New era

Since the new year, our adoption has undergone an enormous change. While - before - we only knew his name, we are now in contact with Baby E's birthfather, Papa A.

It's been an intensely emotional experience, but in only a few brief encounters so profound too. We've had to face our own fears and insecurities, which has been humbling. I've struggled with my need to make everyone feel "okay" about the adoption and the pressure that puts on me.  And we've wrestled with a new understanding of the circumstances of the adoption and the decisions his birthmother made.


But it's all worth it, because we've learned so much about Papa A and his family that we can now share with Baby E when he gets older.  It's such a deep relief to be able to say "We know that Papa A loves you." 

Water mother

How beautiful is this?

"A mother is likened unto a mountain spring that nourishes the tree at its root, but one who mothers another's child is likened unto a water that rises into a cloud and goes a long distance to nourish a lone tree in the desert."

- The Talmud

Yearning

Since my mother died in 2004, I have been very interested in grief and mourning customs.  So I jumped at the chance to read the article on "Good Grief" in a recent New Yorker.  Most of it was old territory for me, and I'd recently pretty much thrown the "stages of grief" out the window after reading this blog post by a birthmother.  But one paragraph was like a door opening:

"In the nineteen-seventies, Colin Murray Parkes, a British psychiatrist and a pioneer in bereavement research, argued that the dominant element of grief was a restless 'searching.' The heightened physical arousal, anger, and sadness of grief resemble the anxiety that children suffer when they’re separated from their mothers. Parkes, drawing on work by John Bowlby, an early theorist of how human beings form attachments, noted that in both cases—acute grief and children’s separation anxiety—we feel alarm because we no longer have a support system we relied on. Parkes speculated that we continue to 'search' illogically (and in great distress) for a loved one after a death. After failing again and again to find the lost person, we slowly create a new 'assumptive world,' in the therapist’s jargon, the old one having been invalidated by death. Searching, or yearning, crops up in nearly all the contemporary investigations of grief. A 2007 study by Paul Maciejewski found that the feeling that predominated in the bereaved subjects was not depression or disbelief or anger but yearning. Nor does belief in heavenly reunion protect you from grief. As Bonanno says, 'We want to know what has become of our loved ones.'"

Eureka, as we say in California. I have found it. Yearning is pretty much my constant life state, and it drives my near-compulsive web-searching.  (Isn't it interesting how search is the key to the web? Yearning seems to be so common - is grief a near-universal state?)


I also think this idea has such relevance for people suffering from adoption loss.  Adoptees and birthparents speak of this yearning for each other and invest great energy in seeking each other out. They even cite basic attachment research and describe the "primal wound" of being separated from your mother. And the final quote in the paragraph could be a perfect echo of what they say about their need to find each other, to be reunited.  


Our adoption is fully open, which means that we share all identifying information and communicate regularly in letters, emails, photos, and videos.  We haven't visited yet, but we want to.  It's only been 18 months, so it's very hard to see any benefits for Baby E from this openness, but I work very hard to maintain the relationship.  I don't want E to feel like he has to search out for answers, but I see now how unrealistic that is.


Even with all the information we can provide, there are no easy answers to the question "Why?"

Life's path

For Papa D's Eyes Only

Brothers and sisters

For Papa D's Eyes Only

The greatest adoption story ever told

I've read before and thought about Joseph as an adoptive father to Jesus.  I actually think Catherine Hardwicke's film Nativity Story does a lovely job of treating Joseph's experience of choosing to adopt Jesus.  But I had never thought of it from this perspective:  God chose adoption for Jesus. It makes me think that maybe God/dess does choose adoption for some souls, though I have resisted that idea in the past.  I find reassurance in the idea that there are myths that tell our story as an adoptive family.

Dream children

For Papa D's Eyes Only

History lesson

I started reading Shannon LC Cate's blog long before I ever had a son with African heritage, and today I thought I'd look up her recommendations for Books Every White Parent of a Black Child Should Read.  (BTW, Love Isn't Enough is a very helpful resource in general.)  I'm not sure whether I have access to those books, because our small-town library in a majority-white county isn't that strong on African-American titles.  But I could try the college library, then I'd just have to find the time to read them!  In the meantime, I'm actually considering whether I could take the Intro to African American Studies course at the local college....

