My Mother is Gravely Ill

Published August 13, 2015 by iwishiwasadopted

My mother, the one who gave me life is in the hospital, fighting for her life.

She had a large part of her liver removed.  I didn’t find out until 3 weeks later.  My half brother, the one she kept didn’t Tell me, because my mother said not to tell anyone.  This is another reason she should have kept me.  I am smart.  Smarter than my brother.  I would never not tell someone that their mother is having life threatening surgery!!!  There is NO excuse for that.  I am her child.

As soon as I found out, i went to the hospital.  Took off from work, got my ass on a train and a crosstown bus and went to see my mother. I haven’t seen her in over a year.  We have issues. She’s so happy to see me, and tells me I’m an angel who appeared out of nowhere.   She’s a mess.  Still bedridden, not really eating.

I called the hospital a few days later, and they tell me she was released!  I have no idea where she is.  I beg the one she kept, and he tells me shes in a nursing home, near his home.

I drive 2 hours with my 18 year old daughter, and go to the city where i was born.  The one who she kept’s wife is there.  She wisely hightails it out of there when she sees me.  If looks could kill.  There she is sitting with MY MOTHER and this woman didn’t even have the common decency to tell me she was ill, or that she was moved?  I feel the trauma of loss all over again.

We have a nice visit, but Mom still doesn’t look good.  A few days later, I wake up early, with a bad feeling in my heart.  I go downstairs and wait until 7am to call the nursing home.  They tell me she was released!!  There was no way this woman was going home.  She is bedridden.  They tell me she went back to the hospital.  I have no idea what has happened, but assume the worst.

The nursing home won’t tell me where she went, but the do tell me she went back to the hospital.  They transfer me to the head nurse, who asks me who I am.  I say her daughter, and they tell me I’m not the informant.  I have to ask the one who she kept if i want any info.  My husband calls him,  I wake him up, screaming, “my mother’s dying, and they won’t tell me where she is!’.  The poor man.  The one she kept didn’t answer his phone.  I beg the nursing home to tell me what city my mother’s in.  The head nurse finally blurts out the name of the hospital.

Mom had an infection and is back in ICU.  I go visit.

I realize the one she kept is not going to share information about my mother with me.  I call the hospital everyday, to check on her condition.

Life, Adopted

Published May 8, 2015 by iwishiwasadopted

graduation-clipart

Life has been puttering along, as it usually does.

I count the months since i last saw my mother. The last time was April 21, 2014.  The last email was in May of that year.  Soon I’ll be measuring the time in years.  I last saw my half brother in November 2013.  Same with his young son, my only nephew.

I don’t miss my brother.  I never felt anything for him.  It wasn’t what i imagined having a brother would feel like.

I do miss my mother.  There is nothing else like her.  No one else fills that mother shaped hole in my heart.  No matter how cruel she is, something inside me wants to see her anyway.  But the things she said echo in my mind.  It’s something of a relief not to hear them anymore.

I try and stop hoping things will be different, but i can’t.

I bought a bunch of Valium from an online pharmacy.  They work pretty good.  They let me sleep.  They make me calmer.  I’m afraid I’ll get addicted, so I make sure I take a few days off from taking them, but I think about taking them the whole time.

Lots of good things happening this month.  My oldest daughter is coming to visit from California.  I miss her terribly and can’t wait to see her.  My middle daughter is graduating from college, and my youngest from High School.

I wish my mother could share these moments with me.  Not having her there ruins them for me.

My daughter’s college is not far from where my father lives with his other children, but we won’t be visiting him either.  I haven’t seen him since December 2012.  Same with his son, who didn’t feel like a brother either.  I’ve never met my father’s daughter, who is only a few months younger than my oldest.  I probably never will.

Why can’t my parents love me like they love their other children?  Why can’t I get over it?  I’m middle aged, for Christ sake, why do I wallow in this shit?

I’m supposed to pull myself up by my bootstraps and get on with life.  Live for now, count my blessings.  Don’t let the past pull me down.  I’ve not had a lot of luck with that, hence the new Valium habit.

Goodnight all.

Still Angry, After All These Years

Published February 21, 2015 by iwishiwasadopted

I read about adoptees who aren’t angry.  They don’t blame their parents for the decisions they made, they are at peace.  I wish I were one of them.

Instead I boil inside.  I lie awake, next to my husband, tossing and turning.  The loss bubbles up and consumes me.  I cannot rest!

The images flash through my head, my father’s family at a wedding, laughing and dancing.  My mother kissing her grandson, my father cleaning the pool for his teenage children to swim in.  I’m not in any of these pictures, and I never will be.

In my mind, I’m part of their family.  In their mind it’s not the case.  They gave me away, and they meant it.  They can’t understand why I can’t just accept it, and be happy with what I have.

I don’t know why I can’t either.  What is the secret of those happy adoptees?  When i ask, no one can tell me.  They just choose to be happy.  Does that mean I choose to be hurt?

Four years post reunion.  Still an outcast.

105486interesting

My Broken Reunion

Published January 19, 2015 by iwishiwasadopted

I saw my mother once in 2014.

It was April.  I’d been ill.  A mysterious infection landed me in the hospital for 5 days.  It was the strangest thing, something burst in my neck, a bad parathyroid gland.  It caused a dark bruising in the front of my neck, as if I’d been strangled.  The doctors kept asking me if I’d been injured, but i hadn’t.  It just happened.  It didn’t hurt, but I still asked for morphine, because, why the hell not!

