write-o-holic

A GIRL LIKE ME

2012-01-30T19:56:00.000-08:00

There is so much confusion over what to call mothers who relinquished babies for adoption. Birthmother, first mother, natural mother. I remember the first time I tried to explain myself to someone who didn’t know me and had no connection to adoption. I said “I’m a birthmother.” She said, “does that mean you have babies for other people?” I was kind of stunned for a few seconds, then replied, “well, not on purpose!”

I guess she confused me with surrogates.

I still don’t know what to call myself, what term, makes me and everyone else comfortable. In general, I call myself a mother, say that I have a son and a stepson, and a bunch of grandchildren. That's true and usually doesn't require any further explanation, other than where they live.

When people learn that I have a book out and they ask what it’s about, I say,” It’s a memoir about reuniting with the son I gave up for adoption when I was a teenager.” I don’t have to describe myself as anything. They get it.

Lately, I’ve had occasion to speak of other mothers, like Patii Hawn, author of Good Girls Don’t. I’m reading it right now and liking it. In April we are slated to do a couple of Arizona book events together.

I’ve taken on a new descriptor when I mention Patti or Suz (her blog) or Debra (her films) and other friends, whether authors or bloggers. I say “she’s a girl like me.” Which results in puzzled looks, and then I can say, “she also lost a child to adoption.” Without have to use the b-word or any other of those loaded phrases.

The first time I said “a girl like me,” it just came flying out of my mouth, no thought behind it.

Then I realized where I got that wording. From Ann Fessler’s upcoming film: A Girl Like Her. (Ann, by the way, is an adoptee. She wrote the book, The Girls Who Went Away). Go to the film link and look at the faces. They could be any of us: good girls, with hopes and plans, who got pregnant because we were in love, and were stuck in the social mores of the times that demanded that we give up our children as penance. I’m not just talking about the Baby Scoop Era. The practice of surrendering children continued way past Roe v. Wade, and the 70s and 80s, when women had the option to abort or raise their child as a single mother. The coercion is still happening today, to fulfill the demand for babies among infertile couples.

Ann Fessler put out a call for photos a few months ago — yearbook photos from women around the time that they got pregnant and lost their children. I sent mine and am on the poster — second row from the top, fist on the left. My college freshman photo, less than a year before I got pregnant. I am honored to be there among these other women.
Poster

I think I will continue to use “a girl like me,” when I talk about others who are in the same situation. It just feels right. And it opens a discussion, without the use of those other terms, which no one understands.

SCM AVAILABLE IN PRINT

2012-01-27T19:50:00.000-08:00

Print means the world to me, since the era I grew up in was all pint, no ebooks. I'm trying to adapt. Even have a Kindle now, am reading books on it and enjoying the experience way more than I thought I would.

The ebook of Second-Chance Mother has done very well.

I am pleased to announce that Second-Chance Mother is now out in print. Here's the link to purchase on Amazon:

Second-Chance Mother

If you are local to me, please hold out and I will be happy to sign a copy for you in a few weeks. If you are elsewhere, know that I will be happy to sign your copy when I come to a venue near you. (As vain as this sounds, should I set up something on my website where I can sell signed books directly and mail them to you?)

More on my travel plans later... but Northern California is surely on the map this spring.

GIRLFRIENDS

2012-01-24T15:25:00.000-08:00

Have to share this post by Patti Hawn on Nancy Shields' blog, Make Girlfriends: Stuff We Do For Girlfriends

It begins: "It occurred to me as I was rushing this morning at 7 am to my BFF’s house, to provide emotional support for her during a heated financial “discussion” with her ex-husband, all the things we just “do” when asked. We cancel appointments; take time off of work; slip into small, mirrored, badly lit dressing rooms to give honest critiques; loan our best clothes; tell the truth - no matter what."

Thanks for sharing, Patti!

YOU’VE GOT A FRIEND

2012-01-23T22:00:00.000-08:00

The definition of “friendship” is getting complicated.

I know who my dearest IRL (in-real-life) friends are, whether from childhood or young adulthood, or in recent years. As well as those I haven’t met, except online. Yes, relationships, in fact tight bonds, can be formed and flourish that way, too. There are those with whom I feel so close that I long to meet them IRL.

When I first joined Facebook, I swore that I would only seek/accept friendships from those I knew IRL or those with whom I had forged a tight online bond. All of a sudden I find myself with 150+ friends, and only “know” (on one level or another) about 75% of them. Tonight I printed out a list of my FB friends, so I can go through them and identify those I “know” and those I don’t. Figure out who they are, how and why they connected with me.

I value personal connections. Some are first mothers like me, some are adoptees who appreciate my input, others are friends of friends who requested my friendship. (Whenever someone I don’t know asks to be my FB friend, I look at their “mutual friends” list and try to figure out why they requested. To date, I don’t think I’ve ever rejected/ignored any request. It always seems to make sense, that they are “in my tribe,” as someone long ago used to say.)

Since Second-Chance Mother came out, at least as an ebook,I seem to have attracted more friends. Those who have been moved by what I have written, who are interested or can relate to my story.

I like that. Not so much that my book is selling, but that I am reaching those who need and want to hear what I have to say. I’ve also heard from a number of people who are waiting for the print version, who don’t have or want an e-reader.

I’ve heard from first mothers, “girls like me,” but also adoptees who learned from and appreciated my story. As well as those who have no personal connection to adoption, who have been awakened to the impacts of this beloved institution. I expected that mothers would relate, but to hear from others — both on the other side of adoption or without any experience — OMG, I’m thinking what an accomplishment! How I might change the perception of this thus-far revered institution!

Another important story of adoption impact: Found by Jennifer Lauck I just finished the book (the first I read on my brandy-new Kindle Fire). As emotionally-difficult a read as it is for a first mother, just as Nancy Verriers’ “The Primal Wound,” I loved it. I felt as if I were reading an honest description of the “flip side,” how adoptees feel before and after reunion. I gained a greater understanding of how our children perceive and want. Not like it’s across the board true for all. In any case, I thank Jennifer for her honesty.

I don’t know Jennifer IRL, but I am honored to be her FB friend. I am honored to be Patti Hawn’s friend. And all of the other authors who have friended me. As well as the mothers and adoptees I have become friends with and look forward to getting to know.

Facebook has changed the definition of friend. But it has widened my circle to include people I can relate to, who can relate to me.

And so, my initial fear of FB, and of all social media, has subsided. I lived through it and have come to value it.

PTSD: NOT JUST FOR WAR VETERANS

2012-01-22T18:43:00.000-08:00

For years, we’ve heard of the PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder) suffered by veterans of war, as well as children trapped in violent families and witnesses to horrific events.

Did you know that mothers who were forced or coerced into giving up their babies also suffer from PTSD?

I can relate to much of this: (excerpted from the article linked below, not necessarily in chronological order — a mere taste of the whole content)

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is defined… as being a disorder linked to having experienced a traumatic event, and characterized by symptoms such as hyper vigilance, flashbacks, emotional numbness, avoidance of stimuli associated with the trauma, difficulty sleeping, concentrating, persistent anxiety, etc.
Many mothers who experienced the loss of a child to adoption have gone on to describe these symptoms.

Between 1945 and 1973, a period often referred to in adoption literature as the "Baby Scoop Era" (BSE), many hundreds of thousands of unmarried mothers in the United States, Canada, New Zealand, Australia, Ireland, and the United Kingdom were separated from their infants against their will. They were targeted by a system whose purpose was to obtain healthy newborn infants for adoption.

In 1964, the midst of the BSE, concern was voiced as to the tactics used to separate mothers from their infants in order to provide newborns for a growing adoption market, which by then was being driven by demand.

The theory and goal of the BSE was curative, as if these girls had a disease, as if they were mentally unfit, or as identified in historical literature, "deviant."
"The Caucasian single mother was expected to pay for violating norms against premarital sex and conception. Her pregnancy, according to experts, was a neurotic symptom. Experts also agreed that only the most seriously disturbed mothers kept their babies rather than giving them up to middle-class Caucasian couples for adoption.”

Exiled mothers began their journey as pregnant, unmarried women in America. They were usually between sixteen and eighteen years of age. During the BSE, contraception was difficult for single women to access; and young women's natural fertility predictably took its course Learning of their pregnancy, they ignored their changing bodies as long as possible although eventually they were unable to hide their socially unsanctioned sexuality. They were mothers without wedding rings but in all other aspects, no different than any other woman in their era. During this period women were "forging new standards of sexual behavior" and this became known as "the girl problem.”
The 'problem girl' tells the child's father she is pregnant. He leaves town, goes off to college, marries another woman or joins the armed services and is dispatched to Vietnam to avoid having to marry her. He totally rejects her. She seeks help from her parents. When the parents have recovered from the news of this unwelcome, unwed pregnancy they seek counsel from "experts" on what can be done with their daughter. Doctors and pastors advise the parents to commit their daughter to a maternity home and put the baby up for adoption.

What effect did the environment of a maternity home have on the pregnant girl? Could brainwashing, more commonly known today as thought reform, have played a part in the surrender of her baby to adoption? There is more than adequate proof that it did. Brainwashing, or thought reform, was an accepted and applied method of separating women from their babies so those babies could be adopted.

An estimated million and one half unmarried mothers in the United States lost children to pressured adoptions during the BSE. By the evidence provided by social work and historical literature and by testimony of the mothers themselves, it is clear that they were treated somewhere between patient and criminal. The sentence imposed upon these mothers has caused them to suffer a lifetime of loss, grief and ill health induced by the actions of the adoption industry and its "professional" workforce.

I hope you’ll take the time to read this article and contemplate the treatment of mothers, the horror of mother/child separation, and if adoption is truly a worthwhile practice in our society.

Adoption Induced PTSD

IF I COULD TURN BACK TIME

2012-01-19T20:27:00.000-08:00

My hub is reading Stephen King’s latest novel, “11/22/63,” which is about a guy from the present who finds a way to travel back in time. He goes back and forth for a while, finally lands in 1958 and decides to stay for five years and prevent the assassination of JFK.

He believes this will right history, that things will be better if he can accomplish this. The catch is that he can’t go back to his present time once he has, since that will “reset” whatever he has changed.

This idea is especially interesting to me, since I have often thought back on my life and wondered “what if?” What if my boyfriend had married me in 1969 and we had kept our son? What if I had fought the powers that were and found a way to keep my baby, even if all on my own? (I had several plans for that, but never acted.) What if I had stayed with this or that guy, taken this job or that one, majored in something else in college, taken a different path in any aspect of my life?

Some of these became regrets, which I have fought hard to overcome. Lately, they have become simple wonderings.

Because we can’t go back and see how things would have been if we’d made a different decision. There’s no point in trying to change the past. Can’t be done. It is what it is.

Oh, how I struggled with this when I first met my son in 1996. I loved him so much and was so saddened by how troubled he was. As I wrote about in: Second-Chance Mother, I obsessed over the “what if’s,” imagined that he would have better off with me instead of his adoptive family, even though I couldn’t prove it. He might have even been worse off, a clueless 19-year-old with no family support. Although I have never wanted to believe that, which led to more regrets.

A few years ago, I stopped beating myself up over what I did or didn’t do. In the midst of my son increasing his beating up of me on that issue.

Perhaps if his beating up had stopped at the same time, we’d still be in touch and seeing each other. I’d always had a hard time setting and sticking with boundaries. It worked fairly well with my mother. Not so with my son.

How will I know when he’s truly let go of the past, accepted what is, and wants to move on from here?

I am still very cautious.

RANDOM THOUGHTS #2O12

2012-01-17T18:19:00.000-08:00

My mind if going in a million different directions right now, so lots of sub-categories to this post.

THE HURRIER I GO, THE BEHINDER I GET

My best friend Leanna’s mom had a plaque in their home for as long as I can remember that said the above. I “inherited” (and treasure) it. Ain’t it the truth? No matter what you’re juggling: job and home, kids, grandkids, parents and siblings, business and play time, private and public time.

