|
by Tracy
It is December 5th My mother died today. 3 years ago today, my mother died. Confused? Both my biological and my adoptive mother died on the very same day. The same day. 3 years apart. Both kept secrets about me that I will never know. I am numb. She was 91. I still had a chance to know her, but she was kept from me by her sister, the gatekeeper. I am so very angry and sad right now. Why did the Universe give me two mothers I could never connect with? Even her own sons get the gravity of this trauma. When my oldest genetic half-brother called to tell me the news, he said, "This feels like something I would read in a book, but it's happened to you. I'm so sorry." I just want my truth. I need my truth. About the Author: Tracy is a US domestic infant adoptee from the Baby Scoop Era. She was born and raised in Michigan and writes under the name relentlesspeace on Instagram. Tracy says you will hear from her if you are on the wrong side of history. She’s an activist that always fights for the underdog. AKA invites you to hear from members of the extended family of adoption and the surrounding community. While we take great care in curating the content, please know:
0 Comments
 by Ruby Barnett
Truth. I’ve learned that we all have our own truths, sometimes overlapping, intersecting, sometimes not. Many of them can be, indeed are, true at the same time. And some cannot. (NOTE: Some names have been changed.)  by Patricia Knight Meyer
Mother gone New arms Chubby toes tickled First yours, then theirs Your daughter’s Your grandsons’ Wiggling, giggling Adopted Daddy sings Fats Domino Breathing hard Gasping Lungs ache and hearts break as he passes A lost father returns, Pulling a frayed tapestry back into place To stand in the other’s stead Beaming, coughing He too gasps for air, not there He too is sucked away from you Eventually, all the men leave Only baby boys remain Laughing, taunting their GiGi But first. Mommy’s last breath ushers in the return of the one she replaced Haste will waste the reunion Hour-glass sands long trickled past Lives resigned and consigned, separate again Time won’t heal all wounds The baby, she will cry from deep within For the mother neither woman could have been A 50-year-old reflection asks, "Who are you?" in a Costa Rican mirror Moments before the pen meets the page to begin your story Then a masked world collapses Everyone seeking that breath Their first, their last, and all the ones in between Bio: A baby-scoop era “adoptee” and advocate for adoption reform, Patricia Knight Meyer writes and speaks publicly about managing relationships post-reunion, as well as growing up as a black market baby. She speaks at adoption conferences, blogs at www.myadoptedlife.com, and admins several online groups, including the Adoption Constellation Search and Reunion Support Group on Facebook. Her reunion video with her birth father has 287,000 YouTube views. AKA invites you to hear from members of the extended family of adoption and the surrounding community. While we take great care in curating the content, please know:
 by Laura L. Engel
A miracle happened in my life in 2016. I was seventeen when I was sent to a home for unwed mothers where I was pressured into surrendering my newborn son to adoption. For almost fifty years I secretly mourned the loss of that baby. In 2016 my first son discovered me through Ancestry DNA. All those years ago I had been a sad pregnant teenage girl with no support, no options. Now I was a grandmother in her late sixties, but that girl inside of me had lived on and was overjoyed my son had found me. Content Warning- This essay includes references to adoptee suicide. by Hannah Andrews
The truth is I never thought much about adoption. Oh wait, that’s a lie. It is, in fact, the biggest lie I told others. It wasn’t really intentional. It’s just that it was the lie I told myself, a lie I lived and breathed for almost fifty years. |
Back to Main BlogNewsletter ArchivesBlog Archive
December 2024
Categories |
RSS Feed