"You have to go on, forget I exist, because I don't exist in your life, and you don't exist in mine, and we both never will." Birth mother
I found my birth mother through a licensed search agent 8 yrs. ago. He found her within an hour of searching. Great! I was in college in the U.S., and she agreed to call me. We talked for about 3 hrs. She gave me information about my heritage, told me how labor and delivery was, how she held me and fed me for an hour, because of a "nice nurse" who brought me into her room, how she said good bye to me, but left a note for me (baby) with the social worker for me to have when I turned 18, incase I ever wanted to contact her, to then 6 mos. later returning to the social services agency to see if I'd been placed in a family yet, getting 2 pictures of me that my foster/adopted parents left there incase she ever came back wondering about me, a little about her family, where she lived now, without specific details and without identifying information, like her new last name, because I WAS STILL A SECRET to her father who is still living, her relatives, her husband and his family, and to her children. The only one living that knows anything about me is her sister, who was with her at the time of her pregnancy and my birth. My bmum told her mum that she had a baby and gave it up for adoption, and they decided never to tell her father or anyone else but BURY ME(THE SECRET) forever. Her mum died in '94, with the secret, leaving her father here not ever knowing he has a granddaughter, or that she has ever conceived a child naturally. During the phone conversation, she told me that hopefully someday we could meet somewhere, but she didn't know when that would be, but we could keep contact by her writing or phoning me, when she could.
She went on to tell me that the alleged birth father was a DANGEROUS man, who she found out at the end of their relationship BEFORE she found out she was pregnant, and that I should not seek him out, no telling if he was alive or dead or in jail
A month after our phone conversation, she wrote me a nice note, with a family picture of her, her husband and her ADOPTED children from overseas. (She and her husband couldn't have children naturally because of medical reasons, so I am HER ONLY BIRTH/BIOLOGICAL CHILD SHE HAD AND WILL EVER HAVE). At the end of the note it said, "I will write or phone at a later date."
The days, the months and the year went by without hearing from her. So I called my search agent and asked him to phone my birth mum and have her call me. A few days later, he called and said, "I talked to her, she took your number down and said, 'okee dokee'" I waited, days, weeks, she never called. I wrote a letter to her, mailed it to the search agent to send to her, and I never heard back from her. I even sent pictures for her too.
The next yr. I called the search agent again, to have him call her. He did, she said she would call me, she never did, and I wrote ANOTHER LETTER, (these are long letters, very emotional, telling her how much I love her, etc. and to please, please call or write me, just one more time just to talk and tell me how she is and why she hasn't called or written) I heard NOTHING.
In '99, the search agent called me, I had moved away from school, but he found me, and said, "I found your birth father. I thought you emotionally needed this, so I did it for you. He wants to talk to you." Wow! He's not in jail, and he's not the same person he was back then either. We decide to meet. He comes to where I live and stays for a few days. My boyfriend (husband now) says, "He's not your birth father. I just have this feeling, he's not it." The man WANTED to be. What a different attitude than that of my birth mum. But, unfortunately, my soon-to-be husband was RIGHT!! We had DNA testing done and the alleged birth father was 0% my paternal link!!!
Depression hits, I try again to get a hold of my birth mum, with no avail. I send a taped letter, I sing to her, I send another family picture, year after year.
Until last year, '05. I decided, you know what, I know her maiden name, I know where she is living now, and I know her father, My GRANDFATHER, lives in the same province. I have unlimited calling, and so I won't bother the search agent any more, I"ll call until I get her!!!
61 phone calls later, I got my grandfather. I was scared to death!!! I was calm and collected, didn't want to tell him who I was, since he's 74 or so yrs. old, so I said I was an old friend of his 2 daughters from long ago and I wanted to get back in touch with them. He gave me both their phone numbers, I said thank you, and hung up. Oh, how I wanted to say, "Grandpa, you don't know me, but I'm your granddaughter." I couldn't. I had too much love and respect for my birth mum to do that, I didn't want her mad at me, and I didn't want to be the cause of a heart attack for him.
I was too scared to call my birth mum, incase her husband or someone found out, so I called my birth aunt, her sister.
We've been talking for almost a year now, with her trying to at different times to bring me up in conversation with my birth mum. My birth mum, a few weeks ago said, "I have enough schmaz in my life now, I don't need more. Do not bring her up again. It's a closed book!"