I haven’t been ultra-good at anything since I learned that my book would be published. I’ve spent a lot of time on marketing and publicity. Less time on writing. Less time on keeping in touch with dear friends, both far away and locally, who have thankfully been understanding.

I am still the facilitator of our local writing critique group, a job I took over in September, when the best facilitator we ever had moved away. Time to give it up. It’s not so much the time (since I regularly attend), but the commitment, feeling like I have to be there each week.

For a third year, I am president of our local chapter of the Society of Southwestern Authors. I kinda like it, at least the control-freak part of me does. But it’s definitely time to pass the gavel, encourage someone else to step up and lead. Not like I’m going away. I’ll still be involved and help where I’m needed.

And yeah, I am still the publisher of our HOA’s monthly newsletter, which I secretly love, since keeps me in the graphic design game and it’s a work of art, more like a magazine.

Then there’s the Origins-USA newsletter, down to twice a year. I can’t bring myself to stop because the issue of mothers is so close to my heart.

Reading the above, you could say that I might as well be gainfully employed! Did I mention that I also do paid freelance work for two local nonprofits?

PLEASE MR. POSTMAN

I’m expecting a proof of my book (as in finished, bound, as it will print) any day now. Which makes me as nervous as the cliché cat on a hot tin roof. Will it look good, do I have to read the whole thing again, what if I find errors? Nervous time! I want it to be done and “out there.” Then all I have to worry about is sales, scheduling signing and selling events. I think that’s supposed to be the fun part.

OTHER STUFF

My granddaughter, who is 15-1/2 just got her driver’s permit. She thinks everyone should be letting her practice, i.e. drive their car. I remember my parents letting me drive when I had my permit. Why is she having so much trouble finding willing car-lenders (with them in the car, of course)? Why I am hesitant, should I be up there on a visit? Do permitted driver’s need insurance or is any car covered for any and all drivers? She asks, “how am I supposed to learn and get practice?” I don’t know!

My hub and I will celebrate our 30th anniversary on February 6th! How the heck did that happen so fast?! We were going to take another cruise, which never had to be on the exact date, and clearly won’t be at this point. Perhaps later this year. We’ll just go out to dinner on our date. Which has nothing to do with the recent crash of the ship in the Mediterranean. There are way many more car and plane crashes than ships. We’ll take our chances.

Over and out for now!

BOOK UPDATE

2012-01-11T21:04:00.000-08:00

Poor bloggie! I was surprised when I saw that I hadn’t posted in so many days. I used to be so dedicated. I almost always have something to say/write. Since I’ve been promoting Second-Chance Mother, I’ve been spreading my time between Facebook, Twitter, and my website: Second-Chance Mother

Here’s the scoop: the Kindle, Nook and other e-versions have been selling fairly well. I’ve received some wonderful reader reviews on Amazon. And some major endorsements from other authors on the topic of adoption, which will also appear (in part) on the back cover of the book.

I participated in our local Book Fair in early December, sans books, simply to meet and talk to people, and let them know about the ebook.

I will be reading the first chapter at our Authors’ Showcase luncheon this Saturday, again without books, although book sales are not the focus of this event.

I have an opportunity on Feb. 1, to appear among a handful of invited authors at our library’s grand opening of their used bookstore in a local mall. I’m hoping to have books to sell there.

I have signed up to participate in a book in Sierra Vista, AZ, mid-February. Expect to be okay for that. As well as the Tucson Festival of Books in mid-March.

I plan to schedule a trip to Northern California, where I have many friends and fans, as well as people with a connection to adoption, many of whom have offered to sponsor signing events, as soon as I have books firmly in my hand.

I hope to be able to visit other cities in the future, participate in adoption and writer’s conferences. Have to miss the Story Circle Network and AAC conferences this year, due to timing and conflicts. There’s always next year, after my book is renown, right?

I’ve waited so long for my book to be accepted and available, this is no time to get impatient.

TOO MANY

2012-01-06T18:58:00.000-08:00

There are too many of us. Mothers who have lost children to adoption.

I think I liked it better when I thought I was the only one. Which didn’t make any sense, since I knew lots of people who told me they had been adopted. Where were their mothers and why didn’t anyone mention them? It didn’t occur to me.

For so many years, I didn’t know reunion was possible. I believed what the judge told me, when I signed the relinquishment papers, that I ceased to exist and must never attempt to interfere in my son’s life. I only imagined seeing him again, in the deep recesses of my mind.

The mothers I met when I joined my first support group in 1997 were a mere tip of the ice burg. I thought to myself, “okay, so there are a dozen of us, a few dozen.” I had no idea.

Then I started reading. Why, if there were only a handful of mothers, would there be so many books, by both birthmothers and adoptees? Imagine my surprise to learn that there were more than a million mother separated from their children through adoption in the Baby Scoop Era alone, and that this trend (deeming young unwed mothers unfit to parent) continued long past Roe v. Wade, that there are more than six million birthmothers in the U.S. alone. And growing… because young unwed mothers are still being pressured by adoption agencies (and society?) to give up their children, simply because of their age and financial condition.

And yes, children who lost their mothers, their families of origin. For no good reason. We could have stayed together. My son is an excellent example of how this impacts the life of a relinquished child.

There are some very content birthmothers and adoptees out there. At least they say so. But there are also many who want to reunite, who want their sealed records opened (very few states allow for this). So that adoptees might know their truth, where they came from, their roots and medical history. And mothers and other family members might know that their child/grandchild/niece/nephew/cousin/whoever is alive and well.

If you have not yet explored the impact of adoption, please read the books I recommend on my website. Resources

A POSTSCRIPT FOR UNCLE JERRY

2012-01-04T21:49:00.000-08:00

I feel compelled to share this small piece of "Second-Chance Mother," after I reunited with Josh, when I shared with my uncle and aunt the truth about my son:

Finally I noticed Uncle Jerry and Aunt Barbara standing together off to the side — my father’s older brother and sister, whose eyes never failed to light up when they saw me — and I knew I’d found my chance.

Afraid if I paused I’d never get it out, I said in a rush, “I have something important to tell you. When I was nineteen, I got pregnant. I had a boy and I gave him up for adoption. Last year, we found each other and he’s back in my life. His name is Joshua. I have a granddaughter, too — Naomi — she was born in June.”

I waited for alarm to harden the gentle curves of their elderly features. Uncle Jerry’s pale blue eyes welled. Aunt Barbara blinked in quick succession, as she often did, and the corners of her mouth lifted in an understanding smile. Our three pairs of eyes locked in a loving gaze, and I knew I had done the right thing.

“I’m glad you told us,” Uncle Jerry said in his usual unruffled and soft-spoken manner. “We love you and nothing will ever change that.”

“Thank you,” I said and leaned in to give them each a hug.

It was strange and wonderful, hearing those words from this man who looked so much like my father, with his deep laugh lines, full lips, and the trademark long Janson ears. My heart warmed at the compassion on my aunt’s face, a woman whose late husband had been a minister at the church where she played the organ and who had followed God’s laws to the letter.

What a wonderful day that was for me! Thank you, Uncle Jerry and Aunt Barbara.

IT DOESN’T MATTER HOW OLD

2012-01-04T21:44:00.000-08:00

My father’s brother passed away last night. He would have been 95 in another month. He had a good long life by any standard, for which I credit our Swedish genes. I hope my dad is around as long. He’s the youngest of his siblings.

There was Uncle Kenneth, the eldest, who had health problems his siblings did not share and died many years ago. Then Uncle Jerry, who recently left us. My Aunt Barbara is 92 or 93, and is still active and mentally sharp. As is my dad, who will be 86 in February.

Uncle Jerry’s death was not unexpected. His wife, Freda, died about a year ago, and he has been slowly failing since — something that can happen after such a loss.

I note a sadness in my father’s voice, the last few times I’ve talked him — about his brother Jerry’s passing, preparing something to be read at the service. It’s not the same as the grief he expressed when my mother died almost eight years ago. Different…

Not the loss of a loved one, a life mate, with potential for more time.

But the end of an era. Like when the last of your parents die. Then your siblings or cousins begin to leave, one by one. Mortality looms.

Again, my dad is the youngest in his immediate family. My first cousins on his side are all older than me, by at least eight years. I am the eldest in our brood. Will we go in order, as his siblings have? Or will I too have to endure the loss of my siblings?

I’m pondering how that will feel, the sadness of my family disappearing. And understanding my dad’s sadness, despite their ages.

I’m trying to believe that even as we get close to that time, we find some joy in the youngsters who will outlive us and carry on. Our children, grandchildren, great grandchildren.

My Uncle Jerry was a bright spot in my life. I saw him often as a child; he was fun-loving, kid-loving, funny and generous with his time. And even as I grew into a teen and adult, although I visited less often. His eyes lit up every time he saw me and he always made me feel special. “Niecy Denisy,” he and Aunt Freda always called me. He loved big band music and jazz, played the trombone and sang. I can still hear him singing, “Yanuary, February, Yune and Yuly,” in his mock Swedish accent — and sense his delight that this always made me giggle.

I hadn’t seen him in more than six years, not since we moved from California. So often, life gets in the way of making time for those early and heartfelt connection.

Nothing more to say except rest in peace, my dear Uncle Jerry. You live on in my heart.

TRIPPIN’ DOWN MEMORY LANE

2012-01-01T17:26:00.000-08:00

Why did I think I was the only one? The only birthmother in history.

I did think that for many years, until I started reading books about adoption reunion and found a support group almost a year after reuniting with my son.

But what about the girls I went to high school with? My peers?

Why did it never occur to me that there were others in my graduating class — 800 of us, which was huge for a school in Hawaii?

I could have gotten pregnant during my senior year of high school, but I didn’t. So could many of my friends. As it turned out, a year of college went by before three in our close-knit group were in that situation. I wrote about it in my essay, “Summer of Love,” which you can find in the archives here or on my website (Other Writings).

Recently I received an email from a member of my high school class of 1968, someone I did not know, but vaguely remember after looking at her photo in our yearbook. She was pregnant before graduation and gave birth six months later. She and her boyfriend lost their daughter to adoption, but thankfully, have been reunited with her for almost ten years.

We have been comparing memories, who we knew in high school, and there are some commonalities. We wonder how many others there we were. I wonder what might have happened if it hadn’t been such a shameful secret in those days, if we could have known and supported each other, banned together somehow. And instead of going off to secret homes, might have formed our own communal home, where we might have kept our children, eked out a living, and turned what was our greatest loss into a joy.

If only... But too late for that now.

WELCOME, 2012!

2011-12-30T17:03:00.000-08:00

There’s something magical about entering a new year. Most everyone seems happy and hopeful. Is it the fresh start? Even though we will wake up on January first in the same place we were the night before, with the same challenges, having the same family and friends.

We anticipate positive changes, sometimes set goals and resolve to do or be better in some way or another.

It’s been a long time since I’ve truly believed that the coming year will be one of the best yet. Buy I do! Probably because wonderful things are already happening.

I have a renewed connection with my granddaughter, Naomi.

My sister, who is disabled, got a part-time job at a local assisted living facility, which sounds perfect for her.

A loved one diagnosed with cancer is nearing the end of treatment and well on her way to being cancer-free.

My hub and I will celebrate 30 years of marriage in February. Thinking of going on a cruise… Caribbean?

The e-version of “Second-Chance Mother” is selling and getting rave reviews. The print book will be out in January (cover design completed by my dear friend Carol, five fabulous endorsements received, publisher chomping at the bit). What an amazing feeling it will be to hold the product of my hard work and determination in my hands at last! (Read the endorsements and customer reviews at: Amazon

I’ll be reading at our local authors’ showcase luncheon on January 14. My father is attending and when I alerted him to what he would hear, that it might be difficult, he told me how proud he is of me, that even though he will have tears in his eyes, he wants to be there and read my book.

I’ve been invited to be one of four authors to display and sell books at the grand opening of our local library’s auxiliary bookstore on February 1.