Meant to be

I just came across this very interesting blog (in general, check it out), and the three posts about whether adoption is "meant to be."

You know that I've struggled with exactly this issue, and these discussions raise a lot of important questions for me.

Is there a way that we could say that of all the adoptive parents possible, we were meant to be Baby E's, as opposed to he was meant to be our son (and hence the wrong tummy problem)?  This reminds me of the linguistic difference that I make - I don't call Baby E my adopted son, I say I am his adoptive mother.  We don't say he was adopted, we say we adopted him.  I want the focus to be on me and my life, not him.

I do believe in the sanctity of Mama B's choice.  I have absolute faith in her.

Here's the first post, second, and third. Read the comments, they're amazing!

Kindred spirits

Heather at Production, Not Reproduction blogs about open adoption and multiracial families, and I really appreciate her perspective.  She also hosts the Open Adoption Roundtable, which is an amazing resource.  (Recently she's also been posting vegetarian recipes, so it's like a trifecta!) Imagine my pleasant suprise when she posted about her family attending the local AME Zion church.  It's interesting to me to think about the differences of visiting as a whole family, with her child of color, compared to me, who goes alone as a white woman. Nonetheless, we are walking similar paths, or different paths in the same direction.

Unmerited favor

Even though I only make it there about once a month, I am continuing to feel it is a meaningful experience for me. It keeps me thinking about the African-American experience – historically and in the present-day – and makes me feel more “legitimate” as the mother of a child with African heritage.

I am continually touched by the warm welcome that the members of the congregation give me. It is yet another instance of acceptance that I have recently experienced in my life. I previously wrote about the profound experience of E’s perfect love, but I’ve realized that I didn’t delve deeply enough into the transformative effects of the adoption experience on my self-esteem.

It has been over a year and half since were chosen by E’s birthmother, and I still marvel at it. What did she see in us that would make her think we deserved such a profound gift? I feel so flawed and unworthy. I can’t say enough how amazing she is to us. On Mother’s Day, she wrote to us thanking us for being “the best” parents.

Both her loving treatment of us and E’s perfect love seriously challenge my lack of self-worth. It is giving me the inkling of the possibility that I am not so unworthy after all.

You hear the word bandied about, but I think this might be the meaning of the word GRACE. Wikipedia says that “In Christianity, grace is ‘unmerited favor’ from God (Ephesians 2:8-9).” And that exactly how I feel – as if B’s and E’s favor is unmerited by me.

When you add to this the touching generosity of the members of St. Paul’s AME Zion, I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed with grace these days.

Asking why

I think I have written previously about the idea that “there is a baby meant for us.” This phrase was shoved by our throats by the Christians surrounding us at our adoption agency, so we really fought it. It’s a case of the message being lost because of the messenger.

This meant that we couldn’t find comfort in the idea of God’s plan during our adoption process. I tried to find meaning during the down periods:

- Why were we matched with a situation only to have the baby be stillborn? The answer I cam e to was that we were meant to help the expectant mother in her time of need, before baby Adam died.

- Why were we used by a mother who never meant to place? It’s hard to find solace from this experience, but it did help me learn more about my mother’s experience during my childhood.

As I reassess the adoption experience with the idea that our long wait and disappointments were a part of our path to E, I think about whether those challenges were destined to happen and how they were an important part of our experience.

If so, that means that in both my path to parenthood and my career path, I’ve had recent experiences with difficult challenges followed by amazing rewards. Is this a typical way that God(dess) works?

Regardless, it is clear to me that God(dess) has been working wonderful things into my life. I feel so fortunate and blessed. I’ve actually become a bit superstitious – while my experience of attending church is a bit ambivalent right now, I’m afraid to stop going because such good things have happened to me while I have been a guest there.

I still don’t know how strongly I am being drawn to the Christian church – even as the new pastor has been urging me to deepen my commitment. A good friend has encourage me to meet with the pastor and explain my path to her, so that she knows where I am coming from.