I texted my mother, but she didn’t come to see me.  She sent me a card with $20.  I don’t want money from her.  She’s poor and I’m not.  The last thing i need is her $20, but I took it and said thank you.  What I really wanted, was her.

I was out of work for 4 months, and i went to meet her in the city.  It was nice, we walked the High Line, and had lunch.  She got a sudden phone call and had to run.  I think the phone call was pre-arranged, to give her a way out.  She’s very nervous when I’m around.  We texted a few times after that, but that was it.  Last time was May 2014.  It’s January 2015 now.

She says the only way we can have contact is if i go see her, in person.  I’ve done that, and it was OK, but I don’t think we should have rules of contact like that.  It’s not a real relationship that way.  I’m not going to force myself on my mother.

I find it sad that after 48 years of no contact at all, she’s content with this.  I wanted to be a part of her life so badly.  It’s an ache that never goes away.  I have to live with it, because there is no other option.  I don’t have the luxury of suicide.  I would love to sleep forever, but i can’t do that to my children.  I can’t let them live with a mother who killed herself.  They would take it personally, and feel that they failed me.  That cannot happen.  I have to give them the best life I can.  And I will, I always have.

My parents never wished me a happy 50th, 51st or 52nd birthday.  The only birthday they ever acknowledged was my 49th.  The first one we were in reunion for.  Dad sent me a check for $100 and Mom gave me a bizarre piece of artwork that scared the crap out of me.

Christmas 2013, Mom sent me a box she made, decorated with my brothers artwork, and a picture of a damsel in distress.  Her, I guess.  She sees herself that way.

Auntie told me that my father wished my mother a happy birthday in 2014, the first time in many years.  He did not do the same for me.  I’m persona non grata,

That brings us to 2015.  No plans to see my parents.  I’m in contact with Auntie, CC (Chinese cousin) and his 2 little kids, Auntie’s son, BC (black cousin) and his daughter.

072

Never, ever, ever…….

Published December 27, 2013 by iwishiwasadopted

Image

 

It’s never going to happen.  I will never, ever be part of my own family.  No one is going to share the news of a new baby with me.  I’ll never be invited to a wedding, or a shower, or a christening, graduation or even over for dinner.  My family wants nothing to do with me.  They want me to disappear.  I speak of my father’s family, the great and glorious McIrish clan, 

How can a man love his children with one woman, but not another?  Why are the ones my father kept so much more worthy of being part of the family?  Did my father’s casting me out just erase me from my family tree?  

Well, it appears it does, and all concerned seem just fine with it.  All save me, of course. 

They think I have a family, that my adoptive parents were able to take the place of my true family.  They are so wrong.  I have never felt like a member of my adoptive, or natural families.  And it’s my misfortune that this happened to me.  No one is going to help me to fit in.  

How can they be so cruel?  Someone help me, it hurts so bad.  

The Beautiful Island

Published December 3, 2013 by iwishiwasadopted

 

104004A.TIF

Reunion is like seeing a beautiful tropical island in the distance. You were born there, and you family lives there, but you can’t find your way back. Some of us do, and we land on the sunny shores, only to discover that we don’t speak the language or know the customs. The natives seem friendly, but they don’t include you in their ceremonies. You slowly realize that they are not as friendly as they seemed. Some of them even throw rocks and spears at you to drive you away. They don’t seem to believe, or care that you are a native too. They cast you off the island long ago, and they don’t want to remember what they did. Eventually you leave the island, brokenhearted.

 

The Wonderful House

Published October 29, 2013 by iwishiwasadopted

house

There are a few things that have been preying on my mind tonight.

I’m a member of a facebook group called, “You Know You Grew Up in T*****”.  It’s the town my parents grew up in, where I was conceived.  There’s a picture on the site, a lovely painting of a large farm house.  It’s painted red with white trim.  A wonderful place, that any child would love to call home.  Someone asks if anyone in the group recognizes this house, and remembers the owners and where it was located.  Many group members chime up, saying they knew the owners, many saying it was their second home, because they spent so much time there as young folks.

That is my grandparents house.  I was never allowed to see it.  My parents did not bring me home.  They brought me to the agency instead.  Seeing that picture broke my heart, again.  How much breaking can one heat take?  Is there a limit?

I wonder why my father didn’t ask his wonderful parents to help raise me.  I wonder if my wonderful grandfather encouraged his son to give me away.  Maybe because Momma was half black.  No one will tell me.

Then I think of my Auntie.  Dad is one of 5 children.  His twin sisters were only 8 when I was born.  They remember crying when they were told that I died.  I asked my Auntie if she could give me any family heirlooms.  Something that belonged to my grandmother.  She told me that all family heirlooms were divided 5 ways, and if I wanted anything I could ask my father, if I had a better relationship with him.

Why do people have to be so cruel?  I have nothing from my fathers family.  The wonderful family who lived in the big red farmhouse aren’t very nice to their cast off niece.  Maybe they’re not so wonderful after all.  Maybe there were some dark secrets in that little town, and maybe I’m one of them.

I read something tonight about chosen children.  It asked how do you choose a child to adopt.  It made me think of my adopter.  She was offered a little boy, about one year before she got me.  She turned him down, because he was already 1 year old, and she wanted a womb fresh baby that she could pass off as her own.  So she waited for her order to be filled, a newborn girl.  Lucky me.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 233 other followers