ring, riiiiiinnnnnnggggg.....

Hello. Ring ring ring ring......
Not answering.... again. I don't remember the last time I talked to my birthmom.
I do not recall us having a bad talk.... I know she got a new apartment and was going to move- she had stayed in one place for 10 years waiting for me and her son to find her. She said she would not move without telling me and letting me know. I have always done the same for her.
Every time I let a year go by I worried everyday that something had happened to her, she moved, died, got sick..... and I would not know.
We have a set up now that some of her friends would contact me if something happened to her.... but her friends I have learned are not all that reliable.
But it is not like her phone is disconnected- it has never been. She is quite responsible about her bills.
So... what is she thinking as the phone sits ringing. What does she want? Does it put her in a mood- is she MAD? Does she turn the ringer off- cringe? Roll her eyes?
Is she happy to just know I WANT to talk to her?

Where is she at with me and all of this? How does she feel now knowing that I did want her and need her.... that my life is not all peaches and cream... or does she think- that it really was and I am just really a lying spoiled little brat who has no appreciation for her sacrifice?

the thing is- I did not ask for any of it.
Had I been there who knows what I would have decided? I wasn't asked. She did what she thought was best- and it probally was best.
After giving me up things that happen to me were not her fault- it was the people that did those things fault? Now is it my fault for not hiding in a shell and LYING to her about everything being perfect as I had for 6 years..... I don't know. Did I make the wrong call? It is apparent to most I am not perfect and have some "issues" - everybody does?

She is no saint that is for sure.... she wanted better for me- and I got it. Thanks. So now you want me to be grateful and perfect to.... what is this the theme in my life?

I think it is funny to think that humans would not be affected by being adopted and raised by a different family. How could we not be?
Sure I don't know all the ways I was affected and I never ever will.... but to think that I wouldn't be affected is just ludicrous.

Call it whatever you want to- being an adoptee means something. Being adopted means something.
I also think about those people who think that their children pick them.... well- why would we choose such a rocky road? Are we destructive souls from the start? Bumbling idiots who couldn't wind up in the right womb?
If children are to pick their parents wouldn't many pick better?
What about the starving children in 3rd world countries.
It doesn't make any sense.
So enough about that.....
I plan to write her a short letter just asking for her to drop me a post card and tell me she is okay.
She is okay- she is just you know- messed up. She's had a rough life.
I miss her and I love her and I just want her to pick up the damn phone.
Spoiled.

family size

Hi.... I am thinking about something.... and this is not well thought out so I may come back to edit it.

My birthmom came from a family of 6 kids. My birthdad came from a family of 10 kids.
My two best friends since Juniour high school..... you know the first friends you kind of pick? both come from Large families. One from 12 and one from 10.

Conicidence that I have always enjoyed their families? As crazy and dysfunctional as they are?

I have been fascinated by them to a point that I wanted to be in their families.

I wonder if it is because I knew somewhere in me that I was a part of a large family also? Or was it just that big families are interesting and my feelings are relatively normal of anyone adopted or not?

my head......

The internet trolls

It has come to my attention that not all the people reading things written on the computer are good people. They are not all nice.... caring, compassionate people. Some are mean. Be it because they are bored, insecure, or just hurt as children..... they spend their time reading what is written about others lives and then bashing it- to others - on the computer as well.

This totally gets under my skin. For one- being so naive to not ever even think about this happening. For two- being so totally open about myself on the computer and to think about - What if someone is making fun or being vicious about me out there in cyberspace?

And then it occured to me that it does not matter. Yet again- I remember that others opinions of me and what I stand for, believe in, do or say is not important.... it is how I feel about myself that is. I hope I can learn this lesson and instill it in my own kids.

So I went to one of these places where women- mostly- other mothers are bashing- yes- OTHER MOTHERS. Because- they are different- not like them.... WEIRD.

And it made me think of all the things I do- that my adoptive family deemed- different, not like them..... WEIRD.
And how being raised outside of my first family has affected me.... A concept I do not even begin to believe I can understand now- or possibly ever will.