Mother love

I know, in my head, that we can't adopt another child. When I think about it rationally, I can see that we don't have the resources (time, energy, finances) to give to another child (although No Mother Earth makes a charming and persuasive argument for more than one child).

I only have 2 hours a day to spend with Baby E as it is - how would I possibly split that up for two children? Or more? It doesn't feel fair to us to give less than we do now.

But....

I want more children so much.

I feel like I have so much love to give, and there are children out there who need a mother. I think I've realized how good I am at mothering, and I want to do more of it. I want to be More Mother.

My awesome friend, Sally, told me she felt similarly when her children were about six months old. She inspired me with her vision of Mary as the universal mother, caring for all of us as her children. I feel as if I am a channel for this mothering energy, coming from the universe through me to my children.

The difficulty is that these feelings, this energy is pent up inside of me. I have no way to express them. Or do I? Why don't I simply direct all this mothering at Baby E?

Well, that's a good question. I have an answer, but not necessarily a good one.

I have a feeling that I don't want to focus all of that energy on Baby E, that it might be unhealthy for him. I believe that attention is an important part of parenting. Giving quality, undivided attention is the major way that I hope to show my love and approval for Baby E. Withholding attention - or shamuing - is how I hope to discourage behaviors that are unproductive. Too much attention, in my mind, can distort the parent-child relationship.

I don't believe that parents should be obsessed with their children. I know from my own experience how being a "little god" led to no boundaries and lots of difficulties in my life, difficulties that even my mother's overwhelming love could not balance.

On the other hand, I sometimes feel guilty if I'm doing things like watching TV or checking my email instead of playing with Baby E. In the scant two hours I have with him at night, I spend a large portion of that time cooking and eating dinner, plus doing whatever other chores need to happen in the evenings. I'm not sure how often I really meet the standard of "quality, undivided attention."

I think this guilt is exacerbated by the fact that I am an adoptive mother. I feel it is so important to give Baby E "optimal" attachment, to make up for the traumatic loss of his birthmother he suffered at birth. And I feel anxious about whether he is really bonded to me. Does he really think I'm someone special? A fear that I can only imagine will grow as he does, as he explores the world and finds so many other things more exciting than Mommy.

(If I compare these thoughts to my thoughts on relationships, they seem silly. I never say to myself "Hey, you're loving Papa D too much.")

There should be a way out of this dilemma. I should let the Goddess be my guide. She showers endless love on her children, and it doesn't harm us, because she also lets us grow up into our own, wonderful, unique independent beings.

If these feelings come from the Goddess, who am I to block them? Maybe She wants me to flood Baby E with all the love I have. Maybe there's some reason that I don't know, something in the future that he needs to be prepared for.

Diverse city

One of the most exciting parts of vising a big city and attending a cultural festival was the abundance of diversity. We saw African-American families and Indian families. Performers from throughout Central and South America displayed every possible skin color. On the subway, there were Asian students. But that's one of the main reasons to visit a city, to get out of our predominantly white area.

Even more surprising, though, were the number of transracial adoptive families we saw. Starting on the subway on the way there, where a family of two women (friends, I think) with four children befriended us. The children were a biracial boy of about 10 or 11, and three younger blonde girls. He immediately started engaging Baby E, trying to play with him. He was a beautiful boy, with skin the same color as Baby E's, and tiny little curls close shorn under his baseball cap. He asked Papa D: "Are you his dad?" "Yes," we said. "Are you his mom?" he asked me. "Yes," we said. I added, "We adopted him." That opened the door. He asked how long we had him, and I said since birth. He explained, "My mom and dad adopted me at birth." When Baby E was holding onto his finger, I said, "You're almost exactly the same color." He answered, "When it's hot, I get black. When it's cold, I get white." An interesting take on climate and racial identity.

At the festival, everywhere we turned there were adoptive parents with their children of other races. It was so exciting and empowering. I know that Baby E wasn't getting much out of it, but someday he will.