My birth aunt does not have the same feelings as her sister, but wants to respect her wishes, so I decided to make the phone call a few days ago and talk to my birth mum after 8 long years of waiting.
I was afraid she'd hang up on me, or tell me off. "No, I'm not mad at you," she said, "but, this has to be it. You can never call me or write me ever again. Just get out what you need to talk about, and be done. I have my life now, and you can't be in it." She told me that when we talked in '98, and all those years up until then she had feelings for me, and she wanted to talk to me, and expected for me to find her. But after we talked in '98, and after she wrote me, she realized she had no emotional connection to me at all. She gave birth to a human being, but NOT HER CHILD. She has no emotional attachment, and shouldn't create an emotional attachment to a STRANGER, in her words. She said that she cannot allow herself to emotionally be attached to me, in fear that her family would find out. I am a 30 yr. secret that if dropped on her family, from her husband, to her ADOPTED CHILDREN, to her dad, and her husband's family, her life as she has it now, would be DESTROYED. Her reputation, which she has created for herself in her community, would be ruined and that cannot and WILL NOT HAPPEN. My birth mum even told me, "I don't want to hurt you when I say this, that's the last thing I want to do is hurt you, but if you try to go any further with this, I may have to take legal action. You don’t want me to go that far, do you?" I don't know what she could do. I'm not stalking or anything. I"m just a 30 yr. old girl yearning for love from my bloodline. Of course, I don’t want to hurt the mum that I’ve loved in my heart since I was 8 yrs. old.
I almost think it is impossible for an adopted child, UNLESS, THAT CHILD LOOKED, ACTED AND WAS A RECREATION BY CHANCE OF THE ADOPTIVE FAMILY(even then, I wonder) to NOT WONDER, NOT PONDER, NOT WANT, NOT GRIEVE FOR, NOT HANG ON TO THE HOPE OF KNOWING REAL HERITAGE, REAL MANNERISMS, REAL VOICE TONES, REAL PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS, REAL LIKES, DISLIKES, CRAVINGS, THOUGHTS, IDEAS, HANGUPS, ETC.
WHERE YOU CAME FROM--WHO YOU ARE LIKE--WHO YOU SHARE SO MUCH GENETIC HISTORY WITH.
Then, I thought of something else:
I am created because of someone else's decisions
I am alive because of someone else's decisions
I was adopted because of someone else's decisions
Now. . the following. . .I'm not mad or angry, or upset or anything, but these are also facts:
I almost died within a few weeks of life without a parent beside me, because of someone else's decisions
I was alone in a hospital without a parent because of someone else's decisions
I have no PATERNAL HISTORY, because of someone else's decisions--SO FAR
I had an adoptive family who made me feel. . .
X-tra
In the way
Mission Impossible
Cheap
Worthless
Because of someone else's decisions
So, I make the decision to get out, go to college, and get 2 degrees.
I make the decision to try and have surgeries to make me look like I'm supposed to be, but they don’t' work
I make the decision to marry, to have children. Those are just a FEW decisions for myself compared to all that were made for me. Where does my decision to KNOW MY PAST, MY HISTORY, MY MOTHER, MY FATHER, MY GRANDPARENTS, MY AUNTS, MY UNCLES, TO KNOW MY BACKGROUND, MY DNA, MY GENETICS, ME, ME, ME fit in? I guess I don’t have a say to make that decision.
I told her that I met the alleged birth father and that DNA said he wasn’t my birth father. She told me that she was 100% positive that he was the father, and she couldn’t provide me with any more information. She understood why I need that information emotionally and medically. Her ADOPTED daughter has medical problems, and they do not have a name of the birth father to provide her when she is of legal age. I have some noticeable birth defects, and although my children have turned out fine and look beautiful, still, what about heart disease, cancer, underlying birth defects that may arise later, could they come from the paternal side? I’ll never know, at this point. I asked her to tell her sister if she ever could remember another man she slept with in June of ’74. She told me she would tell her sister, but not to count on her remembering 30 yrs. back, because for 30 yrs. she thought it was the person she put down in the file.
