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:
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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. by Hannah Andrews This month’s theme is “Luck and Adoption,” and it’s sure to spark conversation across our Peer Support Groups. We offer free ZOOM peer support for adopted persons, first parents, adoptive and foster parents, and DNA discoveries. Just send an email to aka@adoption knowledge.org specifying the group you identify with and you’ll receive the ZOOM invites. We have monthly themes, but you’re always welcome to speak on other topics in addition to, or instead of. As for me, here’s my two cents on “Luck and Adoption.” My first thought was UGH. Like many (most?) adoptees I’ve been told ad nauseam how very lucky I was to be adopted. By relatives, friends, total strangers, society, the media, and the entire world. Yet, even though I knew I was “lucky” to have ended up with the good, supportive, loving parents I landed in. Many adoptees do NOT land in safe homes, this should be the least of what we are guaranteed as adoptees–safety and love–I am aware of the privilege fate granted me. |
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April 2024
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