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
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