17 February 2015

17...

Another year has passed and today you are 17. Happy Birthday my beautiful girl. May your day be filled with the knowledge of your family's love and most of all, your Mama's love.

Hoping this is another year closer to when we are together again.

17 February 2014

Sixteen Candles...

Happy 16th Birthday Amber-Rose.

Wishing you a happy day and the knowledge that whatever you feel about me and regardless of what you have been told, I love you very much.

Tonight we will celebrate your day with a 'red velvet' chocolate birthday cake - having never tried one before I hope its yummy!  Your sister and brother are certainly looking forward to it!  Maybe one day we can eat birthday cake together...

Love always,
Your mother 

17 February 2013

15 years on... taking back more power and making a sad day into a day of celebration

Today, February 17, 2013 is Amber-Rose's 15th Birthday.  It seems almost unreal 15 years have passed since she was born... a lifetime ago.

Every year, this day has been about pain, much as it was the day she was born. And I think that is where I took my cues.  When a baby is born, there is supposed to be joy, celebration.  When Amber was born, for her, there was a double whammy.  First the fact she was born 6 weeks premature meant she was not well and so there was fear surrounding whether or not she would make it beyond those initial hours and nights.  Once it was established she would, what followed was not a celebration of her life, but the relentless pressure on me, her mother to give her up so someone else could be a mother.  So what did that mean?  It meant there was no celebration of a life, there were no flowers, no "Welcome to the world", there was simply an atmosphere one would expect following a child's death.

I can remember that very well and I wanted to scream at them, "BUT LOOK AT MY BEAUTIFUL DAUGHTER!!"  She deserved the same celebration of life as any other child who was born.  So it was me who celebrated that with her.  By loving her, nurturing her and spending every minute I could with her.  She was real and living but to many she might as well have been dead.

This atmosphere of grief has permeated every single birthday since.  Her first birthdays were simply awful and those days were written off.  My body went into its own grieving pattern and for the first two - three years, I would have milk come in and an unexpected guest regardless of where I was in my cycle.  Following those years, it was just a day of focusing on the loss and how much pain came with that.  Memories would flood this day and I would curl up and wait for it to pass.  

This day, a day where one celebrates their life with those who love them, became a nightmare, a cause for pain and I dreaded it as so many mothers do.

And yet, this year, this year it is different.  Anger has replaced the pain and determination that this day will no longer be about mourning the loss of her as I have every other day of the year for that.

No, this year I have decided to make it about Celebration.  Celebration of her life.  Celebration that this day cements the fact I am her mother and she is my daughter and no one in this entire universe can change that - pieces of papers and laws be damned. Celebration of her, who she was, is and will be.

From now on, I will celebrate this day because it belongs to her and to some extent, me. It marks a time in history before all the bad happened and as such, is pure.  It was HER day and remains HER day.  Not theirs and it is something they cannot take from me regardless of what they did.

My beautiful girl, I love you so much.  One day I hope we will share this day together and you will know how much you have always been loved.  Until we get to that day, may you know we are here, waiting for you, celebrating YOU and loving YOU.  Happy 15th Birthday.

As always,
Mama xxx

(Picture courtesy of Google images)

10 July 2012

Neverending...

Life for me has been fairly good of late... okay, I have fought to make it good of late.  We are currently in the throes of sorting through our shoebox (what we all call our home) for the move across the ditch.... or New Zealand for those who don't know our slang terms!

Keeping busy has been good, most of the time.  I am getting more done now than I ever thought and I am hoping this move will truly be a great step forward for me personally as well as for our whole family.  I make plans more now, I laugh a lot, I see glimpses of my old self in the mirror.  We were sorting through photographs the other day and I came across a photograph of myself from only 4 years ago and I literally gasped as I saw eyes which held so much pain and so little life.  I am so very happy with how much my life has progressed of late and I don't miss the person I was from that time.