And more to come…

Happy New Year to all of my friends and readers!

LETTER FROM A BIRTHFATHER

2011-12-30T16:01:00.000-08:00

Now that my story is out, lots of people are sharing their stories with me. One is a writer friend, who is also a birthfather. He emailed me this letter to the daughter who found him (somewhat abbreviated here) and, when I asked, gave me permission to share as I see fit.

I am so touched by this, and thought you might be too. (The names and some of the places have been changed or left out.)

Dear Daughter:

Your mother was Ann. We met at a party in January 1963; I was barely 21, an out-of-control wild man; Jane 20, 21 in June.

I was a few months past divorce.

A very old and close friend rented a house in Minneapolis, Not such a nice neighborhood.

I spotted a pretty blond about my age talking to some friends in the corner. I asked her to dance. Her refusal can still make me smile.

“What? Dance with you? I’m busy here, and besides, you’re being rude. You look like someone with class and manners, but now I see how wrong a look can be.” My smile didn’t work.

“Ah, c’mon, it’s just a dance. And even if you’re a bad dancer, I won’t let anyone laugh at you.”

“Whoa. Dancing with you would make everyone in this room laugh. Please go away.”

But from across the room we’d catch each other’s look. A Nina Simone song is still my favorite: “Where Can I Go Without You?” Something slow and mellow. She finally said, “Okay, but just a dance.” Yet she snuggled in my arms as we swayed to the music, maybe all the moving we did, but I remember her head on my shoulder, and we were oblivious to the chaotic party-time voices around us. Somewhere in the song I looked at her and kissed her. So very gently. Our eyes never closed. I knew something was happening here.

Remember Nina Simone. Get a copy of “Forbidden Fruit.” Therein lies the song.

And so it began. She was more than unique; I can still see and hear her laugh.

At the age of 21 years and six months, on December 22, 1963, she delivered you at General Hospital, at 11:34 p.m.

She had been living at a “home” for unwed mothers-to-be in a very elegant part of the west side. The elegance was only cosmetic in that house, inside and out. Although she was the only resident besides the married couple, the man of the house had the habit of calling “the girls” whores and sluts, and it was only through the compassion of the wife that such arrangements were made to help these women, who had no place to go.

I had lost my drivers license, and so took a couple of buses to the house, several times a week. The guy wouldn’t let me see her in his house, so I’d knock on the door, wait on the porch and out she’d come in a warm coat and a warmer smile. We’d walk along the creek separating Lake of the Isles and Cedar Lake, a very upscale neighborhood. We promised that one day we’d live around here. But first we had an immense decision to work through: Would we keep you or opt for adoption? I had a decent job, but dead-end, which I hated, with no prize at the end of a working life. She would spend the first few months caring for you. Nearly broke, a place to live could only be a brownstone high-rise.

Arm in arm we walked, with brave smiles. We knew the choice would have a slim chance of being the right one, but still… the decision came hard, but in that circumstance, kicking it all around, it always came out sideways but seemed like all we had. After much deliberation, she arranged to sign the adoption papers.

She did not have time to call me that December 22nd. She awoke in a wet bed, pains not far apart. You wouldn’t wait, in a hurry to get yourself out into this world. I could never be certain, but think, if you had known what lay ahead, you would have wondered why all that rush.

The kind lady got Ann bundled up, with her “overnight bag,” and loaded her into a cab. Next stop General. Alone, Rita moved through the lobby and to Admitting. I have so many times wondered where that kind of courage comes from.

What did she go through? How did she do it? She never told me.

Next morning, 7:30, her best friend called me at work with the news. “Ann had a little girl, seven pounds, six ounces. Hello?”

I fumbled the phone to the floor but snatched it up, talked for a minute – what did I say? – then punched out with my time card, and jumped a bus to the hospital. Ann smiled when I came to her ward and hugged her.

Did I want to see you? “What? Let’s go.”

Robed up, she slid into her slippers and led me down the dingy hallway to the maternity viewing area. And there, three cribs back, lay this beautiful package, all in pink. We held hands and stared for a long while. I took in your features, snapped a mental picture, and put the image into my memory bank. Minutes later we turned and walked back down that tired and cold corridor, to her sleeping area. Stunned speechless, I wanted to say something positive, but couldn’t find it.

After much pleading with the staff, they decided we could see you, hold you. “Just for a few minutes. You understand.”

A nurse brought you over. Fussing, fists clenched. Hungry. We were allowed, each of us, to hold you one time, for a few minutes. Suddenly the adoption agency lady burst up and whisked you away. No emotion on her face, save business and displeasure; but plenty on Ann's. I stood helpless, like the fool I was. I can never know what Ann's state of emotion had to be at that moment. All I still see is her sad and crying eyes. But how strong she was! Still, you were gone.

There are of course many Kaleidoscopes to twirl, countless decisions, turns to take in a life. What’s so important to remember is that split-second decisions made today can change your life and the lives of a thousand people. No, this wasn’t anything split-second, but the guilt must be dealt with forever. I can’t un-ring the bell that tolled but I can comprehend the bitterness of “not being worthy enough to be kept; taken from a hospital, put into a crib by strangers who are to care for you and shape your future.”

To put more weight on it, I understand that the first “family” let you go soon thereafter and that you learned, whenever the phone rang, that you might be packing up again, leaving another place to God wouldn’t say where. Thank you, Baby Jesus, for the Smith family in (city removed). Meeting Doris was a revelation. I knew she’d been a fabulous mother and had done a good job with your upbringing. There before me now stands the proof.

There is a God.

Ann was discharged on Christmas Day. I again borrowed a car and we drove to her sister and brother-in-law’s small house on the southwest side of town. A breathtaking area, especially in the winter. There we exchanged gifts and opened a bottle of wine, groping for a toast. Soft, new snow began to fall. Ann and I dragged on our heavy coats and trudged through the streets, blinking back the flakes. Smiles were tight but we said we had each other. Somehow the light snowfall, so picaresque, took some of the sting out of the event. We promised that we’d get through it, we’d stay together; the future was ours.

About a month later I gave her a ring. How bizzare. Why now?

Being engaged does not promise you forever. People say, “John has a song for everything,” and that is clearly true. Music is the international language, and a song by, say, Mose Allison, has pulled me through lotsa dark nights. So it was with the Judy Collins tune: “I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm, your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm. Your eyes are dark with sorrow . . . hey, that’s no way to say goodbye.”

But Ann had changed overnight. She now looked through Faraway Eyes. And so it had come to distances. We were going to walk around the corner together, but life got in the way. The man in the mirror won’t look at me, so I have a good hunch why it all didn’t quite make it all the way to forever. And, maybe worse still, that you and your mother never made it into each other’s futures is more than tragic.

I never again saw her after we split. I went to school and started a career. She married and had two sons.

Ten years later. her friend somehow found me at a hotel in New York, said Ann was dying and wanted badly to see me.

I flew back to Minneapolis, drove to the hospital, fidgeted in the elevator, and turned the corner into her room. But she was gone, gone. And her funeral was a thing nobody can shake. Dark in the winter, February in MN is not where to find yourself. And not under this kind of tragedy.

You never got to meet your mother; pancreatic cancer took her at the way-too-young age of 32. She’s buried at (cemetery), a beautiful, shady place to rest. I took you there, showed you the plot and then disappeared. I recall you resting by the site, talking for a long while, then leaving a bouquet of white flowers. Silence was an unwanted passenger on the drive out those cold iron gates, but there he sat.

I don’t believe in miracles, I rely upon them. Eight years ago the phone jumped. A voice said, “I’m Janet, the daughter you and Ann gave up for adoption.”

“Wait a minute. Let me sit down, then you say that again.”

And so it began. We’ve been father and daughter ever since, and I wonder what I’d be doing if you weren’t in my life. Duh. Don’t know how you found me or where you put together the courage to make that call. Thank you.

With good luck and best wishes for the long and curvy road ahead. And remember: the rearview mirror of a life, unlike that of a car, can see back for miles, years. And bad choices will take you on. Make the good ones.

Be happy, be well.

Love always, your dad

SHOULD I?

2011-12-25T20:41:00.000-08:00

My son sent me an email, as he usually does on holidays and various occasions since we’ve been estranged. He wrote the same thing, that he hopes we doing okay, that he loves and misses us (“you guys,” he writes, which of course means both me and my husband, even though I’m quite sure he doesn’t’ miss Henry, who has never gone easy on him, and for good reason).

I don’t always answer him. This time I did:

“Merry Christmas to you, too. We are doing fine.

As hard as this might be for you to understand, I have always loved you and always will. But I don't miss you. Not as long as your life continues in a state of chaos, with minute to minute decisions, and where nothing I am able to do can change it.

I hope someday that will be different and I'll feel good about reconnecting with you. Not so far.

Thank you for letting me have time with Naomi.”

He wrote back, thanking me for responding and telling me about his somewhat recent diagnosis with a serious psychological disorder (which I already knew).

“I agree with you my life is chaotic. That's why I try to keep it simple as possible now. There really is no treatment for what I have. But im still going to therapy n taking my meds. I don't either miss the bad times but I do miss u. I wish there was a way to just see you every now and then just so I could at least hug u. I almost wish I could promise you I wouldn't even speak. I love u very much mom.”

I’m considering honoring his request, seeing him briefly and giving him that hug. Given our history, I’m torn between my subconscious saying “danger danger danger,” and my love for him, no matter what has transpired.

There’s an opportunity on Wednesday, when I go into town to see my grandchildren. But I don’t have to decide that soon. I can keep considering and set a later date.

Any thoughts?

ALL'S QUIET

2011-12-24T15:37:00.000-08:00

…on the Southwestern front. And in general. We're looking forward to a peaceful, cozy Christmas, then easing into the New Year.

MERRY CHRISTMAS & A HAPPY, HEALTHY, PROSPEROUS 2012 TO ALL!

THERE’S A RIOT GOIN’ ON

2011-12-22T16:18:00.000-08:00

“There's a riot goin' on
Up in cell block number nine”

Okay, not a riot. A discussion. A very lively discussion based on my memoir, “Second-Chance Mother,” and blogger Jane Edwards’ question: Does reunion give birthmothers a second chance?

If you haven’t already read the post, here’s the link: Second Chance If you read it and haven’t been back since, you might want to peruse the comments.

Lots of opinions and feelings being expressed by mothers and adoptees. And IMHO, an honest airing of the pain that adoption inflicts.

P.S. If you go and feel compelled to comment, please keep it relevant — don’t write something like, “I know Denise and she’s a wonderful person.” No need to defend me. I represent many birthmothers in reunion, so not taking it personally.

BLENDED FAMILIES

2011-12-21T21:35:00.000-08:00

The word "blend" always makes me think of the movie, "My Cousin Vinnie," as in: "oh yeah, you blend," spoken by Marisa Tomei when she and Joe Pesci first arrive in the small southern town, dressed like New Jersey.

My father remarried six years ago, about a year-and-a-half after my mother's death. Although I'd never given it any advance thought, since my mom's death was unexpected and sudden, I have to admit that I soon realized that my dad was not okay alone, that he liked being married. Hence, no real surprise.

What did surprise me was the lack of blending of our families — i.e. no interest from my dad and his wife, or her grown children, in getting together on occasion. Or at least acknowledging each other on holidays, perhaps come together for occasions like my dad's or his wife's birthdays. Which hasn't happened. Even though we don't live that far apart — most of her family are within 40 minutes of us. I think it's because my father and his wife haven't encouraged it.

The first time we all got together was about a month before the wedding. We had cocktails at her house, then went out to dinner. Then, of course the wedding. Since then, nothing. I had all of their addresses, and remember debating if I should send Christmas cards (their wedding was just before Thanksgiving). I didn't, nor did I receive anything from them. Pattern established.

