The circle is nearly completed, the pain never gone but nearly understood, making me stronger…
“…Adoptees are usually shadowed by a pet of some kind, more than likely of unknown origins. They tend to identify with animals, perhaps because they share some state of grace that is outside the human condition… The live or stuffed animal grazes loyally in the interstices between them and the rest of the world… adoptees, of all ages, have live and inanimate animals to accompany them through life.”
~ Betty Jean Lifton – “Journey Of the Adopted Self”
(While most everything these days is about Ruby, this is one of the few times it is not.
I just liked the quote.)
I read this book years ago, over, and over, and over. Each time finding new places woven into the words to cry. It was only then that I knew my loss wasn’t my own to suffer with in silence. In some ways it was good, healing. I also found rawness in myself, vulnerability, a rage that I managed so very well to hide for thirty one years.
It has now been just a couple weeks past one year since I first spoke with my birth mother, after forty years of creating fantasies about her, (Well, I was born in ’67, so maybe I *am* David Bowie’s son…) and at least twenty five of actively searching when I was able. Paying thousands of dollars to find her in the end, because doing it myself ripped me apart.
I destroyed amazing relationships, I still have the scars from punched and shattered bar mirrors, I wrote like an uncontrollable fever, and felt the cold steel of my cocked .38 on the roof of my mouth, releasing the pressure on the trigger at the last fraction of a second.
Some of you may understand in your own way. We have all lived lives.
“You see the one who I am, not the one who I was. But the one who I *was* is also still a part of myself.” ~ Jean Amery
In myth, the hero does not return until he returns what the treasure he went in search for.
Some things I have read on the soul of the adoptee say that they feel just meeting their mother would somehow make them whole – and many end up becoming more splintered than before, trying to piece together what was, what might have been, and what is.
But I am far from most. Some who have followed my writings know this. Me? I can’t explain it. Maybe someday I will, but that will come in time. I weave my life out of the pieces I have.
All of this is bringing you up to the big news I received today. It’s like a refresher course.
A surprise email from my (1/2 blood) sister, my Mothers daughter:
I hope things are well with you and Ruby. I finally got mom to come down for a visit; she’ll be in the bay area on the weekend of November 16-17 (Quincy will drive her down). I was thinking it might be a good idea to get together, maybe for brunch/lunch on Sunday the 17th? I talked to her this morning and she would really like to get together with you.”
So… yeah. I will meet my Mother and Sister for the very first time – except for the 15 minutes they allowed my mother to hold me after I was born.
My Mother is not in the best of health, and has been living in a tiny town for… a long time. I want to say twenty seven years but most likely more, I am not certain. A long time. She lives alone… but something really screwed up inside of me has a purely selfish desire to greet her with as many friends as I can wrangle as we stand in the line for brunch, to show her that she created a good heart in her firstborn. Just for a few minutes, because as I don’t really care if people see me crying like a baby, (her baby)… this is our time. I want her to see that she did good. Perhaps that is a really fucking backwards way of saying that I really need support. Perhaps it is genuine. You won’t even need to actually park, just take up most of the street and tell her you love her.
She created me. I just need her to know that she did something good in letting me live…
So, yeah. In eleven days I’m meeting my Birth mother, AND my sister for the first time.
Eleven days after forty-six years.