Thursday, November 01, 2018

NANOWRIMO- yeah, it's that time again.

I don't generally do NANO, but for some reason this year I feel a bit compelled. Given the state of our Union, and what has been going on in this country. I think that writing should be about politics, specifically the politics of hate we are seeing on the daily.

Today, the Orange Buffoon initiated a huge change to the ACA, for the first time since the ACA was put in place, you can again buy junk medical insurance plans. That will not cover pre-existing conditions. The next thing on our list today? The Buffoon has ordered 5,000 (he says today 15,000!!) active duty troops to our southern border to GASP! protect us from the "caravan" of refugees headed this way. The problem with this? Those people are over a 1,000 miles away, and are in no way a threat to us here in the Good ol USA! But, MURICA! He has also said they are authorized to fire on these people. These people fleeing violence in there home countries, who also have temporary asylum granted to them from the Mexican government. Women and children, the elderly, men. Mother's and fathers, sisters and brothers, grandparents! People who just want to be in a place that is safe. Funny thing is, most of those people will never enter the United States. The amount is one-tenth of one per cent of those in the caravan, ever reaching our border. But there are 5000 active duty troop being deployed with orders to shoot these "invaders" I don't recognize this country anymore.

It used to be, that neighbours actually cared for each other, helped each other. It used to be that churches helped those who needed it. What has happened to the country that is guarded by that Lady with Lamp, who has a poem at her feet which says; 

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
MOTHER OF EXILES. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"


Emma Lazarus

What happened to the country that I grew up in? The one where if there were folks fishing in our creek, my dad would ask them up to the house for a drink, beer for the menfolk and of course kool-aid for the kids, coffee or tea for the ladies. (This was after all the last 1960's) Then perhaps there would be much laughter from the adults, grilling of food, and the sound of children playing. It didn't matter about what colour we all were. We had fun, it didn't matter that we weren't the same religion, we believed in the same god. We played endless games of red rover, and statue maker, hide n seek, and if it was still light, we would go down the path next to the creek and there was a crab apple tree. One of us got to be the Berry Monster. You climbed the tree and chucked the crab apples at each other until a new Berry Monster was chosen. (Rules changed daily, especially the one about how many times you had to bean someone with a crab apple in order to make the monster) This was the creek paths we knew better than any adult. We played on them almost every day, winter, spring, summer and fall. We skated on the ice my dad would clear for us. Didn't matter who wanted to skate. If you had skates, come on over let's go! And always, my dad, teaching us the lessons he learned as a child growing up during WWII. Nazis were the enemy, the KKK were awful people (and in my mind, they were probably Nazis as well as racist, turns out my seven-year-old brain got that right) and the only place a Cross should be, is in a church. I learned a lot of life lessons fishing on that creek and wandering those paths. What I didn't learn, was that someday my country might be taken over by the very people my daddy spent his life teaching me were evil men, who perpetrated evil crimes, on innocent, men, women and children. What I didn't learn was that today in this country, that beautiful Sonnet means nothing to a Trump supporter, to those on the alt-right, those still in the KKK. Because for them, those beautiful words are a threat. They threaten their very way of life. It terrifies them that our beautiful country is someday soon, going to be more Brown, Yellow, and Red than it is White. I love that, I love that diversity in all its glory is where we are headed, and that the old white men in Washington DC can do nothing to stop it. That is unless they send troops to kill all of us who oppose them. Turn this beautiful land into Gilead- if something like that happens, the first thing I'm going to do is head north, with my daughter, and her boyfriend, her Jewish boyfriend. And if I can convince her, I'll be bringing along my eldest and her brood, and her husband. They aren't what you would call Christian, there would be no place for them in Gilead, as there would be no place for me, or mind. Except for my girls, who are the right age to bear children. The only place women would have in a society of that sort, would be a breeder, or am Auntie, or if you were very lucky, married to one of the Elite, who use the handmaids to breed children for the wives who are as barren as the hearts of those who run Gilead. Margaret Atwood must be in a bit of disbelief, everything she wrote about came from history. And you and I both know, history tends to repeat itself. For us, now in 2018, it is the Evangelicals that are pushing us further to this dystopian nightmare, with each law enacted that somehow controls women, what they can and can not do with their bodies, we slip further and further into that future, We slip into programs like the Lebensborn, Hitler's pure Aryan children, created through eugenics. I sit here as I type and I wonder what my place would be in a society like that. I have many skills.. I think that is what tomorrows post is going to be about. What are our places in society, what would we become, if we do indeed become a place like Gilead.. 

Thursday, October 18, 2018

It's been far too long~

I haven't written for what seems like years. The state of my reunion/non-reunion has had me silent for far too long. I think I'm over that silence now. I think I have to be over it. There have been days when I literally could not get out of bed. Why, because I hurt too much. I feel stronger now. I'm not sure why, but I do.


Just before I wrote this, I posted another blog about Relinquishers. That seemed important to me.  Natural Mothers/First Mothers may be a lot of things, but that one word never occurred to me. After all, I didn't relinquish. I surrendered, gave up, gave in. Felt obligated to sign their damn papers.  I was a good little girl and did what I was told. It wasn't what I wanted to do, it was what I felt forced to do. Now, here I am 34, almost 35 years later. I've been in reunion/silent reunion for 12 years now. 

I've never met my grandson, he'll be four very soon, nor my granddaughter, who will a year old in the spring. I have a very few pictures of them, more of E, than of T. All those years ago, I never thought about losing my future grandchildren. Yet, here I am, it's reality. And I don't know how to fix my relationship with J, and somedays, I question if I want to fix that relationship. 

