I feel tricked too. I’d like to say to my Mamas face. I’d like to say I don’t feel tricked. But that would be a lie. It’s clear God’s played a trick on us. And the way I see it we better get this trick right or we loose our treat.
I surely don’t know what the treat is that’s God would give a daughter with such long suffering patients to keep showing up for Mama? Seems kind of backwards to me? I mean most girls wait for Mama to show up for them? But I show up waiting for Mama to be done being to busy for me?
I’ve taken a good long hard look at myself. Yes. I’ve let my hair down, and cut it off. Nothing. What is it about me that causes my own Mama to be to busy for? I’ve been patient? Which was the hardest challenge. And the rest is just me. Letters finally with someone to go too.
But was she really there? Was it Mama I was writing to? Or was it some comfortable numb woman that Mama used to live inside? I mean Phil said it, “I’m just like her” would he lie? Was he stupid? Just kidding? Standing in the kitchen on Cheshire. As I was being sarcastic. He just said it. I had never heard that so it would stick out to me people. Especially the man my Mama loves? Like wow? I began to see myself differently.
And this relationship with Mama is a bit of an and onion. There are layers to this reunion of ours. And make no mistake. I’m reunited even if we haven’t been talking persay. As we work it out and come back up to speed with each other. The layers are peeling away. And the center is strong. We cry now. And that’s a really good thing. Cuz Mama needed to cry real bad. Girls weren’t taught to cry back in the day. It’s not healthy.
My Mama has loved me like a baby forever. But now she’s loving this woman. Who’s loving her back all hard and heavy like. Like my Daddy I guess? But she now sees how amazing she is. How tripped up he was by her? How Gaga he was for my Mama? Oh lord. He was gaga. And that tripped her up too. She’d never felt like that and it scared her.
She’s never told a sole. She forgot about me. I was there. In the bathroom crying with her. Over him. Talking to me. Praying to God. Calling herself names. Trying to hold it together and give me a chance. She felt tricked. And then tricked by adoption. And now tricked again. Cuz all she feared was true.
But the one thing left. Is me. Still loving her anyway. Shit happens Mama. We can work it out. Don’t let Daddy run you away again. Please. Your in me Mama. Don’t even. I let you see him in me Mama. Like you don’t think meeting him showed me on some level? What you liked about him? Of course?
Maybe you don’t consider all that I’ve experienced and what it means to me. How I relish each moment with you both? How wonderful that even in an argument I am absolutely in love. It’s a strange feeling. To love two people I’ve not met so much? And yet if I think about how hard I tried to love those parents you sent me to live with. It’s not the same. I made that happen and had to over ride my natural pull. But my natural pull was still pretty strong.
Don’t take my love for granted Mama. I’ve not taken your for granted. Let’s act like us and be ok. And grow and learn each other again. No diapers needed. Yes. My behavior has been erratic. Should I change who I am to make you comfortable with me? Or can I be my erratic self? Is it my fault I am erratic? My Mama keeps rejecting me. And I’m 56 and 20+ years into reunion now and she’s still not accepting me? And seeing that I am 56. I do deserve at my age a verbal explanation. I’ve given mine.
And maybe I am not my Mamas new style? That’s the point. I am me. And erratic is part of me. I’ve not been labeled. Seems my family wants me labeled? Adopted. Now crazy? What next? It is profiling for sure but how do you address them when they can’t seem to see I am different due to being separated for our Mama? Is that just to hard to believe? Considering the mounting evidence backing that claim up?
Listen. My family may be way off? Sure. And not many Adoptees have spoken up about the dark sides of adoption. We have been limited in a very cryptic way. We’ve all learned to read the silence. Shhhh. We don’t talk about that. We glaze over that. It’s uncomfortable. As if to say that we the children adopted are comfortable-at all, which is a laugh indeed.