital, holding my son to my heart, knowing I never wanted to give him up, did I let his adoptive parent’s feelings decide for me. Why didn’t I stand up and shout at the top of my lungs that I wanted my baby. That I didn’t want to lose him. That he belonged with me and my family, not someone else’s.

Logically, I know the answers. In some part of my mind, I understand and can see what happened all those years ago. I can see the games they played, the tricks they used to be sure my son fed the need of the couple willing to write the check.

I know this, on a sensible, unemotional level.

But it doesn’t stop the question. Doesn’t keep me from asking why.

Because now the answers I search are the ones inside me I have yet to understand.

And every time I miss the old memories in the midst of creating new ones, the question comes flying with a force that hasn’t yet weakened. A force full of confusion and anger and grief.

I want to know, more than anything, who the hell I was when I was sixteen and pregnant with my oldest child. I desperately want to understand how I ever allowed anyone to have such a control over me to the point where I became not the girl I had been up until my pregnancy, but instead, somebody I still to this day don’t even know and have never been able to figure out.

Why did I go from being secure and trusting in my family - immediate and extended - in their support and love, to doubting them? Why did I believe that I would shame them, be terribly unfair to them if I asked for their help?

They never gave me reason to believe they wouldn’t be there for me no matter what the situation. I was a daughter, a granddaughter, a niece, with so many people who cared about me. Who had never deserted me or left me alone in my own problems.

I had my family there for me. I HAD THEM!!!!

My son and I needed only them and would have had them if I had not listened to the outside forces telling me otherwise. If I had not lost the confidence I’d carried with me through my childhood. The security of so many around me who are still there today with the same love and support.

Why in the hell didn’t I yell at the stupid adoption counselor and tell her she was so very wrong when she told me I had shamed my family? Why didn’t I get up and tell her what she could do with her suggestions that it was unfair and wrong to ask them for their help?

And why, of all things, on that last day in the hospital, when I wanted to walk out with my son and take him home, did I not think of my family and instead put a stranger’s feelings in front of theirs, in front of mine, in front of my son’s.


I don’t know if I will ever find the answers buried inside me. Or if I will ever understand who I was during that time in my life.

I may have to forever live with the “why” tumbling through my head, my heart, reminding me there will always be family memories he will not be a part of. Memories that, no matter how happy, will carry the dark shadow of his absence and the reminder of just how wrong his adoption was.


  1. Ohhhh, sweetie, I understand completely what you are saying here. Especially the paragraph about wanting to know more than anything who you were when you were 16 and pregnant.

    I ask that question over and over and over again. I can't figure out who I was either. I can't figure out how I let it happen.

    I mean, I couldn't give my dog away, how in the world, could I ever have let them take my son???

    Thank you for sharing this post. At least I don't feel so alone in my thoughts, knowing that someone else is as confused about who they were as I am. I pray that someday we might both be at peace, realizing for whatever reason, we had no other choice.

  2. Oh Cassi... I completely understand what you are saying... it makes total sense. How can you NOT feel that feeling of sadness when you know that your son could have shared, should have shared all this with you and the rest of your family...

    As for the why... part of the reason you let the feelings of the adoptive parents get in the way is probably due to the fact you would have been groomed this way. It didn't even need to be at a consious level... but there all the same. In some ways, this choice had been made for you with the way society views young mothers... the view that if we are not stable, rich and married we might not be good enough and therefore ruin our precious beloved child's life, that some poor woman who has been through hell is somehow entitled to your son more than his own family...

    I hope someday the why will be answered enough to give you some sense of peace...

    Thank you for a beautiful heart-wrenching post...

    Myst xoxox

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  4. Why?

    They preyed upon you, never letting you have a chance to recover from the hormonal storm of birth before disembabying you. There is no way any woman can make any sort of decision of this magnitude while postpartum. Give her at least 6 weeks to recover. Of course, agencies KNOW this and ensure she's not given this option.

    Combine this with the pregnancy and birthing hormones, primarily oxytocin but others as well that make a mother (1) vulnerable to suggestion, (2) trust/bond with the wrong people, (3) and ensure she can't think straight (did you know your brain shrinks 5% during pregnancy?) and we don't stand a chance against predatory baby brokers and predadopters.

    I am so glad you got your son back. Those thieves should never have stolen him to begin with.

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  7. Thank you so much ladies.
    If only I could get my heart to understand what I know in my head.
    These disgusting practices have to end! Nothing and nobody is worth doing such cruel acts to another human being.

  8. I too go through the perilous emotions of asking why. I've been asking myself and looking to the outside world to find that answer. I get different answers each time. the depth of the loss makes it hard to forgive yourself, to understand why you went against your own nature against yourself. the ultimate self betrayal. some days i believe in a higher power that maybe this all happened for a reason that one day ill be able to understand. but today i feel like there is no grand reason or rhyme. i was just a scared vulnerable young mother who was preyed on by the people who said they were helping. what a fucked up world we live in.

  9. This is not you...obviously Not want you wanted.

    you were co-hersed.

    a 16 yr old is not wise in the ways of the world and people you trusted made the wrong desision for you.

    this is soooo un-fair to leave you to dispaire for a life time.

    give yourself a break...society wrong you...just like Nazi Germany... you as a young women was victimised for the Greed of others....take heart that you are Not to blame.

    the mother child bond is sacred and that was stolen from you and your babe..STOLEN..THIEVED...RAPED.



    I hope your son still feels the love for you

    Like I love my mum


  10. Cassi,

    Although, you don't know me. I was glad to find you are writing again.
    I do enjoy your blog.

    My therapist who I have seen once so far has told me that my thinking about my loss is a choice! Oh, yeah,
    I choose to wake up in the middle of the night, I choose to be triggered, by her use of the word bitterness "she said you don't want to be bitter"

    I like her but don't comprehend her thinking its my choice that I think about adoption fifteen times or more a day while doing my everyday things I do in life.

    I printed some information for her off the internet to educate her while I am "being" seen by her. I have asked for EMDR and she wants to go to the issues with my mother, which, I know they are there I told her about them.

    But the issues are the losses and I want some relief. What is so hard to understand about that?

    I am an older mom who has been in reunion for over 16 years. My son is 42 years old so this isn't a new reunion or experience for me.
    I do have something else new in my life its him moving out. That has stirred me, my head knows it best for him and I but my heart hurts.

    Its revisiting the loss for me. She said most people have problems or memories come up when they are at a calm place in their life. Am I at a calm place, I don't think so.

    Educating therapists is what we mothers have to do while seeking help from them. That would be funny if it wasn't so ridiculous.
    Its time to stop lying about adoption and how it hurts the dyad.

    There is NO triad if there were we would all be involved through out the separation and that isn't the way it was during closed adoptions. But once reunited WE are in a TRIAD, what a farce adoption is for all parties.

  11. yourstrulysincerly wrote:

    "My therapist who I have seen once so far has told me that my thinking about my loss is a choice!"

    HUH? Wow, don't know how you can continue to see her. I don't believe it is our job to educate therapists and convince them that are losses are real! JMHO

  12. i wrote a blot post about the issue of self-blame.

    Difference between the sexes: women tend to blame defeat on themselves and victories on luck. For men it is the other way around. So, we naturally and wrongly blame ourselves and we don't look at how powerless we were and how others exploited that situation.

  13. Cassie ... it's just this simple ....

    "YOU WUZ ROBBED!!!!"

    Love you, love your blog, speak up and tell the truth ... that's all we can do, must do ... Celeste

  14. Hey Cassie-I have lost your email addy-could you send it to my comments? I hope you see this soon-big hug-