I don't know why I think this is odd. I guess I was thinking of how younger families handle this. As in, I have contact with my brother's ex, the mother of my grown nieces and nephew. I still think of her as family. And of course I still have contact with my son's ex and her kids, my step-grandchildren.

It was established early that we would have my father and his wife for Thanksgiving, but they would go to her family for Christmas. We get together for dinner before Christmas.

Not saying that this bothers me. I don't need to expand my family or number of connections. Just wondering if this is what others with blended families (especially when it's the parents who remarry) experience and have to juggle.

THE PILES

2011-12-20T20:28:00.000-08:00

I have piles.

No, not the medical condition.

Stuff piled all over our house. Christmas on the guest room bed (even though we minimized this year and everything mailable has been sent). Christmas cards yet to be finished on the dining room table; hopefully that will disappear by tomorrow (how far can I push the USPS?). Piles on the desks, but that's normal.

What concerns me is the chair near our dining room table, which is the landing place for everything I'm currently working on/need to deal with. That pile has grown in recent weeks. Book promotion to-do's, Friends' writings to read. HOA newsletter stuff to work on (that's going to be late this month, and since it's a volunteer job, I'm not going to fret). Proofs from paying design work, waitin for changes or approval to print.

It's the most wonderful time of the year! That's not fair... lately my life has been a whirl of things to do, so not fair to blame it on the holidays. Nonetheless, I look forward to January, when life gets back to normal.

Who am I kidding? Some of the piles will still be there. Then there will be a new one, since next thing up will be my book coming out in print, and everything related to that.

All of a sudden, I am grateful for my piles. It means I am busy with good things.

FOR THE MOTHERS

2011-12-18T17:28:00.000-08:00

I realized something today.

In the midst of all the positive comments I've received from readers of Second-Chance Mother, I feel like my book is a worthy addition to adoption literature. I'll keep that, thank you. There have been touts of my courage and honesty in writing this book. Trust me, I wasn't brave when I started writing. I worried through every step, what to leave in or out, about hurting my family or my son, if my writing was good enough, and if I had the heart to finish it. I didn't get truly honest until the last few drafts, after being challenged by my mentors to go deeper. It was difficult, digging around in the muck of my memories. But it made for a better book. I'm proud of that, that I made it through to the end, and that I've been published.

I was never sure why I was writing my story. At first it was probably to empty my head (and heart), to get my experience down on paper, perhaps to heal myself or get some closure. One thing I can assure you, there is no closure in losing a child to adoption. Never, ever, even in reunion, even if you write about it. That loss can never be undone.

Once I thought I had actually written something publishable, that became my goal. Which took years, lots of agent and publisher rejections. I was wounded, but rose to fight another day. I took breaks from pitching it, but I did not give up. Ultimately, my persistence paid off.

I gave a lot of thought to the dedication. Certainly my husband deserved recognition for standing by me through all the ups and downs of reunion. I thought about dedicating it to my Auntie Em, my mother's sister who came to mean so much to me before her passing.

What ultimately made the most sense was to dedicate it to all the mothers who have lost children to adoption. Which is what I did.

Today, I realized that although I started writing the book for personal reasons, in the end my purpose is to help mothers like me by sharing my story. That seems to be happening. And I'm am so gratified.

BIRTHMOTHER OBLIGATIONS

2011-12-15T19:40:00.000-08:00

Many thanks to Jane Edwards and First Mother Forum for opening a discussion based on my memoir, Second-Chance Mother

If you have a connection to adoption, or are interested in the topic, please visit and comment: Reunion Gives Second Chance

An excerpt: “When we birth mothers signed the papers, we not only lost all legal rights to our children but we were freed from all legal obligations to them. As a practical matter, however, many mothers cannot walk away from their children just as mothers could not forget them no matter how much they believed the social worker’s maxim, “you’ll forget and get on with your life.”

We have an obligation to our adult lost children, not borne from guilt at giving them up, but born from nature.”

I look forward to reading your responses and following up on them here.

MY GRANDDAUGHTER

2011-12-12T14:21:00.000-08:00

There was a comment on my interview at Suz’s blog Interview that I want to answer more fully.

Out of all the people in the book, I was most profoundly affected by Naomi’s story, your granddaughter. Do you ever wish you would have taken her in when your son first offered you the chance to do so? Has she been able to endure her early losses? I am so intensely curious as to how things have played out in her life. Can you tell me more?

If you haven’t yet read Second-Chance Mother or aren’t familiar with my story, I should fill you in by saying that my granddaughter had a very chaotic childhood. Her mother left when she was 10 months old and has been in and out of her life over the last several years. Naomi has had three “mothers” since, women who married my son, as well as a handful of short-term mother figures (his girlfriends). Only Josh’s fourth wife, Jenn — with whom he had the longest marriage, eight years — has continued to be a regular and positive presence in her life.

During Naomi’s first ten years, we saw each other once or twice a year. Once my husband I moved to Arizona in 2006, we saw each other regularly. We had so many good times: singing and dancing to oldies on my patio, getting mani/pedis together (we are both so ticklish that we giggle non-stop when anyone touches our feet), attending her weekly dance classes, playing board games, watching Michael Jackson videos (she has become as big a fan as I was in the eighties).

And we talked. When she was confused or sad, struggling with her father’s decisions and the upheaval that caused, I comforted her, offered an understanding shoulder to cry on.

After his break-up with Jenn, Josh used Naomi to manipulate me, by keeping her from me if I didn’t give in to his every wish or demand. There was a period of about two years when I wasn’t allowed to see her (although I did when she visited Jenn). Thankfully that has loosened in the past year or so. Perhaps he does have his daughter’s best interests at heart and realizes that she needs all the family and love she can get.

Despite all odds and my concerns, Naomi has turned into a lovely young woman. She is bright, loving and considerate. She seems to be making good decisions, as in she says she used to like “bad boys,” but now wants s sweet and funny guy. I still worry that her main role model — her father — may have taught her that man/woman relationships don’t last. But I’m hoping that is balanced by the lasting relationships in her life so far: her stepmother Jenn and Jenn’s mother (Oma), her brother Gabe, her step-siblings Nick and Katie, and me, as well as her maternal grandparents in Florida.

It has never seemed to matter how much time passed between our visits. Our bond is solid. For that I am grateful. As well as that my estrangement from her father, at least at this point, has not adversely impacted our relationship.

I haven’t been a permissive, indulgent kind of grandma — or to any of grandkids. I expect and enforce a certain level of behavior when they are with me. I will not let them get away with not doing their homework. Naomi once told me that lying was okay if you had a good reason, an attitude she clearly got from her father. I objected, said the only time I thought lying was okay was if the truth would hurt someone’s feelings — as in a friend asked if an outfit made her look fat, and even then you’d be doing her a kindness by telling the truth, steering her toward something more flattering. When she found someone’s lost $100, I encouraged her to turn it in and she did.

As for the question about my possible regrets about not taking Naomi when I had the chance… At the time that Josh offered, I believed that it was important that she stay with her father. He had already given up two children and I didn’t want to see that happen again, even though she would have been with family. I thought it was important that he step up and that Naomi be with at least one of her parents. I think things have worked out as they were meant. I’m not sure that I could have done a better job at raising her, as old and inexperienced as I was. If he had been considering giving her up for adoption or putting her in foster care, I would have made a different decision.

Reunion is a hard journey, with our lost children and our subsequent grandchildren. Which is why I fully support family preservation, children staying within their families of origin, whenever possible.

My son and I should never have been separated. Thank goodness he and his daughter were not. And no matter what’s to come, she and I will always be a part of each others’ lives.

ADOPTION STORY MAGNET

2011-12-08T16:37:00.000-08:00

This is nothing new. For 15 years, ever since I began openly sharing my story, people have responded with their own experiences of adoption.

Friends I’d known for years revealed that they were adopted. Women I knew only casually admitted that they too had relinquished a child. Mere acquaintances told me that their children were adopted. Pretty much everyone I talked to had some personal connection to adoption. (And this is above and beyond those I met in support groups, who wouldn’t have been there if they didn’t.)

I remember thinking, “stand back, you have no idea how big this is going to get!”

Indeed, adoption is HUGE! Six million adoptees in the U.S. (and that’s an old stat), times two birthparents, two adoptive parents, varying numbers of immediate birth and adoptive family members. Not to mention extended family and friends. Almost everyone has a story about how adoption has touched them and/or their loved ones.

In the last few years of blogging, I’ve heard more stories — from people I don’t know personally, some just visitors, some who have become dear cyber-friends (if that makes any sense, how someone can be dear when you haven’t met them). Again, coming from all corners of the adoption arena.

(Did that sound like a boxing metaphor? I just made it up, didn’t mean anything by it… just tired of the triad and constellation thing. How about globs in the adoption quagmire?)

So, my book is out, at least in e-formats and I’ve announced it to the world — to those I know, sorta know, don’t know, anyone who might give a hoot. All of a sudden, more people, friends, acquaintances and strangers, are telling me about the impact of adoption on their lives.

At the book fair, two men (in their sixties/seventies) whom I’ve known casually for years shared with me that they were adopted. Yesterday I had lunch with a woman, a fellow writer with whom I have developed a friendship although we don’t see each other regularly, revealed that her children were adopted.

Is this just about commonality? As in, I can relate, let me tell you how?

Don’t get me wrong. I like it that people want to share, that they feel they can trust me. Many of them may never before have talked to a birthmother. I always want to ask them a dozen questions (and sometimes I do, if they seem open to it). To adoptees: Have you searched and found any birth relatives? How did that go? To adoptive parents: Has your child searched or found? Did you support them in that? And what happened?

I see sadness in the adoptees’ eyes and I want to hug them, assure them that their mother loved them, wanted to keep them but couldn’t, whatever her reasons. So far, I haven’t done that, probably because the conversation wasn’t long or deep enough to warrant that sort of outpouring.

Sometimes I see sadness in adoptive parents’ eyes. Perhaps it’s because they’re looking at me, a mother who lost to provide them, or someone like them, their gain. I usually see a bit of defensiveness as well, an insistence that their child/children were relinquished under different circumstances, that their mother/s were unwilling to parent and dumped them. I don’t get on my soapbox. But I do drop hints, food for thought should they choose to taste it.

My thinking has changed a bit since I posted: Fast & Furious, admitting my reluctance to speak widely about my adoption experience. Could be I’m getting used to the idea.

AT THE BOOK FAIR

2011-12-03T20:14:00.000-08:00

I've been involved in lots of local book fairs, but today was my first time ever participating as a published author.

All I can say is — WOOHOO! WHAT A RIDE!

It was confusing for me, because I'm not used to standing at my table, waiting for people to come by and engaging them in conversation. As part of the organization team, I kept checking on the "front" peeps, running around taking pictures of other authors' displays for our records, and yeah, trying to control things. (Although I did have some pictures taken at my display, which I will post on FB and my website.)

Maybe if I'd had physical books to sell, was signing them, and collecting money, I would have been more attentive to my own interests. I'll get the hang of it, I'm sure.

Anyway, it was a great fair, record turnout despite rainy, chilly weather and all of the authors looked pleased, even the ones who didn't sell a ton of books. I must say that our local chapter of the Society of Southwestern Authors is the best. We are warm, friendly, and always put on quality events. I'm very proud of my gang!

I learned a lot by watching people come by my table today. As a rule, attending a book fair, or crafts fair for that matter, is a little like walking into a small shop or boutique. Customers doing want to make eye contact or say hello until they are sure they're interested in what you have to offer. I made my topic as clear as possible in my display. Some people skirted by, some gave me the opportunity to talk about my book, some were drawn in and stayed.

I talked briefly with quite a few attendees/potential customers and at length with a few. Percentage-wise, it amazes me how many have a personal connection or experience or understanding of adoption. Thankfully, not one said, "oh what a wonderful gift you gave a childless couple!" I talked to adoptees, people who knew an adoptee or birthmother, some who were or knew adoptive parents.