But still... in amongst all that joy I am holding so desperately to, there is the anguish, the pain.  The neverending saga of what adoption does in a person's life no matter how much we fight to live and look at the positives.

I miss Amber.  I miss her a lot. And the latest events which led to my earlier post 'Betrayal' have done much damage.  I cannot disclose what happened so openly here however suffice to say things have been harder.  Mainly because I felt I had been travelling so well and this event came and knocked me right out of the water.  Worse, this person cannot and refuses to accept what they have done is betrayal - neither do they wish to take accountability for their actions and expect others to wear the responsibility for it.  I have withdrawn from this person almost entirely, although right now I have left a partially open door so we can try and talk soon.

I just want a break.  Away from adoption, away from the anguish and the heaviness of it all.  Even with all the great things and the working on looking at all the positives, it remains. All I know is currently my daughter 'hates' me based on the lies and manipulations she has been fed (expected that when the people who took her were liars from the start).

14 years and 5 months into my life sentence... and I just want it to be lifted.  I want to be a normal person who deals with normal things.  Anyone who says dealing with adoption loss (whether it is as an adoptee or a mother) is normal obviously has no idea what it is like.  It is not normal and it should not happen.  It isn't an unpreventable event; it is wholly preventable and mostly unnecessary... and in my case, outright criminal and abusive. Ugh.  Just so over it and exhausted by it's mere presence in our lives.

30 June 2012

Beautiful...


Beautiful

I'd love to look at you. In your eyes. Just once. Once
To see how our eyes are the same. I have have your eyes.
Your hair, your lips, your hopes, your self, your everything.
What force pushed us away? What will bring us back? Anything?
I'll know someday. Is what you carried in your womb still in your heart?
Grwoing. Kicking.
We are connected by more than just blood. Our feelings, our dreams, our souls.
Our connection.
Somewhere. Deep inside, I can feel you. I hear your voice calling me.
Young and breathless.
We are. I dream. Of your face. Laughing. Crying.
Embracing what is so far away.
What I long for. Bringing me salvation in my time of need. A bond.
Never shattered, never replaced.
Only put on hold. To be discovered. I love what you represent.
My being, myself.
I have no photos, no misrepresented images of a mystery.
Why can't I look in the mirror and see.
You. Behind my smile, my hands, my eyes. There you are.
Waiting. To be discovered.
Or are you hiding from the inevitable thing we call lonelines?
Sing to me. I want to hear your voice.
Talk to me. I want to feel your pain.
Listen to me. I am your own.
Hear me. I need. See me. I want to be educated.
Be me. I am you. Dreams of embraces are lost in glass pillows.
Reality. I am not yours to have and hold.
Iron walls. Close in.
You are somewhere, anywhere, nowhere.
I can't see you.
Are you running? Do you dream of me?
Darkness. My, your, our mind.
Plays with my eyes and teaches my heart to fly from pain.
Did you whisper to me at night? Inside you.
Did you rationalise leaving me?
Did you cry on me, in you, when everyone else was asleep?
Dreaming.
Did you look at me? Did you see me?
What were you thinking as they tore me from you? How do you sleep?
Do you sleep?
I don't.
Dreaming of the day your heart.
Your door, your mind, your pain, your eyes, your ears, your arms.
Will open to me and I can call.
Scream. Cry.
Your name.

Mother.

Written by Anonymous - found online 1999

I discovered this poem in 1999 when I first made it online after losing Amber.  The pain in the words - the wondering - it spoke volumes to my heart as it felt like the questions to the answers I had.  I wish I could find who wrote it and if they ever pass by my blog, thank you for articulating the other side so eloquently.

 

20 June 2012

This...

I saw this picture on my wall on Facebook the other day... how apt and perfectly it describes the living with adoption loss... whether for the mother or the adoptee...


I will live my life, hold my head high, and do what I can but the pain and grief of losing my child unnecessarily and by force to adoption will never ease until the day I die.