I asked my birth mum if I could still keep contact with her sister, my birth aunt. She said that was up to her sister, but I was to not send messages via her sister and for me not to expect any from her, because it would never happen. The part of her life that happened 30 yrs. ago happened, it’s over and does not exist, and in her mind, I never existed, for her to emotionally and physically go on and have the life she has now.
Do I want to tell my grandfather that I exist? Yes. But what good would it do. I see more negative than good. He may just look at me as an illegitimate child, not his blood link, get mad at his daughter for the secret, and in turn, she gets angry with me, and my last conversation with her, my last good bye, be it that, would be a horrible memory. Though, I didn’t want to say goodbye, it was done nicely. She was nice, just sternly stated that there should and would not be any more communication, no matter what between the two of us. EVER!
Since the time I was 8 yrs. old, when my adopted mother took me into the parlour room, sat me down, looked me square in the eye and said, “You do know that we are not your real parents, and that you are JUST ADOPTED, right?” She even offered at that time to go to the local Social Services agency and have them search for my bmum so I could be reunited with her. We tried that. I got non-identifying information, but that was it. I was crushed. I wanted out sooo terribly bad, and my amum was all for it.
I guess I was told and it was openly talked about since they fostered me, but it didn’t sink in that I was DIFFERENT until age 8 in the parlour room. My adopted mother explained to me that they had fostered hundreds of special needs babies, and they received a phone call about taking me in for a while. A while turned into months, and months turned into a year, but at the first contact, when my foster dad came home from work, he held me in his arms and said, “We’re keeping this one, she’s ours.” After 2 yrs. they adopted me. However, the only one excited about it was my adopted dad. The adoption was done grudgingly by my mother, who even was discouraged by her parents, and other relatives not to finalize the process. As the years went on, from the time I can remember, even at age two, the fights, the anger that stirred up within me, the fear of being smacked around for just dropping my milk by accident or having a bathroom accident, or talking to much, or just wanting some attention, like a hug—THAT WAS FORBIDDEN. “Don’t mawl me,” or “Quit touching me, keep to yourself.” My adopted dad hugged me, tucked me in bed, kissed me, took me to all his work parties, bowling, swimming, but those are the only memories I cherish.
My one brother who was 8 yrs. older than me, one of their BIOLOGICAL children, when my adad wasn’t home, would terrorize me, hit me, smack me, throw me down the stairs, yell at me, scare me, etc. and never ever be punished. “If you just ignore him, maybe he’ll quit. The more you get upset and cry the more he likes it because he’s getting a rise out of you,” would be my amother’s response. The other brother, 12 yrs. older than me, was nice. He’d let me watch T.V. in his room, or give me candy, and even take me out with him on his dates, as I got older. Like he was protecting me from home. But, it was never talked about.
The emotional and physical abuse was everywhere I went. In school, the very first day of kindergarten, one of the little girls said, “Why are you uglier than me? What happened to your eye.” Until the end of grade four, before my 1st 12 hr. surgery, my right eye socket was just closed. Every day, I heard, “one-eyed cydclopse”, “one-eyed monster,” “booger lady,” “retard,” “Jerry’s kid,” etc. The boys would pull my hair, rip my clothes, steal my lunch, and the teachers, just like my amum, would do nothing!!! I’d come home all torn up, and my amum would never ask what happened to me. Just, “look at you, you’re a mess!” My music teacher, was my angel. When I was in grade 2, she came to our school, heard me sing and took me under her wing. Every Christmas concert, every school play, I got to sing solos, and those were the only times, besides, public speaking contests each year, that I worked my tail on to get A’s and win each level of competition including the county, that I WASN’T TEASED. I practiced singing and speeches all the time in my bedroom at home so the public would not think I was handicapped like I appeared as in their eyes. I had another 12 hr. surgery in grade eight, and while I was gone, my teacher, I guess told the class how much the teasing over the last 9 yrs. hurt me and that I was risking my life(they had to move my brain to get bone from the back of my skull to graft into the right side of my face.) to look normal like them, so people would accept me. When I returned to school after a month, my classmates took me to the back of the school during recess, told me what the teacher told them, and INCLUDING THE BOYS, all apologized to me for what they said, and the rest of the year was the best year in school I’d ever had. I never wanted to go home each day, so much as I did from Jan. ‘til June graduation. But then I went to highschool, we all separated and went our own way. Highschool kids didn’t make fun of me, but I wasn’t accepted in the “cool groups.” I did have a few very close friends that I still cherish today from back then.