The most touching moment for me was an elderly woman who stayed and talked with me for quite a while. She told me that when she had given birth to one of her children, she was in a room with three other women. One, she said, was a unmarried young woman who was deciding whether or not to put her newborn up for adoption. She watched her agonize for three days (they used to keep post-natal mothers in the hospital longer than they do now). The girl decided to keep her baby. YAY! The woman I talked to said that you could see the weight lift off of her, even though she knew it would be a difficult road to travel, the light come back into her face, once she came to that decision.

The woman I talked to got it, even though she was not in the situation. She made my day and I told her so. (My guess is the timeframe was likely in the sixties or seventies.) BTW, this "elderly" woman has a Kindle and said she would download and read my book. So much for new electronics belonging only to our youth!

I also met an adoptee, another featured author, who has a book about her search for her birthmother. Check it out at Judith Land I plan to read her book, and get together with her sometime soon to exchange stories and get to know her.

Unlike most of the authors who participated, I have no idea how many books I sold. Obviously, none today. But perhaps many, whether ebooks or future print buyers.

All in all, it was a wonderful first experience.

FAST AND FURIOUS

2011-11-30T15:24:00.000-08:00

Several months ago, when “Second-Chance Mother” was first accepted for publication, everything seemed to move so slowly. I ran around like a crazy woman, creating my website, spreading the word on Facebook, setting up a Fan Page, joining and learning Twitter. I was raring to go and grew impatient with publisher when there to be no movement.

All of a sudden everything’s moving fast, maybe a little too much so. I’m thrilled that the ebook is out and people are buying it, liking it, talking about it. I’m excited about the book fair on Saturday (it’s been scheduled for months, so no last-minute preparations there). My friend Carol is working on the cover design and I’m so happy with what I’m seeing so far.

A writer for our local newspaper (who has been supportive of our Society of Southwestern Authors chapter, and to whom I’ve provided leads for good stories in my community) got wind of my book. She asked me if I’d have any interest in an article about my reunion with my son.

YIKES! I thought I was over my initial nervousness of “going public.”

Do I? The marketing side of me says, heck yeah, if it’ll help sell books. My other side has misgivings about being fully “outed” in such a small town. Those who don’t know me won’t necessarily know about the book or even if they do that I’m the author. But what about when my picture appears, along with such a personal and heart-wrenching story, in our local paper?

I realize that I’m not making any sense. I wrote the book, I worked hard on it, I wanted it published, and now that it is, I’m getting cold feet. I wanted people to READ it, not to have to TALK about it. Heavy sigh…

Help me out here. Cyber-slap me back to my senses. Or tell me that I’m right, that I should only seek publicity in large cities where I don’t live.

AND NOW I'M REVIEWED!

2011-11-29T14:58:00.000-08:00

My first review got posted on Amazon and Barnes & Noble today. I feel like I'm on a roll!

Amazon

B&N

If you've read "Second-Chance Mother," please consider rating it and posting a review on either site.

MY FIRST BLOG INTERVIEW

2011-11-28T14:53:00.000-08:00

Suz, a birthmother and blogger as well as an online friend, interviewed me about my memoir, "Second-Chance Mother," and posted that interview at: Writing My Wrongs

I hope you'll visit her site and read it!

Thank you, Suz for this opportunity. I'm hoping one of these days we can meet and change our cyber-friendship to an up-close-and-personal one.

PHEW! AND OMG!

2011-11-27T20:16:00.000-08:00

What a great Thanksgiving weekend! A mile a minute, so much food and fun, and how wonderful to spend time with both family and friends.

Now, back to real life. Not a bad thing, although I was grateful for the break.

Work to be done: a client’s annual report to be finished, fine-tuning on my website, final preparations for the book fair on Saturday. Not just my display, but the organization of the event, which should go smoothly. But I am a manager at heart and will be checking on everything, even though I’m trying to become better at delegation.

What a thrill to be participating as an author this time! I wrote about this before, how weird it will be not to have physical books to sell on the spot. But I have cards with the ebook cover and purchasing info to pass out. I’m hoping that print book enthusiasts will remember me and my book when it comes out down the road. For me, it was always a thrill to meet authors at conferences and that I was much more likely to buy their books (although usually I bought them on the spot) once we had connected.

I’m now on Twitter, which is not near as scary as I thought. (Please do look me up and follow me, if you are so inclined.) Lots to keep up with, between this blog, my website, Facebook and Tweets. Somehow I will manage. For the good of my book and a lesson in social media.

A whole new world for me, but very exciting!

Stay tuned…

If you haven't been to my website or not in a while, check it out: Second-Chance Mother

DON'T READ THIS TODAY

2011-11-23T21:32:00.000-08:00

After all, it's Thanksgiving. Actually Thanksgiving eve, as I type this. We all have so much to be grateful for and that's where we should focus. Not just today, but everyday.

I feel compelled to share this post from First Mother Forum: Is Adoptee/Mother Reunion Ever (Re)Solved

Perhaps if you don't have a personal connection to adoption, you won't care to read it. That's okay. I do hope that all the mothers and adoptees who are struggling in reunion will check it out. Because it is so clear that we have ended up in a mostly unresolvable situation, regardless of how much we love each other and want to connect on some real (and normal, AS IF!) level.

There are wonderful, successful reunions, unsuccessful reunions, non-reunions, all kinds. Almost all of them in flux at any given point. A mother and child reunion can go from bad to good, from good to bad, from nothing to everything, from everything to nothing — and back — in no time.

One of the commenters on the above post wrote: "The bane of reunions is expectations, the more extreme and unrealistic, the more likely disappointment will follow." This struck a nerve with me. I believe those sorts of expectations (on both my and my son's part) played a huge and unfortunate part in my reunion with my son. I expected to find a happy, well-adjusted young man, because I was assured that my child would be better off without me, in a stable, two-parent home. That wasn't the case. He expected to reclaim his mommy, regress to where we left off, and that that would fix his all of his problems and set his life on a better course. That didn't happen.

People do work through these sorts of issues. We haven't. And that is why I won't be seeing my son on Thanksgiving or any other holiday for who knows how long. I haven't seen or had any meaningful contact with him in more than three years.

So, amidst my feelings of gratitude — at having members of my family and dear friends celebrating with us this year — there will always be an underlying sadness.

Thank you so much, adoption. Or rather, the society that has made adoption so revered, instead of recognizing the importance of keeping mothers and children together. For not giving us a shot, for taking us so far our of normal that we can never get back.

THANKFUL

2011-11-22T21:42:00.000-08:00

For my family (even though they often make me crazy). Especially that my immediate family (my dad, sister, brother, and I) will be together on Thanksgiving for the first time in several years. And that my niece and her family will be with us, not to mention a handful of dear friends who chose to celebrate with us. Even though my turkey is probably too big, it will be a great day! (Not to mention potential leftovers.)

And for our extended family, even though we don’t see them often.

For all of my friends. I am a fortunate person to have so many who accept and love me unconditionally, both far and near. Glad that a few will be joining us on Thursday.

I am grateful for our relative good health and that we aren’t in the dire straits that so many are today. Especially in such tenuous times.

Most of all, grateful that our daughter-in-law's surgery went well today. Love you, Lainey!

Happy Thanksgiving to all!

THINK VERY HARD

2011-11-21T16:06:00.001-08:00

It's been a while since I've felt compelled to share another blogger's post. This one was a must-share:

Thinking of Placing Your Baby for Adoption from First Mother Forum.

I wish someone had told me all this in 1969. Thank you, Jane and Lorraine.

GRATIFICATION

2011-11-20T19:27:00.000-08:00

When I first considered writing a book — which I did many times during my adulthood, a novel mostly, long before I began work on my memoir — I always thought I would care more about literary acclaim than the money I might make from sales or being on the bestseller list. I wanted the critics to confirm that I was worthy, to reach the pinnacles of literature genius.

LOL!

Second-Chance Mother doesn’t meet that criteria by any stretch of the imagination.

But it’s me on those pages, as honest as I can be about an experience that forever changed my life.

I did my best to combine that raw honesty with excellent writing. It was hard. Not as hard as losing my child, but hard nonetheless. I’m proud of what I accomplished, literary value or not, because what I really want is to educate the non-adoption public, share with other birthmothers, adoptees, and many even adoptive parents about the impacts, the pain of adoption.

It took me several years to find a publisher — even a small one — to say, yes, this story is worthwhile. Of course I can’t be sure, but I suspect that big mainstream agents and publishing houses knew that they couldn’t take a risk on anything that shed a shadow over the institution that is adoption.

I’d like to thank Chris at Red Willow Press for taking a chance on me and my story. And for making my dream of becoming a traditionally published author come true.

I’ve given up the critical acclaim thing. Maybe when I finish my novel about the hippie era (about half-way completed) I can shoot for that.

Right now, I am gratified by the praise of my peers, fellow birthmothers and even strangers, who appreciate my story and what I’ve shared. I know that the friends who knew me then and since will have a totally different experience, relate more closely to the story. I value feedback from all of you.

If you’ve read my book, or do in the future, please tell me what you think or post a review on Amazon, Smashwords, or on your blog. You can contact me via email at denise at secondchancemother dot com.

That will be my true gratification.

AN UNEXPECTED EMOTIONAL EXPERIENCE

2011-11-18T21:54:00.000-08:00

Anyone who knows me, or who reads this blog or my book, knows that I am not outwardly emotional.

At least when it comes to my own feelings. I tear up for others' pain. But for my own? Not so much.

I'm not sure if I got this from my mother, who was not emotionally expressive. Or being denied permission to feel anything when I was pregnant, birthed and relinquished my child to adoption. Not being allowed to talk about it after. To this day, expressing sadness makes me feel too vulnerable, too close to that decade-old experience.

Whatever the reason, it's just my way.

I wish to be a crier, feel free to be more emotional in public. I've always wondered if people think I'm unfeeling because I don't or can't.

For the last 24 hours, since "Second-Chance Mother" came out in its ebook version, I've been on the edge of tears. Out of excitement that I'm finally published, after years of hard work and waiting for the right publisher? That my all-too-honest and personal story is now public? That reading the print version that my publisher just sent toe me is going to put me over the edge?

I haven't cried. I've been too busy: blogging and fine-tuning my website, and facebooking, and twittering. Ah, distraction!

As upsetting as it ultimately is to bare my soul and my truth, I want my story to be read, for other birthmothers, as well as adoptees and adoptive parents, to understand what I, and so many mothers like me, went through. That we didn't forget, that we mourned our loss, the we didn't necessarily recover, even after reunion.

That adoption isn't always a good thing. In fact, I think it rarely is.

SECOND-CHANCE MOTHER EBOOK IS OUT

2011-11-17T20:50:00.000-08:00

Today, the ebook version of my memoir, "Second-Chance Mother," was released on Amazon (for Kindle), B&N.com (for Nook), and Smashwords (in all e-reader versions, including those that allow you to read it on your computer or print it out (warning on that: it's 400+ pages... a lot of paper and toner).

Here's the short description: What should have been a mother’s greatest joy — reuniting with the son she’d relinquished for adoption 25 years before — became her utmost challenge. Second-Chance Mother follows the author into the emotional black hole of lost time, connection, and self-worth, as she struggles to restore her bond with her grown son, uncover her mother’s secret past, and reclaim the woman she was meant to be.

Links to purchase for $2.99:
Smashwords: Smashwords
Amazon: Amazon
B&N.com: B&N

If you don't have an e-reader, can't hold out for the print version, and want to read it on your computer, go to Download to get the appropriate application (for PC, Mac, i-phone, etc.) for free.

Gosh, I hope some people will still want a print copy when it comes out in a couple months! I've always dreamed of signing a hard copy of my book.

Once the print version is out, I will be scheduling reading/signing events in Arizona and California. If only I had a big publisher, who was footing the bill for cities around the country!

FRIENDSHIP

2011-11-12T19:36:00.001-08:00

I didn't think so at the time I posted, but apparently I did. Breach a friend's trust by posting this: Too Many Friends

I saw it as a topic I was interested in exploring, where I wanted feedback on the situation, and I received a lot of helpful suggestions and support. Some in blog comments, but mostly via personal email.