It's brought to me great joy, yet. even greater sorrow. I can't explain it better than that. It's as if I lost my child all over again. I've been grieving for her since 2011. But, I'll ask once more. How do you grieve a living child? It's as if they are dead and gone, yet in reality (for me now anyway)I know exactly where she is. I know how she's doing, and yet... I am not a part of her life, except for sending Christmas gifts. And perhaps, birthday cards. 

As I sit here typing, there is a lump in my throat, and my heart has contracted into a hard throbbing ball in my chest, and I can feel the tears rising in my throat, and sitting in the corners of my eyes. But, I don't get to cry, no I don't. Why you may ask? Because I did this. I did it all, to her, to myself. my raised children, and my grandchildren. So I don't get to cry, or sorrow. I'm supposed to be grateful another woman raised my child. The child who has my grandmothers toes, my niece's squishy nose, and my penchant for large movements. By which I mean, tossing her arms out to embrace everything within reach, and in her sight, and my walk. She looks like me from the back, but is tall, as her father is tall. She's lovely, and kind, and compassionate, and so so very angry with me. And that is what I don't know how to fix. I've sent letters, and emails, an extra long letter when her first child was born. I've confessed my sins, time and again. Told her her story. But she baulked when I said some of the story was just mine. She didn't like that at all. But isn't it ok, to keep some things just for myself? The hurtful things that her father said, the dreams I had, that seems so laughable now when I think about them. aren't those things just for me, and perhaps for him?

I drew some boundaries, after I had bent over backwards to do everything she wanted me to do, to tell her all the things, she thought she had a right to. (and let's be honest here, she was entitled to most of the things she wanted of me) But there came a day when I had to say enough, I can't just keep going on as we have. Maybe it was my inner Crone who decided we had sat without anger long enough to realize it had a name, that name was grief. So that Crone and I have been working through the grief. 

I've lost many things in my life, and as I continue to age, I expect to lose even more. I've had more losses than I care to count, but the biggest loss, the one that hurt the most, the one that has never stopped hurting, not for even a single blessed minute. The loss of my child. all her firsts, school, first boyfriends. All of it, and I wonder, am I really her mother, in any other than having given birth to her. A much loved, dark-haired long-toed beauty, that after the third day, I never saw again until she was 21.


It's a thing I think about long into the night, It keeps me awake, screaming inside my head over and over "I'm so sorry baby, I'm so, so sorry. If I had that magic wand, I could fix everything." But, there are no magic wands, or spells to fix this mess. All there is, is me, and my words. Maybe somday they will be enough to begin to repair things. But, I am not hopeful.


In the meantime-

Laugh A Lot, It's Good For You~

Monday, October 15, 2018

Relinquishers? What the frak?

Haven't been around a long time, so long I lost my password to my old blog. So what's new? Apparently, there is something that's not really new out there in adoptionland, but, the "new" thing is horribly vicious, and needlessly cruel. All one need do is look at my lovely friend Claud's Facebook, or her blog to see it. 

While these days find me in exactly one group about adoption, I have not, in fact, lost touch with what is going on. Let me just put this out there right up front ok? I don't give a damn who you are, you do not get to speak for all adoptees if you're an adoptee, nor do you get to speak for all natural mothers if you are a natural mother. All of us, adoptees, and natural mothers, only get to speak for ourselves. Now, this does not mean we don't get to speak up about what is going on with individuals in those groups. So there's that-

With that said, let's talk about "relinquishers." Yes, you read that right, that is what some have taken to calling mothers of loss. Ugly word isn't it? Now let me just get this part out there too. If that's what you call your natural mother, well you just go right ahead and do that. But, here's the thing, you do not get to call all natural mothers that. You don't get to claim you corner the market on pain, or loss, or anything else involved in the horror that is adoption. I do not give shit one that you think it's ok to do this. What I do care about, is this, that the mentality of you and your cronies allows you to gang up on a woman who has given decades of her life fighting for adoptee rights, a woman who has done so, because, she actually cares that all adoptees who want their OBC, have the right to that document, and that those who want their OBC are able to get a copy of it. Why you think it's ok to malign a woman who has done nothing but fight for you, and your rights is beyond me. I don't care that you will most likely come after me for daring to express my thoughts on this subject, nor do I care that you will try to bully me, and berate me for those thoughts. I DO NOT CARE! Give it your best shot, I've had worse things done to me, have been called worse things than a "relinquisher," I've been beaten, both mentally and physically, I've been ignored, called names, reviled, and thrown to the wolves (metaphorically speaking) on more than one occasion. I've had my own child call me horrible names, and that child has refused to speak to me for years now. Nothing you say, or do could be worse than that. I own my part in what happened to the two of us, but I refuse to keep paying for it. I've paid the price a thousand times over, just as so many mothers of loss have paid it. It is not for you to call any mother other than your own a relinquisher. Just as I have no right to speak for all mothers of loss, you do not have the right to speak for all adoptees. You have the right to speak your pain, to vent and scream and cry, and all the other things that go with that pain. I don't get to shush you, I don't get to deny your pain, or you rage, it's not my place. Just as it is not your place to call out an entire population of people, and label them. Hasn't it ever occurred to you that by eating our own we accomplish nothing? Yet, I have seen exactly that for years and years now. We eat our own. How sickening that thought is to me, how horrible that the people most affected by adoption do that to each other. I stopped blogging, I stopped trying, and this is why. We.Eat.Our.Own. it has to stop- Nothing is ever going to change unless we do. 

Claud, I am always proud of you, I am always cheering you on, I love you and I am so, so proud to call you my friend. Keep on keeping on, you are the embodiment of this saying "Be the change you wish to see in the world" and I couldn't be more proud of you. You are a better woman than I am, please don't ever change.