At age six, my amother’s father, my agrandfather began molesting me behind the chicken coop, or in the parlour room, or behind the barn. “Don’t tell your mother or grandmother, because you’ll be given back to the foster home, if you do. They’ll be jealous and not like all the attention you’re getting. I’ll get in trouble. This is our little secret.”
At age 8, when the word “adoption” was sunk into my brain, I realized what everyone had been talking about. I tried to run away on one of the days my grandfather was at our house. Got down the road, my amother picked me up and said, “If you don’t want to live with us, I’ll take you to the police, they’ll find a home for you.” That’s just what she did. Took me to the police station. I could have told on my grandfather right there and then, but couldn’t muster up the courage. I just said I didn’t like the color of the house. After a long drawn out “now don’t ever run away again, that’s dangerous for a little girl like you.” We went home, and my grandfather had his way with me again.
For 2 more years, the abuse went on, until May of 1985, a week before my first 12 craniofacial surgery to try and make me look normal on the right side of my face. We were in my fort behind the barn, after he finished his “thing”, my grandfather started breathing heavily, sat down on a bench, said, “help” rolled his eyes back and shut them. I called for my mother and grandmother and they said, “he’s gone now.” They just told me that he had a heart attack, and it was expected that the next heart attack he had would be the last.
That night, my adad came home with my brothers, I was sent to my room, they all cried downstairs, mourned, etc. and noone talked to me at all. Noone asked, “are you okay? You’ve never seen anyone die before. You’re only 10, it’s okay to cry, it’s okay to talk about it.” Nothing. In fact, I was sent to school the very next day, and I still had my surgery the following week. Noone asked me any questions because noone cared. That family doesn’t do funerals so there was no more talk about his death once the day was over.
I finally told my aparents in highschool what had happened those years, prior, and my amother said, “Well, atleast he died doing something he enjoyed.” I was to never talk about the abuse to anyone and it was to be dropped. She claimed he never hurt her ever and couldn’t understand why he would do anything to me.
I sought counseling at school. The memories flooded back, my grades were dropping and on top of that, my grandmother had died 2 mos. after I told my parents, and I had just been assaulted by my employer, which I decided to keep a secret because telling about the abuse as a child didn’t get me anywhere, not even emotional support, so why tell about an assault?
My counselor after a year told me I should tell my parents that I’ve been getting counseling, so they could come in and be part of the healing.
Healing? The wounds just got bigger and bloodier. My amother said, “you are no child of ours, you’re just a low life foster child in our eyes. Go do what you want with your life, I’m through with you.” My adad said nothing. Not a word. Didn’t stick up for me, didn’t put me down, just kept silent. I had just become a Christian at age 14, and instead of things getting better for me, things were falling apart more and more. In my later years, I would realize, “That the trial of your faith, being much more precious than of gold that perisheth, though it be tried with fire, might be found unto praise and
honour and glory at the appearing of Jesus Christ:” 1 Peter 1:7, and “Knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience.” James 1:3 I wasn’t allowed to go to church after my salvation, for about a year, but then when I told my parents I got counseling, they said do what ever you want to do. I told my aparents finally about the assault by my employer, I was a minor at the time, so it went to court, but my amum, made a fool of herself on the stand not sparing her opinions of me, and was condemned and for her behavior and attitude. The case finally ended after 2 hearings, my freshman yr. in college. I went back to church, in grade 11, but didn’t grow in the Lord until I attended a Christian College, because the leadership at that church was having its own problems and most of the teenagers just hung out, no real Spiritual difference than my regular high school friends, except for one or two. It wasn’t until during my 6 yrs. (bachelor’s and master’s degree) in college, with love and support by friends and faculty did I start to become the person I am now, by getting me in God’s Word and loving me like I’d never been loved before, until my husband came along, that is. My knight in shining armor, and my children.