One of the friends involved, however unnamed, saw herself and took offense. As a result, she wants to discontinue our friendship.

This saddens me and I told her so. I apologized for my part and hope she realizes her part. That we might continue as friends. Even though I know this riff will cast a shadow over our relationship for a while... until we both get over it and trust is rebuilt... if that happens.

TWITTER, HERE I COME

2011-11-06T14:13:00.000-08:00

Talk about cold days in hell...

I just joined Twitter in preparation for an upcoming session with my social media guru. There, I'll learn all the ins and outs of tweeting, following, and connecting all of my tools and sites.

Also still trying to iron out the lack of notifications from Feedblitz — to some of my subscribers, and to me re: posts from my subscriptions. The unfortunate part about Internet tools is that you can't talk to a real person, lots of searching in the FAQs and emails back and forth.

This is also a test to see if my blog posts are FINALLY coming up on Facebook, via Networked Blogs. Struggling with that one, too.

You'll notice that I changed my blog template... at guru's suggestion, to incorporate the same colors, look and feel as my website

Now off to do some work there!

TROUBLE, TROUBLE, WORRY, WORRY, WORRY

2011-11-03T21:54:00.001-07:00

Today, four months after my manuscript was accepted, I told my father that my memoir is going to be published. He responded with, “that’s great!” Seemed genuinely happy for me. When I told him that I would be among the readers at our SSA Chapter’s January Showcase, he seemed very excited about attending. (He and his wife, Arlis, attended last year, when I wasn’t among the readers and enjoyed it; before that, a few years ago, when I was reading my flash fiction… nothing very personal.)

He knows that Second-Chance Mother is about my reunion with my son. Does he have any idea what that means? That he and my mother play a key role in the story, in the relinquishment of my only child? Years ago, I offered to let him read the draft. My mom was still alive then and he declined, because he was too busy.

I don’t expect him to be happy about what I’ve written. But maybe I misjudge him. Maybe he’ll be touched by my feelings, my take on the truth of what happened to me and my son.

I worry about his wife reading it. Since she seems to look for reasons to criticize my mother, and this would give her ammunition. I have forgiven my mom for her part in my trauma, have come to understand where she was coming from based on her own history. I don’t welcome any rehashing of why she acted as she did.

My brother is another worry. He read the draft and warned against my publishing it (then again, my mother was alive then). He said it would hurt people, didn’t seem to care that some had already been hurt. He told me to never speak of it again. And I haven’t. Not to him. He and his wife have since adopted two boys, one from Korea and one domestically, who are now preteens.

I wonder, how will he react when he learns that my story will become public?

I’ve been told that my book is wrenchingly honest, revealing considerable personal history and emotion. Those who have read it, or even parts of it, say that they feel like they know me as a result.

I like that. Even though I feel a bit naked imagining it.

So, yeah, I worry how my family will react, how those close to me will feel once they know more about me, how the general public will perceive me after hearing the full story.

I used to be more worried, more afraid, than I am now. I believe that my story, my honesty in telling it, will help other birthmothers come to grips with what happened to them, deal realistically with reunion, encourage understanding among adoptees for their mothers’ trauma, and educate those who have not had an up close and personal experience with adoption.

If that happens, whatever other reactions I have to endure will be worthwhile.

P.S. I can't figure out how to embed this video in my post, but once you're done reading my post, do go watch it. Trouble Trouble

AIN'T MISBEHAVIN'

2011-11-02T22:57:00.000-07:00

Time to get really serious about promoting my upcoming memoir, "Second-Chance Mother." The ebook will be out this month for sure, and the print version to follow shortly thereafter.

I had come to believe this day would never come. And now I'm vibrating, having to keep myself from bouncing off the walls.

I had a great consult with my social media guru, Serena, today. She reviewed my website, blog, and FB fan page and gave me good suggestions. Twitter to come... I swore I would never succumb, but it's become a must.

I'm a marketer by trade, albeit old-school (i.e. print marketing), but had to be reminded that my goals (as regards promotion), my brand/image (me) and my product(s) (right now, my book), and my target audience MUST guide everything I do on social media. As in no more irrelevant political rants, personal whines, or other ridiculousness on my key sites. (Although I think I can still post crazy photos on my personal FB page, or at least I hope so.)

At Serena's suggestion, I have linked my blog posts to my FB Fan Page. I am assured that if I get crazy and post something irrelevant to my goals and image here, I can delete it there. I hope I can be vigilant enough.

It's hard work being an author these days, even after the writing is done.

So this is a kind of test. To see if this shows up on my Fan Page, as it should. And if my friends/fans can deal with the new, relevant me.

HAS IT BEEN A YEAR ALREADY?

2011-10-28T21:26:00.000-07:00

If it’s November, it must be National Adoption Month.

Here’s my post from last November: NAM

I noticed that this year it’s being called (by some anyway) “Adoption Awareness Month.” However, if you google the above phrase, you’ll find the words “celebrate adoption” used in almost all of the results.

Big difference between “adoption awareness” and “celebrate adoption.” One suggests that we be aware of the impacts of being separated from the family of origin, while the other ignores that and wants us to accept, and in fact celebrate, an institution that separates children from their mothers.

Watch this video with Jennifer Lauck, bestselling memoirist and adoptee: Adoption Awareness
Jennifer doesn’t whine about having been adopted (twice, by the way). She talks honestly about the profound impact that adoption had on her life.

Why don’t we have a Family Preservation Month? Why does our government continue to encourage adoption with tax breaks and other percs for adopters instead of helping young, unwed mothers keep their children? I support adoption of children who would not otherwise have a family — those who have been truly abandoned, stuck in foster care, etc.

But I continue to object to the wooing of young pregnant women into the so-called “adoption option” in order to procure infants for couples who cannot have their own or choose not to for whatever reasons. (Some celebrities come to mind. As in, "I don’t have time or want my body misshapened by a pregnancy." Don’t make me name names.)

I recently posted about the Baby Scoop Era on my FB Fan Page: Fan Page You don’t have to be my friend on FB or even join FB to view this page.

I wish the BSE had been the end of this nonsense. But it hasn’t. In fact, as domestic infants become less available, the pressure on women to relinquish has increased. Although many couples are going overseas to adopt, taking children out of their cultures and pretending that doesn’t matter, that the kids are better off in America, and will assimilate easily. Some choose this option so they won’t have to deal with open adoptions and the possibility that the “pesky birthmother” won’t be in their lives.

It’s not quite November. I guess I’m just anticipating and hoping to avoid any publicity around this month-long celebration.

For now, let me just wish everyone a fun Halloween!

48 HOURS IN SEDONA

2011-10-26T22:51:00.000-07:00

I highly recommend a visit to Sedona, AZ to everyone. Whatever your needs: relaxation, healing, eating and drinking, shopping, seeing the sights (rock formations like you’ve never imagined). It’s all there.

Having just spent 48 hours in Sedona with girlfriends, I must add another benefit, which might have nothing to do with the location. I could have fun with this bunch just about anywhere.

Carol and Julie were my business partners for six years. And my friends. Because how do you hang out together for pretty much 40 hours a week, invested in a company, without becoming so? Okay, fine, so that is probably rare. But we made it happen.

Why? Because we had fun while we worked! We counteracted stress with silliness. We had more inside jokes than… an appropriate analogy escapes me. But we did. We assigned boyfriends and girlfriends (mostly clients), took meetings, had rituals and an employee suggestion box that went over the top. We had a collage in our restroom to which we took turns adding and was always entertaining. We sang and danced regularly to things like The Rodeo Song (not providing a link… I know you can look it up on your ‘puter, but I’m not going to help you). Our client Holiday cards were revered, not your usual “we so appreciate your business.” They knew we did. We were good to them, even the annoying ones.

It’s time for me to tip my friendship hat to Carol and Julie, and to all of the people I got to know because of them, Diane and Dianne and Nancy and Anita. We had a great time in Sedona! It was perfect from start to finish. Although I didn’t want to leave them, because it was so much fun. I could have lived there with them forever in that timeshare and left everything else behind. Well, at least for a week or so.

We cracked ourselves up then and crack ourselves up now. What’s better than that, when it comes to friendship?

Julie came up with the best gag of the weekend. Having read my last post, she asked after Diane and visited the concierge to inquire about restaurant options, if I had made any friends. Huh? Because, she said, you have too many. ROFLMAO! That’s the way to do it!

I love all of my friends. Sometimes because we share a history, sometimes because we share an interest or experience, or because they lift me up (or crack me up), or I can be myself with them without judgment. It really doesn’t matter what, how or why.

I appreciate you. Right now, thank you, Julie, Carol, Diane the Willow and Dianne. I hope I see you again soon.

P.S. As regards my last post, I am compelled to report that I made 10 new friends in Sedona. I hope I haven't gone over my limit. :)

TOO MANY FRIENDS?

2011-10-23T19:32:00.001-07:00

If you’ve been reading here for a while, you know I’ve had a couple of “friend crises” in the last couple of years. An example: Things That Go Bump

Someone who has become a very close friend since we’ve been in Arizona recently surprised me. It started with her disapproving of a friendship I’ve made with a neighbor. They were at my house at the same time once and got into a political/religious disagreement (about the Mosque at Ground Zero). I thought nothing of it, since I have friends of all persuasions. Then Friend #1 told me that life is too short to be around people you don’t like/agree with. Friend #2 felt the vibes, but didn’t say anything more to me about it. When they were recently thrown together at a cocktail party, #1 completely cold-shoulder #2. #2 noticed and was upset. I was very uncomfortable with #1’s behavior and later told her so.

I don’t know about all y’all, but even if I didn’t like/agree with someone and I ran into them on the street or at a party, I would say, “hi, how ya doin’?” then just avoid getting into a lengthy conversation with them. I’m a fan of civility.

In fact, I have LOTS of friends with whom I disagree on various issues. I still like and respect them as people. Is that crazy?

During the conversation with Friend #1, who was clearly not going to budge on her problem with #2, she said, “you have a lot of friends… maybe too many.”

Huh?

She said she could count her true friends on one hand, possibly need a couple of digits from the other hand. Acquaintances and workmates don’t count.

I heard from another friend, who knows all of us, that #1 had expressed dislike for #2, and even went so far as to say that I spread myself too thin.

More huh?

I admit that I have a lot of friends. I didn’t set out to collect them. I have a handful from my youth with whom I have remained close. I am in touch with some from my early adulthood, people I’ve worked with in various jobs, trivia friends, adoption-related friends, writing friends, neighborhood friends (past and present), and now online friends whom I have never met in person, but have developed a relationship with. I value all of them. I never stopped to count, but I’m suspect that I have well over 100 true friends (maybe hundreds more if you count people I am in some sort of touch with).

Is that too many? Can a person actually have too many friends? Am I deceiving myself that I can be a friend to all of them?

I think I can, on varying levels. Who are the people for whom I would drop everything to go to in an emergency? Who would I drop some things to help them out? Who would I listen to on the phone if they needed to talk? Or send a supportive email? Think and care about? Do a favor for? Give solicited advice to? I’m going to have to say… all of them, depending on the geography.

I suspect that there are some jealousy/possessiveness issues in play in this situation. Nothing makes me crazier in a relationship than ownership and dependency. Don’t deal well with that.

Will let it play out. I believe in time it will either sort out of become a point of contention. I hope that I can maintain both relationships. But in the long run, it is the complainer/objector that will have to go if push comes to shove. Because I will not be forced into a choice.

Love to all my friends… however and whenever I met you.

ADOPTIVE PARENT ATTITUDES

2011-10-13T16:29:00.000-07:00

Suz had a great post today on differing attitudes in adoptive parents and the ones that make we “birthmothers” uncomfortable.

