Did They Forget?

"The worst feeling isn't being lonely. It's being forgotten by someone you would never forget." - Unknown

"Forgotten" seems like such a terrible word. When I looked up its definition in the dictionary, I got that it means: Not noticed inadvertently; No longer known; Dismissed from the mind. It is the perfect description to how I feel right now.

When I made the decision to place Hope for adoption 6 years ago, I knew very little of what it entailed. I tried to research as much as I could, but there wasn't very much information to be found on the Internet. I knew that I did not want a closed adoption, as I wanted to know about her and her well-being, but I did not want an open adoption because I felt like that was intrusion on her life, as well as for the life of her a-parents. The best decision I could have come up with at the time was a semi-open adoption, with the decision made by myself and Hope's a-parents to receive pictures and letters four times a year. I didn't know I could ask to see her once a year, maybe for her birthday. I didn't think to ask, and I surely didn't know that the older I got, the more I would regret that I failed to make that request.

When I signed over the relinquishment papers on September 11, 2005, I signed them over under the agreement that I would get pictures and letters of my beautiful daughter four times a year. I signed away my rights as her parent with the expectation imprinted in my mind that I would still be able to follow her life and her growth from the sidelines.

At first, the pictures and letters came as expected. I got pictures of her first Halloween as a pumpkin and her first Christmas. I got pictures of her at Valentine's Day and Easter. I was able to enjoy pictures of her with her cousins and some of her on vacation. Every time an envelope arrived in the mail, I was ecstatic by getting to see that the sacrifice I made was so incredibly worth it, as the beautiful smile on her face is priceless.

As time wore on, I have started to get pictures less frequently. I find that most of the time, I have to contact the adoption agency for pictures of her, leaving them to do the work of contacting them to hold up their end of the agreement. It almost feels as though they are trying to pull teeth, as the common excuse is that they have been busy and have not had the time to send pictures. The lady in charge of the post-adoption correspondence at the adoption agency I worked with says that this is quite common. She said that oftentimes, the birth parents who would like to hear from the a-parents have to keep after them to get the pictures and letters they initially agreed on, and usually, the birth parents who want no reminder of their children are the ones with a-parents who are constantly sending them mail. It's an unfair world.

At the request of the picture lady (as I call her), I wrote a letter to V&L, Hope's a-parents a few months ago. It was a short and simple letter telling them about how well I am doing in my life and about how much I look forward to the pictures and letters I receive from them every so often. I hoped it would be a reminder that I am still here, expecting that they hold up their end of our agreement. I mentioned that every time I got pictures of Hope, it gave me extra motivation to succeed. I offered my email address and said that if it was more convenient for them to correspond electronically, I would be happy with that.

A few weeks after I sent the card, on March 28th, I woke up and checked my email (as I do first thing every morning). I had an email from a name I didn't recognize titled "Pictures to Share". It was a simple note that said,

"Hello M,

Thanks for the nice note. It's good to hear that you and C are doing well. Social work seems like a good fit for you.
- V"

The email contained a link for a Kodak picture gallery with about 12 pictures of Hope. The pictures were from her at school, in her Halloween costume, during Christmas, at gymnastics, and on Valentine's Day. While there was nothing more said about Hope and her growth or her personality or anything else about her, it was the best unexpected surprise to see how beautiful and grown she is. It truly made my day. It took me awhile to respond to them, as I didn't know what to say, but I made sure to let them know how much I appreciated them sending me mail and that I always look forward to hearing from them. I felt like it was important to reiterate what I had written in the note I had originally sent them.

It's been 4 months since that email, and I have yet to hear back from V&L. No response to my email. No more links to anymore photo galleries. I have no pictures in my mailbox, nothing. I could choose to be angry at them and talk trash like most other birth moms do about their a-parents when their end of the deal is not held up, but I prefer not to. Talking bad about them would be immature and childish, as I was the one who selected them to be my daughter's parents. I do my best to be as understanding as possible as they both must be busy trying to maintain their daily lives with work, a home and a child. I make excuses for them in my head, reminding them that it is summer time and they are probably on vacation to some exotic place, as they usually take trips to various places.

It's hard not to feel like I am forgotten, though. I understand that they went through a lot to try to get pregnant and that dealing with infertility must have taken such an emotional toll on them. I get that they probably want to live their lives as normal as possible, trying to forget that they don't really share the same blood as their beautiful little girl.  They are, after all, her parents. They are the ones who brought her home from the hospital. The people who stayed up all night when she was hungry, or sick, or fussy. They have raised her to be the amazing little girl that she is. They are the nurture while I am the nature. Could nature really be forgotten?