I was always told, “Maybe someday you’ll find your birth mum and you’ll live happily ever after.” “I bet your birth mum is out there wondering how you are.” “Your birth mum wouldn’t even want you now, you little brat.” “If you find your birth mum, maybe you’ll finally be happy.” “Maybe you look like someone in your biological family, someone normal that you could relate to, and see what you’d look like with two eyes, and not just one.” “I wonder if anyone in your biological family acts like you, talks like you, as much as you talk, sings, etc.”
My biological roots were always put in front of me, like a carrot to a horse to keep it moving forward. I did not belong where I was and it was made quite clear to me. So I longed for my BLOOD LINE, whatever it may, BLOOD IS THICKER THAN WATER.
Remember the movie, “American Tail?” The song, “Somewhere Out There.” When I heard that song, I started singing it out my window every night for years after, to my birth mum, wherever she may be. That was my song to her, in hopes that someday we would be reunited.
I get a long with my amother now. I moved out when I turned 18, a week later, actually. I said, “You told me when I turned 18, I was no longer your responsibility, so I’m leaving.” They were all shocked. My adad cried, but inside he understood. I left for college to the United States, and would call my adad at work, but didn’t speak to my amother for 2 full years. Then after 2 yrs. and a heart conviction from the Lord, “And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you.” Ephesians 4:32 I called my amother from college and told her, “I forgive you for all that you have done to me, I do not condone what you did, and I will never raise my children the way you raised me, but I think it is time for us to get along and accept each other for who we are and I’m willing to have communication with you again, if you are willing to be on good terms.” Her whole attitude changed that night. She didn’t tell me she was sorry, but, “I should have done things differently with you growing up.” I took it as her apology. My adad was very happy. Unfortunately he didn’t have much longer to enjoy the 3 of us together. He died in ’97 of cancer. But before he died he asked me to make sure my amother was taken care of and for us to get along for good. I made that promise.
In ’98, after a friend’s wedding I confronted my amother and said, “You know, you’ve never told me you love me?” She said, “Yes, I know.” The conversation ended. Then later that night, she came up to me and said, “I do love you.” That is the ONLY time she has said that to me since. She signs her letters, cards, emails, Love, mom, but she never says, “love you, etc.” Just that one time. She is good to me though, I guess. We don’t argue, haven’t since I moved out at 18. She doesn’t put me down, and she is very good to my children and spoils them with gifts from Nana. Very different than what I received as a child. Material things don’t matter though, what comes from the heart does. Unfortunately I got neither for 18 years that were satisfactory. Now, my friends and husband thinks she is making up for the past by materially showing her affection that she just can’t show emotionally.
How could she really love me, though? My abrother, the oldest one, just informed me several months ago, “I just remembered something the other night after watching the family video that (the other brother) put together. When I saw the pictures of you as a child and then of our grandfather, a memory came back to me of seeing our grandfather do something to you behind the shed near the chicken coop. I went to the house, told mum and grandma and they didn’t even say anything to me, neither get up to see what I was talking about. I was about 18, ‘cause I had finished high school already, so you must have been about 6. That’s all I remember.” He apologized for just telling me now, and that he wishes he had remembered back in highschool when it came out what my agrandfather did to me, so he could have stood up to my amother (his mother) for me. But, he was married by then, living away from home and didn’t know the whole ordeal going on. But, his memory tells me even more how she, my amother despised me, because at six, the molestation had just begun, so she and my grandmother knew EVERY TIME I went to some part of the property with my grandfather, they KNEW what was going on, and ALLOWED me, the adopted, deformed child, who took a lot of attention (all my surgeries) to be PHYSICALLY hurt over and over again.
My abrothers and I have agreed that confronting our 69 yr. old mother now wouldn’t do any good. She’d deny it all and probably say something like, “Now why bring up this muck now, after all these years. It’s over and there’s nothing you or I can do about it now. You’re just trying to stir up trouble.” We know her enough to know how she would respond. So, I forgive the past, forgive her and not love her, just be a part of her life, and accept how she is now, the present. She’s good to my children, my husband, and that is fine. I don’t need emotional connection. I’m keeping a promise to my adad. Did I say that my 2nd oldest brother, the one who terrorized me as a child, he became a Christian shortly after I did, and after one of my suicide attempts in high school (like I said before, I was a Christian, but no one was discipling me or helping me grow, so my attitude was, “I’m saved, going to Heaven, so let’s get out of this Hell I’m in now, and get to my Eternal Home.” ) he apologized to me for all the horrible things he did to me growing up, that mum encouraged it and he was mad that he wasn’t the youngest in the family, and his anger just poured out on me. Even in college, he wrote me a letter just apologizing for everything. I totally forgave him, he was just a kid, a teenager, and he was encouraged by an adult to do those things. We are fine now.
