Skipping ahead like 4 decades, I look back at so many cues and clues and blatant stuff that could be related to my adoption – very well IS related – and I didn’t put any of it together. Brings to mind the power of the mind and our focus, what we see and don’t see. I studied that stuff in psychology classes at college.
I always knew I wanted badly to have a child, to bear a child from my body, to share blood with someone I knew. I wanted to know what I looked like and I still stare at my 2 children at times as they are growing and changing. I search their faces for clues of me or my birth parents – I feel like it all must be inside me and my kids.
My daughter was the first person that I could call a blood relative. I would stare and stare and stare at her until her newborn self was ingrained in my eyeballs and at the end of the day when I would look at her father his head appeared amazingly enormous in comparison.
—– This stuff WAS important even if I had stuffed it away to not hurt my mother’s feelings. When I started to allow myself to have these thoughts the clues started to come to me. My brother has never claimed any desire to know any part of his birth story, says our mom and dad are his parents and that’s enough for him. He even went with our father to a huge family reunion about 20 years ago wanting to know about his history. This made no sense to me because we weren’t actually related to these people. My Mom and Dad are my parents but theirs is not my heritage.
So, back to the stuff. The clues that were in plain view. The world I lived but didn’t have relevance to me as a little kid.
Our father is an attorney, handled our adoptions and apparently this was no secret. I didn’t realize this or ask. He also handled the adoptions of others. Also as a matter of casual fact, my parents had “unwed mothers” living with them prior to and through out the time period when my brother and I came on the scene. The 1960’s were a time when young unwed pregnant women were often shipped away from their families for fear of shame, returning quietly and with no explanation 9 months later.
*End of Another Part of My Adoption Story*