What he was getting was lots of attention from people of color. From the toddler girl who was drawn to him on the dance floor ("baby" she kept saying) to the mother on the subway who played peek-a-boo with him, he charmed them all. I had to remind myself that he doesn't know he has a color yet, but then I realized that the other people do, especially the adults. They were responding to him and interacting with him.

I don't know whether that will continue as he grows older, but it is a very compelling reason to continue to visit the city as often as we can.

Running on empty

As I'm waiting to hear from this new job possibility (yes, still waiting), I am thinking a lot about how to know if it's the right move to make. How can I know what the company is really like? Will the telecommuting arrangement really be an improvement? Most importantly, I want to feel like I am going the right direction in my life, on the path the God/dess wants for me.

One way I've always believed you can know you are on the right path is synchronicity. When all the factors align, you feel like everything is easy and right. That's how I know I'm heading in the right direction.

One way that I am really questioning is the concept of fulfillment. Is the feeling of fulfillment the same as fulfilling one's purpose? The former seems to me to be self-focused, while the latter is soul-centered? But doesn't the God/dess want me to be happy? How else can I know that I am doing her will than a feeling of contentment?

I certainly don't feel fulfilled by my work (is it the career or the job, that's the million dollar question), and the roots of this discontent started a decade ago. I've had dozens of theories over the years of what the problem is (poor management, lack of advancement possibilities, cause I'm not interested in, and now dysfunctional workplace), but as I've attempted to rectify each job's shortcomings, I feel like I am digging myself deeper into this mess.

Because becoming a mother happened so recently, I know that Baby E fulfills me. My heart is overflowing with love for him and happiness that he is in my life. However, when he turned six-month-old, I started feeling the yearning again...for another child, many children. Papa D thinks I'm crazy, but I want to have 8 children, all different ages and races. I really want to adopt a teenage daughter from the U.S. foster care system...and a sibling set from Haiti. These days I'm particularly obsessed with children with special needs, such as cleft lip/palate, limb differences, and ambiguous genitalia, from China and India. So I am fulfilled by Baby E, but not totally. Is there such a thing as partial fulfillment? Can part of your heart be totally fulfilled and part be empty?

My relationship with Papa D has completely fulfilled me. He filled a hole in my heart that I walked with for most of my life. I could finally quit searching and start living. All of a sudden I had more energy for other parts of life. When we were married, I imagined that together we were a stronger force for good. We could channel our energy to our communities, instead of ourselves. I'm not sure how much of that vision has come true (we're still pretty self-centered), but I do know that 10 years later, I have no interest in any other man (or woman for that matter).

In marriage and motherhood, I must say that fulfillment seems to be an indication of rightness, of blessing by the God/dess. So it seems I need to continue to seek fulfillment in my work.

What's interesting to me about this is the dichotomy between emptiness and fullness. Six years ago, I took the magical name Calix, the latin word for chalice, to represent my openness to the Goddess's blessings. I was hoping to become a mother, and the chalice symbolized my womb (and heart) ready to be filled. I pictured a goblet spilling over with a clear water to imagine the love and energy that would shower upon me. At that time, my life felt cluttered and busy, and emptiness was a good thing. I wanted to clear a space - in my life, in my heart - for the Goddess to fill with a child. Now, I'm experiencing the other side of this emptiness, the longing for something more.

Since I no longer want to be empty, I think it may be time to change my magical name. I'd like something that represents my feeling of being blessed. There's always Grace, but I recoil from the trendiness. Apparently Winifred means holy, blessed reconciliation and joy and peace. Ardith is traditionally given to a baby as a blessing. Neither is really doing it for me.

I really like Beata, and it keeps in the Roman tradition of my Matron Goddess, Juno.
I'm drawn to Baraka (like the President) or Beracha, but I don't have any particular connection with Islam, and my Jewish connections aren't strong enough to warrant taking a Hebrew name. Though, perhaps, if I am being drawn towards Christianity, a Hebrew name would be appropriate.

As I contemplated this, it eventually dawned on me that my real name actually means something similar to blessed. In Sanskrit, it means "all auspicious." I understand that this means something more like "good fortune surrounds me" or "luck follows me" than that good things happen to me. But perhaps I should consider the radical thought of integrating my magical and mundane names...whoa!