My birth mum says she understands why I feel soooo strongly towards her, but she says, the LOVE I feel or have for her is MAKE BELIEVE, not real, and I need to realize fantasy from reality. She is not reality and never will be. She’s sorry for all I went through, and that it’s because of my raising I am emotionally drawn to her, but I have to accept the fact that her experiences were quite different. Babies before marriage, and adoption was not an accepted thing back then, and where she is, would not be accepted even now and she has to PROTECT herself, from the RIDICULE and GOSSIP, and possible REJECTION that could be brought on if her 30 yr. secret was EXPOSED. I guess the fact that SHE GAVE ME UP would not be accepted, because she is an ADOPTIVE PARENT, and that’s accepted fine.
I was born with microopthalmia, (absent right eye) right nasal atresia(blocked air passage) anemia, numb right side of the face, deaf right ear. My baunt sent me a picture of my maternal grandparents. I cut and pasted, and put my grandmother’s RIGHT side of her face next to my LEFT side, AND IT’S ME WITH TWO EYES. It’s me, whole!!! Everyone who has seen the picture can’t believe. It’s like we were twins, just generation apart. That’s what I long for, to see RESEMBLANCES to me, the one, who NOBODY could be like because I was such a DIFFERENT BREED.
I know I don’t get my personality from my maternal side. They are not emotional and mushy like I am. The singing, the public speaking, the fine arts/drama interest, is not on that side. Another reason why I wish I knew who my birth father is, because if I’m like him, then he probably is an emotional, mushy person like me, and I wouldn’t feel so DIFFERENT, if I saw and heard that.
I’m not looking for someone to mother me, just that BLOOD LINE CONNECTION, just a phone call here and there, email, letters. No money, no gifts, just being in my life, to talk, hearing about past generations, seeing pictures, and hearing about other relatives who I might be resemble in looks and personality.
But, the only one I’ll have that with is my baunt, hopefully from now on for the rest of my life. She’ll tell me about her family, my bmum, as much as she feels is okay to tell me without breach of confidentiality, and I need to accept that is all I’ll ever get, because I have to go on and try to forget my bmum exists. My baunt says I need to mourn, and grieve to move on. I wish this wasn’t so, but my faith, family and friends will help me through.
It’s funny, I’ve traveled all over giving my testimony in churches and singing and sharing how the Lord has healed me of wounds so deep, only He could help me overcome, with my birth defects and sexual abuse. Having all the Scripture verses to back every step I took to emotional and spiritual recovery. But, when it comes to my EXISTENCE, I’m now just facing this empty hole head on, because all these years, I held on to hope of reunion and love and acceptance from my bloodline, and now that hope is gone, except for the exception of being reunited and having a growing relationship with my baunt, which I’m very thankful for. I’ll never know my paternal side, ever. Like I don’t have an existence from that side. I realize only God can keep me strong and help me move on. I know many of you reading this may not have similar beliefs or methods to get through this difficult journey, but for me, personally, if I didn’t have my faith in Jesus Christ and had not had the Spiritual guidance in college like I did, there would have been another suicide attempt by now, and it would have been successful. Sometimes lately I get so down, and I’ve cried so much this past week, more than I have in a long time, the only thing that keeps me going is the Word of God, and prayer. Without the Lord, my husband, kids and friends, it would be very easy for me to give up, because all I hoped for can never happen.
I have the Lord, I have my husband, I have my kids, I have my husband’s family, I get a long with my amum and brothers and sis-in-laws, and I have great friends now that have become my family, so I need to be thankful. “In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.” 1 Thessalonians 5:18
My baunt said I should go to counseling or talk to someone. Well, living on a ministry salary, (my husband is a pastor), we can’t afford the counseling, and there’s noone really, besides one of my best friends that I feel comfortable talking with this about. So I’m in this website for that reason to read and chat and hopefully get through this and move on with people who are strangers, but kindred spirits going through similar experiences as I.
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