When your growing up in the house of someone you didn’t come from, you just think about Mama. What’s she doing? I miss her. I hope she’s ok. I don’t want her to know I miss her. I don’t want her to be sad. So I’ll just play along. Mind my manors. And pray each night I’ll wake up at home the next day.
And the next day becomes the next day. And so has been my life. Mama. Just loving her so deeply and not being able to stop. I think the pain began when my love stopped having her place to go and share? And I got all stopped up with packages and messages that couldn’t be delivered to her.
And it got crowed inside me. Like I thought about Mama all the time and especially when something good happened. It was a kind of happy sad moment. She never got to see my firsts. And my successes. And they have told me that I should not care. And I’d really love to not care. What is that? Not caring? Strange concept to try to teach me when everyone cares about their Mama? Except Adoptees.
We are supposed to not care about our own Mama. Nor should we wonder or worry about them. Our Mama are non of our business. Or so I’ve been told and shown. And in a world of alterations like the Adoptee, you all don’t make sense tell us how to be our parents children in your altered world, forced into ours. Why do I have to like something that took my Mama from me when I needed her the most?
Why was I ripped from her love and presences so young? Why? Do people still cling to an idea that it doesn’t do a thing to the people involved? That’s nothing is altered even though it was altered. Denial so deep inside this planets human population of what is.
Being Adopted felt like being in jail. And I do know what it feels to be a part of my Mamas life. I was a part of her body until born. And it shouldn’t be so difficult for she and I to rebound. But it has been difficult navigating all the this and that said about who she and I are to be to one another.
That’s what’s a mess. All the ideas that never fit. And your own Mama clinging to a terrible script because it was all she had. And getting her to even let go of that old script. Was a chore. She thought I didn’t know about her script. But she quoted from it all the time. She told on herself to me. So I could help her.
It’s like coming home to your Mamas hair all knotted and in a shamble. With bits of this and that stuck in her beautiful spun silver. Globs of matted scribbles of how to be that needed to be picked out of her brain so she could see me proper. But it would hurt. As she began to see the affect on me. Horrified at her actions results on me. Grieved to the core. How could this be? And yet it was?
I showed her my scares and told the tales. And she squirmed and blocked herself from the hits to her own wounds. Healing was coming. But salt stings. While it heals. And she winced. Just like I winced at her truth so young. So unprotected was she. So trusting. So wounded. By what she did to herself. And it took me to help her see it. And that there’s no shame. She did not know. She lived with the decision. She knows now. And had a second chance.
We could not go forward without cleaning all the this and that up that people said. And my sisters reacted too. Change affects us all. And God did not bring me home for us to tank at this reunion. All the thinking about Mama. Wishing on stars. Knowing when she was thinking about me. Feeling her presence around me when I was playing. Like it’s hard to concentrate when you love and miss your Mama. And I feel all that I have experienced needs to be on the books. It’s my evidence from living a life without your Mama.
It’s a bit much to throw on children so young. Supporting strong family dynamics education would be way better spent time. We all do need to learn to communicate better. Moms have a lot on their plate. And families need to pull together. But disruption goes on and we don’t form agencies to educate? Oh hell no? Why good is education? And that’s where America is. We either show the world how to do better for the children of the world? Or die trying?
We are the worse. Low. And folks need to grow up and see. I mean is banging around the way? Waving free will tickets demanding our own way? With no consideration for the whole? Is that what we all were taught by mostly woman teachers in school growing up? No. It’s not.
I was to young to draw a line. But I am not now. And my line can count for many lines the children in the future will not have to draw if I speak up now. And if my brothers and sisters speak up now. We do need to get a grip.
Years of intimidation I put up with. Don’t think I’d did not buck the system and the parents who raised me. I was not mean. Just passively resisted. Listen. They can’t take my parents place. Adoption just took my time with them.
My scares you can’t see. Unless I paint the pictures in your mind to see me growing up without Mama. And there’s so many messages I held onto for her. Makes it hard to even think about school? Listen. She mattered a lot.
I lived my life. I played along. But I could not give my love for her away. Nor could I just flip a switch. That’s not to say I don’t love the parents that raised me. I love them for showing up and doing their best. They? Just were not her. And for me? No take backs.
I don’t just half love my Mama. I wholly love my Mama on top of loving another woman I call Mama now too! Maybe others choose to let go in some way? I did not experiences that much. When I was sick. I longed for her. So bad. It’s like being in some nice concentration camp and all you concentrate about is where’s Mama? Why am I here?
Anyway. Yeah. I think about Mama a lot. So what. She should be happy she’s loved so much.