The Chalice Well and Gardens at Glastonbury, England

The cover of the Chalice Well, showing the vesica piscis, a sacred geometrical symbol representing the union of spirit and matter

Where?

In the comments to the last post, my totally cool sister Alyss asked, "Where do you already feel closest to the divine?"

I want to start by explaining that I haven't lost my faith. I still believe as strongly as ever in the divine. If anything, my faith is stronger now, because I have less direct experience to go by.

Can I continue with the metaphor of the sun? When the Goddess became an active part of my life at 26 years old, it was like the cloud cover cleared, and I finally felt the sun. I easily could feel her warmth and light, it was all around me all the time. Sometime around four years ago, the clouds moved back. I still know the sun is there, intellectually, and I can see the evidence of Her existence in the world (there is light to see by, the plants are growing). But I don't have that visceral experience of Her presence.

What happened four years ago? Well, I stopped actively practicing. We moved to a Small Town from The Big City, and I couldn't find any other pagans. For the first few months, we tried attending the Unitarian Universalist church, but gave that up for both social and liturgical reasons. At first I didn't miss practicing, I still felt confident in Her presence in my life, even if I didn't feel Her directly. I knew that pursuing motherhood was Her choice for me, and I followed that path. It was only deep into that decision, once the road became rocky, that I realized I couldn't seem to find her within me any more. A few times, I tried to make more of an effort, but I was busy and couldn't find the time. And there was little reward.

During the adoption process, we felt surrounded by church-y types always spouting about God's plans, and it felt important to distance myself from them. While I knew the Goddess wanted us to be parents, I didn't believe that she had one, specific child planned for us. I closed my heart to all the talk about God - I just couldn't face the idea of a God who plans for women to make heart-wrenching choices and for children to lose their birthfamilies.

It's interesting that I felt the Goddess so strongly when I lived in cities, but don't now that I live in the country, surrounded by nature. I feel as if she guided me here, where she wanted me to be, then figured she could leave me to figure out the rest on my own.

When I lived in cities, I found the Goddess in nature - the herbs growing wild out of the sidewalk, the huge trees in the park, the moon rising full between the buildings. Now, Her works are everywhere - from our little patch of backyard to the rolling green hills that surround our town. I can actually see the sky here and am much closer to the cycles of the moon and the sun. For half the year, we eat fresh vegetables and fruits, bought from farmers that we know and love. But none of these things seem to be filled with magic, rather they seem quotidian, common.

I don't have much time to enjoy the hobbies - gardening, cooking, knitting - that once connected me with her. (Just one more way that this job is killing my soul.)

If there is one place now that I feel most alive, it is with Baby E. From the miracle of his presence in our lives to the joy of watching him grow and develop, he is an angel, sent from heaven. He is a daily marvel.

I know that motherhood was the next step on my spiritual path, but now that I'm here, it just doesn't feel like what I expected. It's no grand ephiphany, it's a day-to-day
church
grind [I totally didn't mean to put the word church there, an interesting typo, don't you think?] of mundane details, punctuated by bursts of overwhelming love. It is also a profound call to gratitude - can you imagine how incredible the woman is who gave this miracle to us?

However, despite the boogers and the board books, motherhood has changed me. I think differently now about my career, my community, my home, my marriage, and my self. These shifts feel so tectonic that I haven't really been able to articulate them.

I know, though, that my current job situation isn't sustainable. It simply doesn't work to be away from home 10 hours a day, to only see my baby for 2 hours before he goes to sleep.

And, because my son has African heritage, I also knew I needed to reach out to the black community in our town - and what better way to do that than attend a church? So in this way too, it is Baby E. who has propelled me back to God.

Waiting lessons

Until a week ago, I felt that my job situation was in my hands, and I had to DO something about it. This led to a great deal of purposeless fretting and activity. It would have been one thing if I had been able to spend my time applying to jobs, but there are no jobs to apply for. News flash: it's a recession. So, instead of actual productive work towards my goal of a new job, I've been caught in this whirlwind. I've spent a lot of time obsessing over what I could do to change the situation. Could we move? Could I change my career?

