Seeing the World Through "Me-Colored" Glasses

 Yesterday I had a heartbreaking moment with Tink. A friend and I were talking about cats and how we loved our cats. I said that I had done the impossible for me, that I actually loved this particular cat so much that it would be my last cat. Our friend agreed. She too had an extraordinarily loveable cat, "a member of the family. She's not replaceable," our friend remarked. "How could we just get another cat?"

At that point, Tink looked up from her drawing and said, "Yeah, it would be like if you had a kid and gave it up for adoption and then just went and had some more kids."

The conversation got interrupted right then by the door or the dogs but oh, how that stabbed my heart! What a profound and honest statement. I got a chance to talk to her about it later but I know I can't ever really understand that pain of being "given away" and then replaced, which is how she sees it. 

Grief is inherent in adoption. Any book on adoption reiterates this point over and over but it is impossible to truly understand. And I know that I am only seeing "dimly" -- like through scratched sunglasses -- or in a not-funhouse mirror -- that I have no true idea what they are going through.

When your kids first come to you, they grieve for their caregivers and their original families. That part is tough, very tough. It breaks your heart. Kids, especially little ones, are resilient and crave connection, so that stage is eclipsed by everyday activities and the business of building a life together. They are grieving, for sure, but they carry on. 

For many adopted persons, it's the age of self awareness where the grief really begins to set in. As if middle school and all it encompasses were not enough to deal with, children also become much more aware of the differences between themselves and their adoptive families and also begin to deal with the pain of losing their original families.

It's such a personal and private loss; made even more difficult when you're worried about breaking your adoptive parents hearts. Even though we always speak openly with our kids about being adopted and the circumstances surrounding our family, none of that prepares them for the pain of coming to terms with it on a heart level. 

The grief of adoption is like any other loss; it lays dormant for a while and then, when least expected, hits you like a brick to the face. Tinker -- in that moment -- listening to us talking about cats for crying out loud and her seeing herself as having been given away -- no, actually thrown away -- and then replaced. Is it any wonder this child craves love and attention? 

Remember being an adolescent? It was so awful! I'm too tall, too short; too skinny, too fat; too dark too fair, too curly too straight. Whatever I am, is never enough. 40 years later with so much of my childhood a blur, those pains remain sharp and clear in my memory. Add to that a belief that you were literally unwanted  by the person who gave you life. Can you imagine the pain?

Image by creatifrankenstein from Pixabay 

PLEASE NOTE: I am NOT saying that it is true that these were her birth mother's intentions at all. I do not in any way think that. My thoughts, however, are not relevant here. What I'm talking about is a child's core belief. And this core belief was incidentally exposed in this little conversation, thankfully, so now can be cared for and treated kindly. 

It reminds me once again that I always have to be mindful of the lenses through which children view their world. We treat the "wounds" we see, but the ones that need the most care and attention are the ones we can't see. I have to find a way to look through the "me colored" glasses my kids are wearing to have the compassion and wisdom to get them the help they need. 

AFTERWORD: I spoke to The Blitz about this later, to see how he felt about it. He said, "I understand it wasn't voluntary. It was her only choice and the other kids . . . they were to fill the hole in her heart." 

 

A Few Words on Love and Loss

 A Few Words on Love and Loss

At our Huntley family reunion this year, I spent more time than I intended just looking at my loved ones having fun. I must be getting old! I can vividly recall watching my nephews (in-law) joking together, the teens, singing at the top of their lungs, and my son making the baby laugh. 

Yet, in every family gathering there is a note of sadness, and we don't always acknowledge it. I meant to mention it out loud, but I did not. Missing from this gathering were my nephew, Keath, my Great-niece, Karissa, and my Dad, Les. Dad is our most recent loss, just nine months ago. He loved family gatherings and every aspect of big family life. 

The second-eldest of 10, chaos was the bread and butter of their daily life. Once when all 5 of my kids were at home and my folks were in town for Thanksgiving, I apologized for the general VOLUME in our home, which was considerable. Dad just smiled and said, "I love it." In his last decades of life, really after his retirement, Dad was a peach. He literally got sweeter by the week. He loved everyone and enjoyed everything. His quiet reserve slipped away and he became a
toe-tapping, hand clapping music lover. He laughed out loud. When he met my great-niece just before her first birthday, he gushed proudly, "She's absolutely perfect." He thanked people for the smallest kindness. He was only grumpy when ill or injured. And after 61 years of marriage, my mom misses him desperately.

Now for the part no one wants me to say. My Dad was no saint. In fact, in earlier years, he hurt one member of our family so badly, I don't see that wound healing. He was strict and exacting. He was unforgiving. He was "always right" and gave no quarter. It is probably true to say that he was blessed to have those 2 decades after he retired to win us over. 

We eulogize the best parts of the person when they die but we also still have to come to terms with the other parts. In polite society, we don't say unpleasant things about the dead. Many deaths are like this; it's our humanity showing.

Our family has experienced at least 3 suicides, but as a group, we can't/don't talk about it. No one wants to be the one to raise the topic. The generation below me has done better handling the truth. They love and commemorate the dead on various occasions. They are more outspoken then we are. 

I do talk to my own kids about suicide, especially when they are teens. It's such a vulnerable time. I want them to know what it was like for us to walk behind that coffin and see a young person whose life was cut short. I want them to know what they cannot know at this age: death is permanent. I tell them, "if you can't tell me, tell someone, and keep telling until someone helps you." I press cards into their hands with toll free "teen help" hotlines and I hope with all my heart it's enough. 

I am digging deep to see why I did not bring up our dead loved ones at the family reunion. I did put up a small memorial but never pointed it out. What is that about? I think of little Karissa, who never made it out of the neo-natal ward, and kick myself. Why didn't  I talk about her?  And why do I feel so awkward when my mom says she misses Dad? She's supposed to, right? Yet I have no training in how to respond to these comments.  I remember when my dear sister-in-law was in the ICU and I was lying on the floor of the waiting room, shaking uncontrollably. I was literally shaken to the core, for perhaps the first time in my life. 

I wonder if part of the depression that often comes with grief is from not wanting to deal with the "unresolved" parts of the relationship. In other cultures and parts of the world, mourners rip their clothing or wail uncontrollably. I can't help but think as grievers, we need more of that. Yes, grief takes time; above all, time. I believe it also takes truth-telling, as hard as it is. 

What would it be like if we told the truth? She was bossy, uncoordinated and often awkward. She screwed up a lot. She made 5 million mistakes, most with love, some out of sheer stubbornness. She was impulsive and that hurt a lot more people than she intended, but at least she could cook!