I will give an example.
Pretty much my whole life I have used the phrase- "ya know" Much like a Canadian would use the term "eh" in his/her speech. I have been ridiculed and even punished by my father and mother for doing this. They thought if they just scolded me enough for this weird thing I said- then I would stop.
I never thought of this being out of the ordinary experience for a child to go through. Many parents criticize their child for using improper language or grammar.
Imagine my surprise when I spoke to my birthfather and I found that he too.... uses the term " ya know" the same way- as I do- possibly even more than I do.

This is a small snippet or a small issue in my life and my adoption. One had I not met him- Iwould have never thought twice about- not why I say it- why my parents get so mad about it- or even how to stop. It isn't something I could stop- it is just in me.
It does however make me wonder- how many other things- viewed by my parents as being odd, different, not like them, weird- would have been perfectly common place in my orignal family?
How could adoptive parents deal with things like this now as to not alienate their childs true self into something that is odd, bad, different and just who they are. How can we encourage knowing what to respect and not to?
And to what an extent has this affected me. What would my life have been like if I had had people genetically related to me- by my side? Assuring me- not in words- but by the mere act of being- that I was okay .
Ya know.
Emilie

To be adopted.....

I never really got what it meant to be adopted.... I barely think I even do now..... what has my adoptions impact been on me- the ME I am and the ME I was intended to be? Every experience impacts us and shapes us- some more than others but all life is learning....

What happened to me in the 12 days from the day I was born to the day my adoptive parents got me?
My amom(adoptive mom) recalls me being kept by an older woman. That is all the information they have..... it was a holday weekend- or was it the doctor was out of town... either way- They had a delay and I had to stay with this older woman for longer than expected......
How old, who was she with, what was her name? Isn't it funny I have never before thought to ask these questions. All my life- I just thought- Oh ok. I was kept by an old woman....

did she rock me to sleep- did she sing to me? Did she call me something- what was my name?
I wonder who this woman was- when she got me? Was I just hours old- days? Was she a foster parent with the state or a person working for the adoption agency? Did she do this often- and were there other babies there?
And of course the question at the bottom of this is- WHY does no one have this information?
Why will I never know?
Who has the answers to these questions?
Would they tell me if they even had them?

I think of my babies early days- and I picture the baby me- wondering what is going on- peacefully sleeping- crying? Wetting , hungry. What was this older womans parenting beliefs? Did I get to eat on demand or did she have me on a schedule?
After I was born did the nurses hold me or did they just go back to their shifts? Were they too busy that night to notice the little orphan baby girl?
What impact- if any did those 12 days have on me?
How would I ever even know?

I'm back

I found this old blog from November and I thought I would just continue on with this.....
Since the last post I have spoken to my birth mother on a handful of occasions. With one fall out where she basically told me she was disappointed in who I was..... and she seems to know me so well.
So I am guarded and wounded by her but okay. It was a very hard thing to do and I am still glad to have met her.... but do not know if I can have her in my life as she hurts me so with her anger.

On a great note- I contacted my supposed birth father- John in September and we have been corresponding thru email ever since. We just took a DNA test to be sure he was my biological father- and he is! We have spoken now 2 times on the phone and emailed more pictures back and forth. He looks alot like me. Which is very weird to see myself now thru my parents.,...
Complete.

We hope to meet when he comes thru my state in the summer. I look forward to that.

I have figured out alot about adoption and my adoption and its impact on me following Sandy's visit. I have learned alot about how others feel about adoption- and how I feel about adoption.
I have gotten to find that I have more questions than I do answers and I hope by blogging here I can find some answers and even more questions I am sure.

You can expect a blog soon about snynchronicities and the reunited family which is a book I am reading.

Emilie

So someone thought I should write a blog.....intro

And I guess it would be cheaper than therapy- which I think most people- having the week I have had..... would also need.

I guess I will introduce myself....

My name is Emilie. I grew up in Northern Illiniois and was adopted when I was 13 days old by my family. A teacher and a insurance salesman. They had tried for 8 years to get pregnant and waited on an adoption list for 5 of those years. My dad really wanted a girl so they got skipped over the Number one spot and then they got ME!

