As anyone who reads this blog knows–I could never get it back. I could never get back the life I was born to live. And how does that make me feel? Pissed! Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am f***ing pissed. Who on earth are these crazy people who decided I was some kind of ‘blank slate’–whatever the heck that is? I am a member of the L family and the M family. I carry their genes. I look like them and I share their medical history. I am not a member of the CP family, as in, ‘Cabbage Patch’ family. Of course, one would not be remiss to assume that all adoptees of the BSE are related since we all seem to be descendants of this same CP clan. And then to add insult to injury, those selfsame, so-called experts (aka knuckleheads) also decided that we adoptees should never be allowed to know where we come from for our entire lives. As if by some form of genetic osmosis our DNA would mysteriously transform over time into that of our adoptive families.
As most of you know, my natural mother never wanted to give me up, and with some help from her (our) family probably would have made a fine parent. Now, don’t get me wrong, she did have her flaws. But what was her crime? She had sex when she wasn’t married, for crying out loud. Whoop-de-frigging do! And for that I should lose my whole entire family on both sides for all time? What planet are the people who came up with this crazy plan from?
When I found my natural mother we had so many things in common it was uncanny. I realize that not everyone has this experience, but I found shared interests and abilities and even similar behavioral and thought patterns; many traits I possessed that made me feel out of place in my adoptive family. I didn’t notice so much of a physical resemblance, although other people have said they see the similarities. I think that in the looks department I take after my paternal side more.
For example, my first mother never drank. I’m a teetotaler myself. She didn’t smoke. I gave up that awful and, for me, very brief habit years ago. She didn’t swear. For the record, that is not an inheritable trait. I have to confess, I drop enough F-bombs for the both of us. I even wondered if I inherited a predisposition for getting involved in some less than wonderful romantic relationships. hmm…
But if there is one thing I learned from finding my natural mother, it’s that I was irreplaceable. My mother did not want to raise my sister or my cousin or my best friend. She wanted me and only me. No one else would do. Contrary to those who think adoption is always the better alternative, God did not make some kind of mistake and put me in the wrong tummy. An adoptive parent can raise a different child, no matter how much they may insist a particular child was “meant for them”. Of course, once the child is in the adoptive home the adoptive parents could not imagine switching her for another, but for most natural mothers the only child they ever wanted is their own.
When I found my father’s side of the family I noticed that we often spoke with the same intonation. How do people who grew up in totally different parts of the country with totally different regional accents end up with similar speech patterns? The same with my sense of humor. I never realized a sense of humor could be inherited from people you didn’t spend time with. How bizarre! My father’s family has a tradition of giving a female in every generation the name M—–, which has been the custom since at least the 17th century. Had I known, maybe I would have given a daughter that name. As it stands, the name died out with my paternal aunt. But these are the kinds of important traditions that create continuity through the generations and make one feel like part of a family.
So now I’ve come full circle. And when all is said and done, all I can say is, “I’m pissed!”