27 April 2012

The "Guillotine" effect of Adoption

Often, I have read the various search phrases that bring people to my blog and think about posts I could do regarding those search terms and then I just don't get around to writing them.  Tonight, I saw this search term: "how does the 1955 adoption act have the effect of a statutory guillotine" and felt it was a good question and relevant to my blog because I do use the word guillotine often when I post/speak about adoption law.
 
The word "guillotine" is quite graphic and conjures images of gruesome decapitations.  The guillotine offered a swift execution, a clean decapitation if you will - more pleasant than previous methods of decapitations with axes, swords and the like which would take at least two blows or more depending on the prisoner.  The guillotine was quick and efficient, and ensured there was no suffocation.

Yes, gruesome but the crucial part to me here is the effect of the guillotine - and how it relates to adoption.

 When a person is adopted, they are completely cut out of their family's life - the law makes its as if they were never related. This severing is the same as what happens with a guillotine.  Swift, brutal, final.

When a mother places or loses her child to adoption, she becomes a complete stranger to that child.  As if they were never connected.  As if those months of nurturing, of loving, of worrying never happened.  This is reflected in the falsified birth certificate which replaces the mother's name with that of the adoptive mother's - and it is made out, in the law, as if this stranger was the one who gave birth.  Mother and child, one of the most sacred relationships of all time, recognised as such outside adoption, is made out to be non-existent with a rubber stamp and a few signatures.  Adoption, like a blade, cuts that most precious relationship away from both.  Thus, the Guillotine.

The child experiences this (besides other experiences) by way of his or her family tree being brutally cut off and all those who went before her or him, all those who existed in her/his family for generations stretching back in time, wiped away.  By law, adopted persons are magically grafted into their adoptive families' heritage... negating the fact they have another family, another heritage - one that flows through their veins, shows in their personalities, in their being.  The guillotine of adoption law wipes it all out. 

The so called ruse of Open Adoption does not change this.  Given open adoption does not actually exist legally, there is no recognition of a mother who wants to see her child and be part of her child's life.  Because in the eyes of the law, she is no one.  She is nothing.  She is merely a stranger - to the law, she may as well be someone walking down the street.  The fact the connection she shares with her child is more than anyone will ever experience with her child ever, vanishes, poof!  Because the law of adoption dictates this.

Adoption law is not a loving law.  There is no love, no compassion in this brutal hacking of a family.  Adoption law is anti-family in a way.  It does not care for the best interests and welfare of a child, it only serves the best interests and welfare of adults.  Regardless of the intentions of those who seek to adopt, the law of adoption is not child centric.  It is actually cruel.  It is barbaric in many places.  And it supports dishonesty in the way it is set up.  Love is not cutting a child out of her/his family.  Love is not re-writing a factual document to reflect a mis-truth.  Love is not pretending one gave birth to another mother's baby (my daughter's adoptress created a labour and birth story.  Truly.  And then denied it when I confronted them.).  Love is not applying a guillotine to a child's life and severing centuries of family history.  Love is none of those things and adopters who fool themselves into thinking that adoption is loving and compassionate are not seeing the full picture and are only seeing what they want to see.

When I lost Amber, I wrote endless journal posts about how I felt my head had been cut off and my heart had been torn out.  Again, the guillotine.  

Amber is lost to me.  Legally, it is as if she never existed.  Regardless of what ethics and morality say, regardless of what my hospital records show, the truth is, by law, my daughter, whom I carried inside me, in my heart, in my spirit, in my soul, is a stranger to me.  That is the law.  That is the reality.  That is Adoption.  And that is the guillotine effect I speak of so often.

Reunion will not change this for us.  She will still be seen as the child of those who brutally took her from me, by law.  As their daughter.  I will be the stranger.  Not them as they should be.  I have been severed from her life, and she from mine.  And just like a decapitation, there is no way to put us back together again.