3 months later they were pregnant. Yes. I know- that happens alot. and 9 months following they had my brother. Their biological son. But I was chosen. Special.

So my life goes on. I always knew I was adopted. I had a file on my adoption with some information about my birth mother and father. She was 22. Old enough to know better right.

I found her through the adoption agency I was put thru when I was 20. She had had a rough life but had her own apartment and we seemed alot alike.
I had planned to go and see her then... but my amom freaked out and wanted to go along. It was not her place.... so I felt to not hurt my amom I would just not go at all.

So we lost contact and I would call her every couple of months.... or once a year. If I had gotten married, had a baby, moved. Always thinking- the next time I call she would have moved, died, gone to prison.... Something. The guilt I felt and the want to have her in my life and the confusion I felt.... well it was all too much to bear.

So in August I started calling her- regularly. I could tell something was different about her. She was guarded- who wouldn't be. The pain I caused her. Man.

But finally I broke through and we decided she was to come out around our birthdays. We were both born in October- just a few days apart. Then my son broke his femur.... and was put into a SPICA cast- which is this HUGE cast that goes from his rib down his left leg down his right leg to the knee with a bar adjoining the two legs.... oh- and there is a cut out for him to relieve himself.... which mainly ends up wherever he happens to be laying.....

I digress.... so we decided to postpone the trip a few weeks.

She is to be here November 6th. The days leading up to her arrival are full of excitement.
I am preparing the house and the room she will stay in. I have gotten gardening magazines since I know she likes gardening.... and a pair of pink fuzzy socks.... she got me socks too- odd right.

And she arrives by bus. I go to pick her up and we see each other and hug. She is a good 5 inches taller than I- her 5'11 and I maybe 5'6. She had these tall boots on to top it off and tight leggings a maroon v-neck sweater with lots of jewelry. She looked strong and rough. But beautiful.... and so much like me.
We got in my car and headed to my house. She was in my HOUSE! It was so great. Neither of us cried and it was just comfortable.... but we were both excited. We spent Tuesday at my house.... her drinking a few beers and smoking ciggerettes- going thru pictures and just hanging out.

Tuesday night we layed in her bed and we cried. I cried for the mother I never had- her pain and mine. I cried for this feeling of peace and closeness I had never felt before in my life- that I was feeling lying next to her. I cried for what seemed like hours. We talked little and we just held each other and sobbed. It was the most intimate moment of my life. The most open I have ever been. I felt real- not living someone elses reality- but home. Where I was meant to be. True.

I woke up Wednesday morning.... feeling like a new person- and for once with my life- the world felt right and I sat alone with my thoughts.

Wednesday we ran errands did a Dr.s appointment and lunch, and WalMart. She insisted on buying us some things..... and I let her.
We got home and she started to act strange. Very upset with my 3 year old son who is in a body cast. So she went outside. When I went out to her awhile later- I found her very upset and speaking very meanly about my son and my parenting. I tried to explain that he normally was not so whiny but that he was in a body cast.... to no avail. I went inside.
She came in awhile later and I tried to speak to her. She informed me she was leaving.
The confusion and pain seared thru me like a knife. What does she mean?
I tried to talk to her, with her, figure out what was going on and all she did was lash out at me. Screaming at me in an angry tone that I was a spoiled little brat. My kids were whiny spoiled brats and we were basically terrible people. She even said my house smelled like urine.
She was screaming at me and it just never stopped. It still hasn't stopped.

I can not relate all she said to me- as I am trying to forget it. But it was not nice. She took anything I had ever shared with her and stepped on it. On me.

So I left. She was obviously troubled and I got my husband to watch our home and get her to the bus station. She apologized to him - said she would call me- and she has not called me.

Her boyfriend says she does this sometimes... but he can not figure out why she would have treated me this way- as I was all she ever talked about. He was crushed and promised to stay in touch.... he has not either. She may be mentally ill, on drugs and most likely a combination of the two..... it does not make it better to my heart tho. To my soul.

This happend 1 week ago tomorrow.

I have not heard from her and I do not know how to feel.

My friends say things like- well she really was a stranger anyway.... you did not know her.... like she was nobody to me. She was everything to me.

So close.