Now that I am thinking this is in God's hands, I feel as if there is nothing to do but wait. For the path to become clear, for the opportunity to arise. And it reminds me of the other times in my life I waited -- and the lessons I learned from them.

Most recently, we had a arduous year waiting for our adoption process (preceded by a year of trying to decide how to become parents and years of waiting to be ready to parent). It wasn't a long wait, as much as a rocky one. There were disappointments along the way, then a period that seemed very bleak, when nothing was happening (much like now). We struggled to find a way to cope. I eventually resolved to Count My Blessings, to focus on what I have in my life not on what was missing. And of course, in the end, we are so profoundly fortunate for the opportunity to parent the most amazing kid. We have a great relationship with his birthfamily, and we were able to be in the room when he was born. All worked out for the best - thank you, Goddess.

For the majority of my life, I was waiting to find my life partner. From 15 on, I knew I wanted to be paired, had lots of long-term relationships, but despaired of ever finding the right one. After a series of rocky breakups, I finally took a time out, gave myself six months to just be myself. When I got back in the game, I met Papa D, and we've been happily together for 10 years.

I learned several things from this experience. First, the best way to create your own future to live your life. This seems an important lesson now and definitely goes along with the Count Your Blessings approach. Second, you have to make yourself right in order to attract the best outcomes to you. It's less clear to me how this applies to work than love. Lastly, you do have to be active in your search. I didn't just meet Papa D by sitting at home, and I'm not going to get a job by doing nothing either. But it's more of an openness to opportunities than the fruitless searching.

What can I do now to get through this waiting period?

- Pray for peace and patience, for understanding of my path, for knowing the right thing when it comes
- Live life and focus on what I have
- Get busy by volunteering and learning new things
- Be grateful

Blessings and disguise

During the service, I was reminded of how blessed I am. The congregation was invited to give testimony, and they spoke of illness and trauma. It was not hard to see myself as having so many advantages in life. These were people who appeared to be old and poor.

I can call to mind my blessings easily: a devoted husband, a precious child entrusted to me by an amazing woman, first-class education, a large house, financial security, relative health, a successful career. This is one of the key lessons from the difficult adoption process. When things were bleakest, I learned to count my blessings, to appreciate what I have in life.

Even before that, speaking with expectant mothers considering adoption sparked deep thoughts about the advantages I had in life. They were struggling with so little to get through so much. Simple things that I took for granted - like a telephone - were challenges for them. They had multiple young children, mental illnesses, drug addictions, prison sentences. And on top of it all, the unplanned pregnancies.

Before I met any of them, I had thought that women chose adoption because one thing in their lives wasn't conducive to parenting. Like the man wasn't involved or they were still in college. I began to understand that these women were considering adoption because they had not one thing in their lives that they could count on. Their families were abusive or absent. They had no jobs, no health insurance, and no funds. They had no partner and no friends to rely on. They had no car or telephone.

I tried to see my husband and I, and our life, through their eyes. We must have appeared so rich, so fortunate, so advantaged. And this is with domestic adoption! One of the reasons we chose it was to minimize the differences between us and the birthfamily. When I tried to compare our situation to that of a third-world woman, it seemed as if a mountain separated us, with us at the pinnacle of wealth and she in the valley of poverty.

I had entered the church feeling nervous about being welcomed, a white woman entering a black church. Unfamiliar territory - would I be viewed as an interloper? I expected to stand out, marked as different.

While it was slightly awkward to be in a new church, it was really no different than many a cocktail party or networking group where I didn't know anyone. There were three other white people already there when I arrived, which was about one-third of the congregation in attendance on Sunday.

But as I sat there, I needed to accept that I have another advantage in life: being white. While the members of the congregation didn't speak about it, I could imagine that their struggles included being of color in a racist society.

Seen through this lens, I have to face other questions:

How much of the challenges faced by the expectant mothers with whom I spoke were because they were Latina and black?

Is my becoming a mother, one of the greatest blessings of my life, built upon the foundation of racism (that gave me the staggering amounts of money needed to adopt and robbed her of the opportunities to parent her children)?