In part, she wrote: You know, the type that only wanted a perfect infant, preferably a girl? The type that wants a closed adoption, wants to change names, deny the family of origin, amend birth certificates, and raise a child in that “as if born to” world and if the child is not what they imagined, they want to send it back for a refund or exchange for a better model?

…I see a massive difference between adoptive parents of older children, children from foster care, children with special needs. I do not view those types of adoptive parents the way I do prospective adopters who go oversees to make sure that pesky birth mother will never show up unexpectedly.

If you’re so inclined, read the whole post at: Writing My Wrongs

It reminded me of a conversation I overheard a couples days ago in the outpatient surgery waiting room at a local hospital (my sister was having carpal tunnel surgery). Thank goodness the two women were sitting behind me so I could listen in without staring. Not that I wanted to listen; I just couldn’t help myself.

One was telling the other about a young couple she knows who wanted to adopt and spent thousands of dollars, only to have the expectant mother change her mind after the baby was born. The same thing happened again, only this time the mother changed her mind before the birth. (Why or how money was changing hands BEFORE the adoption, I don’t get. I don’t know if it was through an agency or a private arrangement.) In any case, the whole entitlement to someone else’s child irks me to the max, besides which no mother should be committed to giving her child up while it’s still in vitro and not even some period of time after the birth.

The other woman said, “if they adopted a child out of foster care, it wouldn’t cost them anything.” Oh, but this couple wanted an infant! Well, excuuuuuuse me! They certainly should get what they WANT!

I was bracing myself to jump to my feet, swing around and say something (who knows if I actually would have, since I’m kinda nonconfrontational, at least with people I don’t know), when the first woman said that the couple did eventually get a baby and that it is an open adoption, with contact and visits, and that is working out well.

At least, there’s that. But it made me wonder if the adoptive parents might suddenly relocate with no forwarding information, leaving the mother and other birth relatives in the lurch. It happens, believe me! Especially after the child becomes cognizant of what’s going on — at two or three or four.

Thankfully a nurse came out to get me, since my sister was ready to go home, and I didn’t have to hear anymore.

Yes, I was uncomfortable.

STEVE JOBS, THE BIRTHFATHER

2011-10-13T09:36:00.000-07:00

Interesting post at First Mother Forum: It's All In The Family

Also, at Unsigned Masterpiece: Logic, UM and the Unconscious

I am fascinated by the repetition of personal history, probably because my mother was an adoptee (which she kept secret from us) and my son gave up two children for adoption.

In any case, I think it's time to let Steve RIP...

THE STEVE SITUATION

2011-10-07T23:52:00.000-07:00

Lots of back and forth about Steve Jobs: his life, death and legacy. And other stuff.

I am a great admirer of the man, a dedicated Mac user since I first touched one in 1989 (having struggled with PC’s for a few years before), and will miss his presence on this planet. He definitely made his mark among the great visionaries of our time, and times before.

Two things have been bantered about since his death.

First, that he was adopted and that his father sought to meet him before Steve’s death. Reports made it sound like he had not been aware of or met any in his family origin. Not so! Here’s a blog post from Unsigned Masterpiece on that very topic: The Things We Carry A good read, whether or not you are interested in adoption. UM also made the very relevant point, well proven by Steve Jobs, that not all adoptees turned out to be victims, miscreants, serial killers, or otherwise weird. Thank you for this!

Secondly, it’s interesting that people of all ilks have united in their adoration of Jobs. Not surprising that so many appreciate his accomplishments and the technological advancements he brought us.

But in this time of bashing capitalism and the so-called “occupation of Wall Street?”

Steve Jobs was not just an entrepreneur in the truest sense, but he and Apple are (to quote a friend) “the personification of Big Corporate American Capitalism at its best. They create great products, sell at highest prices, employ thousands and make tons of money for shareholders. Apple products are made primarily in mainland China and soon Brazil, with Japanese and Taiwanese components. They keep tight control on operating systems and distribution. Neither Steve nor Apple have been major contributors to charitable causes.”

And still, we adore Jobs. And his products. And his model? To quote another friend, “how many of the protestors “occupying” Wall Street are using iphones to report what’s going on?

What’s the difference? Why isn’t his success translated as “corporate greed,” as it is now on Wall Street? He too made the big bucks, for himself and lot of other people. Only in a different industry. Plus he started in a garage.

Banks are being blamed for our current situation. I say it was our government’s intervention in banking (one good example: the mandate not to red-line risky loans) that got us into this mess, or at least contributed to tit.

Why can’t the government excuse themselves and let America revert to a free market? Where companies start and fail, based on their own merits. Not step in to save those who are “too big to fail,” and coddle (bail out) those who can’t make it on their own. Why are we giving money to favored (i.e. green) companies who are not yet ready to produce anything viable?

No wonder companies aren’t moving forward, investors aren’t investing, people are sitting on their money. We are all scared shitless. We can’t see a break in this depressing, big government trend, and we have no idea what’s going to happen.

It doesn’t matter who you blame it on. Who’s going to fix it? Certainly not the current White House occupant. If something productve doesn’t happen soon, and I don’t think it will, I believe our economy, and American itself, is doomed.

In any case, RIP Steve Jobs. You are an excellent model for our country.

IN ANTICIPATION

2011-10-06T21:27:00.000-07:00

These days, I waver between heavy thoughts and oh, yeah, I need to stay on this Internet marketing thing for my book. Granted, the two are somewhat related…

Okay, so I want more fans on my Facebook Fan Page. Because that’s what all the online marketing experts tell me I need. Plus it’s fun to be “liked.”

I’m going to do a drawing for a free print copy of “Second-Chance Mother” (which won’t come out until after the first of the year, so patience is necessary), once I have 200 fans. I’ll draw a name from all my Fan Page “likers” and draw and one of you will get a free autographed copy delivered or sent to you after it’s released. I’ll repeat this offer once a month just to make sure all of my FB friends see it. (If you’ve already liked my Fan Page, you’re in.)

Please let friends who are not on Facebook know, since fan/business/organization pages can be viewed by anyone, not just FB members.

Here’s the link: Denise Roessle Fan Page

FUN FOR THE FEEBLE (-MINDED)

2011-10-03T17:32:00.000-07:00

My hub and I were chatting this morning about how it feels to 61 and 69, when it seems like yesterday we were 31 and 39 (when we married). We were such go-getters back in the day: working full-time, doing home improvements, keeping up on chores, having an active social life. We didn’t slow down in our forties or fifties. But all of a sudden…

Hub still works three days a week in his chosen profession, yet he feels like he’s a fraction of the worker he once was. He reads voraciously, then can’t remember what he read 50 pages ago. I too forgot what I just read or saw on TV. I can’t remember who I told what to (but instead of repeating myself, cuz I hate when others do that, I leave some people uninformed, thinking I told everybody, and then I have to fix that). Each of us has been caught going to another room to do something, end up doing something else, and forgetting our original intent.

We continue to do a lot of our home improvements/maintenance ourselves, but have begun to hire others more often. Our list (of mostly small tasks) stacks up because we just aren’t motivated. Then every now and then we get on a roll and knock down a bunch of jobs.

We are not yet feeble. But perhaps becoming feeble-minded. It’s scary. I would expect this of those in their eighties or nineties — my dad and my elderly aunt and uncle. But us?

Relating back to my last post about Accolades, I realize that much of my volunteer activities help me stay sharp, pretend I’m still in the game — y’know, things to do, people to meet — that sort of thing, others counting on me. It’s like working; I just don’t get paid. Which is okay with me, since it provides me with many rewards… and challenges. That I hope will thwart my coming feebleness.

There just comes a time when you realize that you aren’t 20, 30, 40 or 50 anymore. And hope you can do your best to deal with and step up for new tasks and challenges.

ACCOLADES

2011-10-01T22:19:00.000-07:00

Although getting paid for one’s work is good (it happens occasionally when I do some graphic design for a couple of local nonprofits), for me, it’s ceased to be about the money.

Why else would I donate my time and energies to Origins-USA, which advocates for mothers’ rights, something I wholeheartedly believe in; design and publish our HOA newsletter (which might have been a drag, if not for the input of my partner-in-crime and our also-volunteer editor, Cynthia — she has inspired me and taken our Periodico to a new level); and leading (as in President for a third term) our local Society of Southwestern Authors chapter.

Each of these volunteer activities brings me great pleasure. Accolades, yes, and that also makes me feel good. But believing in these causes, feeling good about the contribution I’m making to their efforts, is worth far more than bucks.

I used to say that I would never do for free what I once did for a living. That it had to be something unrelated — like helping pack boxes of stuff for soldiers serving in the Middle East (did that), assisting at our HOA Enhancement Team’s annual patio sale (done that for a few years), and serving as a block captain for Neighborhood Watch (ditto). After moving here from California, I went a few years without admitting to having any particular skills — for just that reason. Now my secret is out. And I’m okay with that, because, in truth, I always loved design and writing, had been missing it, and now get to keep my hand in.

There’s a rule of thumb that I apply to volunteer work: if I’m not truly enjoying it or if I begin to feel resentful about it, I force myself to stop. I learned this many years ago.

Whatever I’m doing now, I love. Regardless of accolades or income.

I am a happy volunteer!

MISERY

2011-09-29T21:20:00.000-07:00

This is a great movie, whether you classify it as writer angst, horror or suspense. James Caan is good, but Kathy Bates is at the top of her game.

Best-selling novelist Paul Sheldon (James Caan) is on his way home from his Colorado hideaway after completing his latest book, when he crashes his car in a freak blizzard. Paul is critically injured, but is rescued by former nurse Annie Wilkes (Kathy Bates), Paul's "number one fan,” who takes Paul back to her remote house in the mountains (without bothering to tell anybody). Unfortunately for Paul, Annie is also a headcase. When she discovers that Paul has killed off the heroine in her favorite novels, her reaction leaves Paul shattered (literally).

I chose this quote because I use curse words in my writings when it's necessary or, in the case of my nonfiction, true. Which if it's anywhere near modern, it is. Sometimes my fellow writing group members object, but I insist that it goes to character.

Annie: It's the swearing, Paul. It has no nobility.

Paul: These are slum kids, I was a slum kid. Everybody talks like that.

Annie: THEY DO NOT! At the feedstore do I say, "Oh, now Wally, give me a bag of that F-in' pig feed, and a pound of that bitchly cow corn"? At the bank do I say, "Oh, Mrs. Malenger, here is one big bastard of a check, now give me some of your Christ-ing money!" THERE, LOOK THERE, NOW SEE WHAT YOU MADE ME DO!

I feel a little like Annie lately.

I’m aware that I have been mouthy on FB and in emails these days, which has come off as just plain cranky. I’ve been pissing off some people and have had to offer some apologies.

I don't know what's up with that. At the time, I felt like I was just being honest. Maybe I'm still menopausal hormonal. Or become more reactionary. Maybe I'm stressed about my book. Maybe I'm turning into a cranky old lady.

At least I haven't told anyone where to put their f-in' pig feed or bastard checks... at least not yet.

THIS TANGLED WEB

2011-09-24T19:14:00.000-07:00

For a change, I'm not talking about my family, LOL, rather the internet, websites, blogs, e-commerce, links, etc. All that techno stuff.

I spent an intriguing (and sometimes frustrating) afternoon solving some left-over e-problems (ha ha, I guess "e" can go in front of any word now!) and setting up a Facebook Fan Page. It's not worth looking at yet. Soon I'll announce it and be hoping for lots of "likes."

I know I could have paid someone to do all of this for me. And I'm not cheap as a rule, much to my hub's chagrin. But honestly, setting up Second-Chance Mother was so effortless, with such a short learning curve, that I decided to plug ahead on my own. It just takes me longer and a lot of research and help screens. I haven't read a book for pleasure in a few months, so focused I am on book marketing and online promotion.

I kinda like it though. I've waited for this for a long, long time. Plus I'm a marketeer at heart.

