As long as I can remember, I have had a sad song that I sang to myself. For so long, it was all I knew and all I remember. After the day Mama left there was a hole in my heart, where a song would ooze and spill. A cut so deep within me and a hole so deep that a melody came without me being able to stop and change the channel. Change is not easy, when the only song you ever have known is about a woman who left so long ago. But I am working and working and working to learn a new tune.
Adoption has crossed all the boundaries and gave me such sad song. Excuse me for not being grateful… I miss my Mama. Excuse me, there is no other woman that can take her place, she had to carve out her own in a child who has a sad song she can’t seem to change.
When you talk about yourself, its hard not to sing it. You can’t really run from a song of your broken heart. No matter how hard you try..When you go to the doctor and the question is asked about your family history, you must leave the line blank, then you sing a sad song that makes you sad to sing it. You truly wish you had a better song and words that make sense. When you see other families that are together, the song sings again. I open my mouth and it just spills out. When your kids fight, you sing it to them. When life is hard it comes singing out again and again.
Adoption hits a button on your recorder, and when pain hits you, the song just plays. And no matter how hard you work and search for that damn button to turn it off?, it comes out, with its sad melody. Its like you have been tricked into thinking that its all ok when the song goes silent, until the next time.. and then the song keeps on playing. Its like being a jack in the box and the jokes on you.
Its like a channel that you work to figure out how to change. Its all you have listened too, and it’s so connected to you. Because no one wants to hear a sad song about a woman long gone. They all just laugh as if your are mad and go on playing, without even noticing that you are in pain and want the noise to stop. Like an alarm, it goes on and on. And changing your life means changing the song that you sing. But I am not sure that it is ever truly changed, or removed. You may cover it with pillows and wish to suffocate it, but that song still plays, over and over. And I’ve been working for years to change this channel and change this song.
Mama Jean doesn’t like my song. She made me play the quiet game, and that is hard for a girl who longs to stop the melody of a woman who’s long sense gone. The woman my song is for is gone and no one give a shit about her, or me for that matter. I must have come to sing this song, but to whom? No one wants to hear it!! I wonder why? And believe me, I don’t want to be sad. And I don’t want to mourn, again and again. These days this song comes over the wire and I cringe as the tune washes over me. My children look dismayed and I wish I was dead. I wish I could be like the other Mama’s, but I am not. I was marked long ago. And it is like I am tainted and jaded by this damn song.