I wonder if V&L look at her beautiful smile, or her big brown eyes, or her wildly curly hair and think to themselves which piece of her came from them. I wonder if people stop them on the street and compliment the cute little girl with them, saying she looks like her dad (who is also Hispanic). I wonder if they tell people she was adopted, or if they let the world believe that they created her, forgetting that I am also a part of that picture.

I know, it probably sounds like the rant of a crazy woman, since I was the one who chose to place her for adoption in the first place. Regardless of what excuse they have this time for not sending pictures, I'm not mad. I do my best to understand. Maybe being forgotten is a part of the process, and I just have to live with the fact that they just want to live as normal of a life as possible so that they can forget that they don't share the same blood as their daughter. I know I probably would. I just wish it was as easy for me to forget that we do.

It's Mother's Day

"She never quite leaves her children at home, even when she doesn't take them along."
  ~Margaret Culkin Banning

Today is Mother's Day. ::insert deep, heavy sigh here::

I woke up a couple of hours ago to text messages from friends, and even J's family, wishing me a Happy Mother's Day. I was given a handmade pencil holder by C, and a single red rose from my dad. While I am so thankful for the wonderful well meaning wishes from people (because after all, I AM a mother), I am also reminded of the piece of motherhood I am missing out on.

Yesterday was Birthmother's Day. It was also C's First Communion. Since I got off of work at 2pm on Friday, I had been on the go, go, go of last minute preparation for his special day. Last minute shopping, cleaning, etc. had kept me busy till 3:30am Saturday morning. Wake up time was 6am, because we had to be at his school by 7:30 for pictures, and the ceremony was to start at 9am. We had reservations for breakfast at 10:30 for our group of 15. It was nice to be able to celebrate C's accomplishment with family and J by my side.

After breakfast, everyone came to our house and stayed... all day. It was a long day, being run on only 2.5 hours of sleep. It was well worth it, though, to see such a smile on C's face. It also was nice to give J and my family the opportunity to get to know one another. I felt bad because he was exhausted since he had just come off of a 48 hour shift, but I didn't want him to leave. I knew that the moment he left would be the moment I'd feel the weight of the underlying meaning of the day. Having him around provided me with the escape from the thoughts that suffocate me.

The moment J left, I wanted him to come back and stay by my side and not stop holding me. But, that only happens in fairy tales. I was disappointed in the fact that he knew that the day was Birthmother's Day (he has been reading this blog), and he knew how emotional I was about it, and not once did he mention it until I text him on his way home and told him how disappointed I was about it. Granted, I understand it may be hard to figure out what to say to someone. I don't know if I'd really wish someone a HAPPY Birthmother's Day because, honestly, its not something I'm entirely happy about. But still, I wish he would've just acknowledged it.

I wish anyone other than my fellow birthmothers would've acknowledged it. But I guess that's such a far fetched idea because its not a widely known day.

Today is a new day, and I didn't think it would phase me, as I had gotten through Birthmother's Day and today is Mother's Day. Today is the day to celebrate me being C's mama, and my mama, and every other mom in the world. But just because it's Mother's Day, doesn't mean I can stop thinking about the fact that in my heart, I am also Hope's mama.

It's the hardest thing to explain, even to someone who probably understands. I am a mom. I have woken up in the middle of the night when C has been sick or couldn't sleep or needed a drink of water. I have stood by his side at doctor's appointments for shots, or when he needed breathing treatments, and checkups. I love him with all of my heart, making every sacrifice I can to ensure he has the best life I could possibly give him. He is my everything, and the main motivating factor for me to never give up, even in the shadows of my darkest days. Sadly, though, I feel like I am not 100% the best mom ever, and I feel that its because a piece of my heart is somewhere else.

The missing piece of my heart belongs to the little girl who grew in my tummy for 9 months. The one who I would feel kicking inside of me, growing and growing till my tummy (and every other part of me) was huge. She's the little girl who I gave birth to and held in my arms and promised a better life for. The one who I told was blessed with two guardian angels, instead of one like everyone else. She's the angel who I placed in the hands of another woman so that she could call her "mom" from that day forward. She is the little girl I think about every day of my life for the past 5 1/2 years. The one who I daydream about meeting again one day. She is the ray of sunshine in my life who I have no guarantee of meeting in the future, but who I hope knows that I did what I did out of love.

I am hoping to get out all the tears before I continue on with my day, but I highly doubt it. I can't stop crying, and so badly want the day to be over with. But in the words of C yesterday, "Today is my day, and tomorrow is yours and grandma's day". I have to be strong for him, because it is my day to celebrate the past 8 years of holding the best job title God could have ever given me.