After reading an article on National Adoption Month, I wrote the following poem. The author of the article blames adoption for her issues. I remember as a young child praying each night that either my ‘real’ mother appear as ‘the mother’ hated me so and couldn’t actually be my mother or that my father would find someone kind who would have us both. After my unanswered prayers, I would cry myself to sleep.
My steps took me to university where I majored in Psychology obtaining my Master’s Degree and as a single parent then began working at a private therapy clinic and with Child Protection.
I do acknowledge the woman’s pain. However, she appears to have other issues and is so focused on ‘being adopted’ she cannot put a foot forward. I’ve been the kid that should have been surrendered for adoption. I’ve also worked with both sides both as a private therapist and in Child Protection. I know how bad the system is and often the kids end up with relatives who are not far from the parent/s they were removed from and/or do not protect them from said parent/s. When I was about four, I began going to the next door neighbors home to help with her clients. Mrs. Jones was a speech therapist for the Crippled Children’s Society. There were often children sitting in her living room waiting to be seen or siblings that needed to be distracted while they waited. Helping with these children and being an early reader helped me to focus outside a situation that was out of my control.
The poem below is offered to all those parents who put the child first and to all those children adopted or not who are survivors of some of life’s harshest realities. This piece is also for those brave individuals who step forward and make a difference in the life of these children. In the end, it is all about love. Some never have been on the receiving end and don’t have love to give. Some have love in abundance. My sincere wish that all would find peace. I know from personal experience that my peace came from learning, understanding and perhaps most of all, reaching out to others who were or are still in pain.
“Biology is the least of what makes someone a mother.” – Oprah Winfrey
*
The other side of the story
Yes! I’ve no doubt
How painful it must be
Finding out your mother
Didn’t want, didn’t keep
You
Always knowing that she
Didn’t want you
Couldn’t keep you
Left you to the care
Of others
Whoever they may be
Searching crowds
For genetic similarities
Are they a part of me?
Where do I belong?
That eternal search
For home, acceptance,
Unconditional love
From my earliest memories
I would pray that my “real”
Mother would find me
I must have been put
Here by mistake
Yet her proof – horrific
Caesarean scar – my crime
Fragmentizing for a girl of three
Prayers for my father to
Find someone else who
Would be kind to us both
Hatred by – the mother
The word ‘mother’ still
Makes me queasy
Target for her rage
Making sure bruises didn’t show
Sold off to the grandma’s
Boyfriend – deacon of the church
For him to scatter his holy seeds
And cleanse my wickedness
Father unable to defend him self
Becoming his defender
Deflecting her rage onto myself
Believing he wouldn’t survive
And I would be alone, yet
I was always on my own
Never a kind word, nor
Gentle touch
I tell my story not for pity
Now at last I’m free
If you were adopted
Perhaps that mother
You search for
Spared you from my fate
And others who suffered more
Knowing she was not able
Perhaps the choice was not hers?
If you were treated kindly
You’ve much to be grateful for
Try forgiving – we never forget
It is on the road to healing
Then reach out to
Those who still suffer
Taking the focus off ourselves
Catharsis for healing
*
Bisous,
Léa
My spirit is of pensive mould
By Gerald Griffin 1885
My spirit is of pensive mould
I cannot laugh as once of old,
When sporting o’er some woodland scene,
A child I trod the dewy green.
I cannot sing my merry lay
As in that past unconscious day,
For time has laid existence bare
And shown me sorrow lurking there.
I would I were the lonely breeze
That mourns among the leafless trees,
That I might sigh from morn till night
O’er vanished peace and lost delight.
I would I were the heavy show’r
That falls in spring on leaf and bow’r,
That I might weep the live long day
For erring man and hope’s decay.
For all the woe beneath the sun,
For all the wrong to virtue done,
For every soul to falsehood gained,
For every heart by evil stain’d.
For man by man in durance held,
For early dreams of joy dispell’d,
For all the hope the world awakes
In youthful hearts and after breaks.
But still though hate and fraud and strife,
Have stain’d the shining web of life,
Sweet hope the glowing woof renews,
In all it’s old enchanting hues.
Flow on, flow on, thou shining stream!
Beyond life’s dark and changeful dream,
There is a hope, there is a joy,
This faithless world can ne’er destroy.
Sigh on, sigh on, ye gentle winds!
For stainless hearts and faithful minds,
There is a bliss abiding true,
That shall not pass and die like you.
Shine on, shine on, thou glorious sun!
When day his latest course has run,
On sinless hearts shall rise a light
That ne’er shall set in gloomy night.
The word “mother” will always. be problematic for me too…and I cringe at the assumption that motherhood is sacrosanct. But, as you say, finding a way “out of ourselves”—as in the arts, for example—is the ticket to a certain kind of peace….Thanks, Lea
Thank you Cynthia. I was always taught I “couldn’t do anything” and so creative endeavours were not something I tried for a very long time. There had to be some healing first. I didn’t know how healing creativity could be. For me it was helping those that needed help and there were always some around. Thanks!
i think it is tough to find out about adoption – even more when the foster mother doesn’t deserve to be called a mother… i had more problems with my dad – even though he was my physical dad – but then he had his own loads of problems…
Fostering is a whole other post. Perhaps one day…
Yes, my dad. Hmmm…
Powerful stuff – Léa – wicked, my friend, a strong piece.
Thank you Polly, your support means so much. I couldn’t stay silent. Silence is what the abusers thrive on. As for the system, it is so dysfunctional.
Very, very moving Lea.
It is all so alien to me; I had wonderful parents who loved me dearly and I couldn’t have asked any more of them. My memories are only cosy ones; I feel truly blessed. xxx
Thank you so much Christine. I’m sorry you felt you had to read it all. However, when I read the article, my hands just flew over the keyboard.
I’m glad you had such wonderful parents. You were indeed very fortunate. Unfortunately, there are too many of us out there and some are still suffering or lost. Also, many are just now going through the darkness. xxx
Lea this touched my heart thinking of all the trauma you went through as a child. You are an amazing woman and your poem is beautiful. The decision to give up a child because you are unable to care for it due to mental health or other circumstances, Is one of the most unselfish acts someone can make.
When I was very small, I prayed every night that my ‘real’ mother would come for me. I didn’t believe that ‘the mother’ was my real mother or how could she hate me so? It took time, study and much more to get where I am. I eventually realised that she too was a victim. However, as victims, there is a choice to make. I made mine very early. Thank you so much for your support. Yes, I do believe that it takes putting the child first to give them up. My work in the system also backs that theory.
I can understand that little girl waiting for her real mum to turn up and it breaks my heart.
Being so young and ignorant, I couldn’t comprehend such hatred from a biological parent… I couldn’t understand how damaged she was. Nearing the end now, all she has left is the ‘perfect’ daughter (also a victim) who is demanding her pound of flesh. All I feel now is pity. Despite what has happened, I have my life and I am happy.
You are healing yourself, by understanding the why and moving away and onwards Lea. Wish I could give you a hug.
Kath, you just did. I could feel it all the way over here! Merci beaucoup mon amie!