One weird thing: I'm starting to have trouble remembering where I've posted what... not like I can't check. I forget who among my real-life friends is on Facebook, who needs an email update, who might have read my blog or looked at my website. With a Fan Page of Facebook, I now have to switch between identities (something I'm hoping to resolve and become one person with two pages).

I was moaning about the release being delayed, but in truth this gives me more time to get myself set up to really go after sales when it happens. And I'm dreaming about visiting all of my friends in California, once I have the printed book in hand. I will mean so much to me to hand it to you in person.

Wish me luck, and watch for news... coming soon, and later, and then later than that...

MIDNIGHT IN PARIS

2011-09-22T17:17:00.000-07:00

Gil: I would like you to read my novel and get your opinion.

Ernest Hemingway: I hate it.

Gil: You haven't even read it yet.

Ernest Hemingway: If it's bad, I'll hate it. If it's good, then I'll be envious and hate it even more. You don't want the opinion of another writer.

CLAIMED VS. UNCLAIMED: HOW IT FEELS

2011-09-22T16:55:00.000-07:00

Man, did this post by Suz trigger some painful memories for me:

"The very first thing my daughter's father said to me when I told him I might be pregnant was “what are you going to do?”.

This was not received well by me at all. The words, the tone of voice, the body language implied I was at fault, I needed to solve a problem that he, and I, had caused.

This was the first time he could have claimed me and our daughter."

Read the whole entry at: Claimed

THIS BOOK BUSINESS

2011-09-18T21:47:00.000-07:00

A few days ago, I was whining on Facebook (and via email to a handful of writer friends), after I learned from my publisher that the print version of my book won't come out until after the first of the year. Although the ebook should be out in November.

I had this vision — of participating in my very first book fair as an honest-to-goodness author (our SSA local chapter one will be on December 3rd), being there to sell and sign books, FINALLY! So I pouted. Until I realized that times have changed, that the e-version of my book will probably far outsell the print, and that most people will buy on Amazon or Smashwords rather than from in-person sales. I've read that over and over again, but didn't get it. I wanted that moment.

I think it's a little like a musician feels, being heard by a live audience, versus being listened to on a DVD or MP3. Some level of interaction. Even though with a book it's not that way. You don't get to watch them read it. They don't look up at you and say, "man, that was powerful," "what a great line!" or "you really moved me." In both cases, the "audience" can respond later, let you know that they like your work.

Not that I won't have get face-to-face sales moment, since many of my friends and fans of my age still want to hold a book in their hands instead of read it electronically. I intend to travel a bit, certainly to California and elsewhere as much as my funds permit, to hand books to close friends and those who are in my life because of shared experience of adoption.

So I'm still going to sign up for December book fair. I can promote the e-book, meet people and hopefully influence them to check it out. I can build a following for the print book. Whether they buy or not, I'll never know. But I know I've always been more likely to buy a book from an author I've met and talked to. Maybe that's just me, from having attended so many conferences and author events, and feeling compelled to read what they've written. But I do think going one-on-one with the author can make a difference.

I have more work to do, My publisher (who I whined to which I probably have to apologize for) wants stuff. A short book blurb (400 characters), a long blurb (4,000 words), a brief author bio, and keywords that will mean something to searchers of books on my topic. Also my dedication and acknowledgements. I'm not feeling all that rushed, since I don't yet have the full edit of my book, which should be forthcoming. (And I'm a little nervous about that... will it be just typos, which should be minimal, or will they try to change things I'm very attached to?)

Finally... yeah, I want big sales. But not for the reasons you would think. Until an author is a bestseller, over and over again, they don't make any real money. I want sales because I believe my book is important and will help birthmothers, and maybe even some adoptees and adoptive parents. I want the general public to understand that adoption hurts mothers and children. That it should never happen unless there is no where else for the child to go, and unless the mother is totally unwilling and unable to keep her child. I have become a family preservationist. Which doesn't mean anti-adoption. It just means first things first. Let's keep families together whenever possible. I believe that can happen if we stop giving adoption tax credits and instead start helping mothers, whose only problem is financial, keep their children.

Okay, fine, I got off the book business topic. I put on my other hat.

But that's all right. They are ultimately one and the same.

If my book sells a million copies (and trust me, my goal is much lower), it will only have reached fraction of those with a personal connection to adoption. Down the road, who knows? As the public beings to learn about the failing of adoption, begins to vote for reformed laws, and changes their minds about sealed records, my book could end up as part of that change.

That would make my day, perhaps even my life.

LEANNA

2011-09-16T21:58:00.000-07:00

At 15, I arrived in Hawaii friendless. My only connections were the few California girlfriends with whom I exchanged letters and postcards, My parents busied me with activities: had me volunteer at their church’s Vacation Bible School, encouraged me to read books, and let me get a kitten — no doubt waiting for school to start two months later, when I would get make new friends and be busy with homework and extracurricular activities.

My mother joined a Newcomers Club, which is where she met Mrs. Daniel. She gave me Leanna’s phone number, which I hesitated to call (a stranger, OMG!). But Leanna called me, no doubt at her mother’s insistence. She came over and we walked down to the beach. Back at my house, I tortured her with (too sweet, I have since learned) Rootbeer Fizzies and the ridiculous way that I talked to my cat, Keiki (“want some tuna, noonah?”) It’s amazing that she didn’t run screaming from the house!

We started our sophomore year at Kailua High School together and became true friends. We did everything together: cheerleader tryouts (where we were both rejected), dances (where neither of us were asked to dance), and joined Rainbow Girls (a Masonic organization, where we wore formals and learn values). Together we made more friends: Monica, Regina, Margie — a group that came to be known as “Moleremade,” using the first two letters of each of our names. We made other friends: Diane, Susan, Sheila. And Tommy, out lone boy friend, who joined us on lots of trips to the pizza parlor and even pajama parties (although he was sent home before the sleep part). We went to our first concert together — the Monkees — and the next day, went to the hotel where they were staying in Waikiki, hoping for a sighting… which didn’t happen.

Her home became mine, her parents and brother mine. We were like sisters. Still are to this day.

I’m not even going to try to explain the “hose nozzle” tradition — it’s only funny if you were in on it. Nor can I effectively explain “believable incognito-ism.” We both loved art and school supplies, would spend an hour in those aisles at the discount store. When Laugh-In was all the rage, we painted our bikinied bodies with hearts, flowers and peace symbols. We had lots of inside jokes.

We shared some fun times. And some rough times.

We were together through the exhilaration of first loves and heartbreak of lost ones. Family dramas. Life choices. We were at each other’s weddings. I watched her two boys grow up and have children of their own. She was with me when I met my son’s father, there for me when we broke up and when he came back (briefly) once he learned I was pregnant. She took care of me during those terrible times, stuck with me through the years, and celebrated my reunion with my son.

I was the instigator, the silly one. She kept me grounded with her goodness, honesty, and sincerity. As different as we were, we have always had a deep appreciation for each other.

Love you, Toots, from your Honaaay

TAH DAH! MY WEBSITE IS UP!

2011-09-14T22:17:00.000-07:00

Please visit the website for my book: Second-Chance Mother and let me know what you think. You can email from the site, personally, or comment here.

I don't yet have a release date, but I feel as if I am on my way! Thanks to all of you for your support.

ADAPTATION

2011-09-11T22:22:00.000-07:00

More writer angst as portrayed in movies...

Charlie Kaufman is struggling with the arduous task of adapting The Orchid Thief, by Susan Orlean, which doesn't have an obvious dramatic line (it is essentially a book about orchids). At the same time he faces a mid-life crisis, which is worsened by the presence of his twin brother Donald, a less talented but more joyous person than Charlie, who dreams of making a lot of money with screenplays. The movie also shows Susan Orlean as she does her research for the book, and John Laroche, a colorful orchid hunter whom Susan interviews and, later, falls in love with. These stories eventually intertwine, with unpredictable results.

Now be honest, writer friends. Have you ever had this sort of conversation with yourself?

“To begin... To begin... How to start? I'm hungry. I should get coffee. Coffee would help me think. Maybe I should write something first, then reward myself with coffee. Coffee and a muffin. Okay, so I need to establish the themes. Maybe a banana-nut. That's a good muffin.

“Do I have an original thought in my head? My bald head. Maybe if I were happier, my hair wouldn't be falling out. Life is short. I need to make the most of it. Today is the first day of the rest of my life. I'm a walking cliché. I really need to go to the doctor and have my leg checked. There's something wrong. A bump. The dentist called again. I'm way overdue. If I stop putting things off, I would be happier. All I do is sit on my fat ass. If my ass wasn't fat I would be happier. I wouldn't have to wear these shirts with the tails out all the time. Like that's fooling anyone. Fat ass. I should start jogging again. Five miles a day. Really do it this time. Maybe rock climbing. I need to turn my life around. What do I need to do? I need to fall in love. I need to have a girlfriend. I need to read more, improve myself. What if I learned Russian or something? Or took up an instrument? I could speak Chinese. I'd be the screenwriter who speaks Chinese and plays the oboe. That would be cool. I should get my hair cut short. Stop trying to fool myself and everyone else into thinking I have a full head of hair. How pathetic is that? Just be real. Confident. Isn't that what women are attracted to? Men don't have to be attractive. But that's not true. Especially these days. Almost as much pressure on men as there is on women these days. Why should I be made to feel I have to apologize for my existence? Maybe it's my brain chemistry. Maybe that's what's wrong with me. Bad chemistry. All my problems and anxiety can be reduced to a chemical imbalance or some kind of misfiring synapses. I need to get help for that. But I'll still be ugly though. Nothing's gonna change that.”

I can’t count the times that I, like Nicholas Cage’s character, wanted to crawl back into bed, under the covers, rather than sit uninspired at the computer.

MADALEINE

2011-09-09T22:13:00.000-07:00

Better known to me as Mad Joy.

We met in seventh grade, and became better acquainted in eighth, when we were seated next to each other in Mr. Russell’s class (the best and most loved teacher ever!). Foster A. Begg Junior High School, which no longer exists in Manhattan Beach, California.

I think we both struggled with not being among the in-crowd. Or maybe just I did. In the end, I think those of us who weren’t among the cool, on the Student Council, picked first at dances, and all that, formed tighter friendships, based on really liking each other as opposed to social status.

Mad Joy (as in Madaleine Joy) the Sub: this came from Madaleine being the substitute room monitor (I don’t even remember what that entailed), and one day her mother wrote on her lunch bag, “Mad Joy the Sub.” This cracked me up and I never let her forget it.

We had sleepovers and trips to the library (a good excuse to get out of the house… how many of you remember having to go to the library to look stuff up, way before you could do that from home on your computer?), trips to the beach, talks on the phone. All the stuff that pre-teen and teen girls do.

One of our most memorable moments during that time was the day of eighth grade graduation. We scheduled concurrent beauty salon appointments to get our hair done for this monumental event. The hairdressers ran late, and her mom and my dad came to pick us up, paced around waiting for us to get beautified, and we were almost late to the ceremony.

We didn’t go to the same high school (local boundaries being what they were), but stayed in touch and saw each other regularly through ninth grade. During the summer between ninth and tenth grade, my family moved to Hawaii. You’d think that’s when we would have lost touch. But no! We wrote letters to each other regularly, and managed even without email, when stamps were 5 cents.

One of my great regrets is that I missed her wedding in 1971, because I was MIA, off being a hippie, wandering around the country. Thankfully, we reconnected, and her daughter Amy passed out our favors at my wedding in 1982.

As adults, we have become closer, for which I am so grateful. We know each other better than we ever could have at 12 or 13 or 18. We’ve shared many of life’s ups and downs. As well as enjoyable visits and vacations. We are both “hoots,” still able to make each other laugh — a key ingredient in any friendship.

Love you, Mad Joy, my buddy. Almost 50 years of friendship. May we share many more!

HELL NO, WE WON’T GO!

2011-09-08T19:34:00.000-07:00

Oops, that was a throw-back to my Vietnam War protest days…

During my involvement with PACER (Post-Adoption Center for Education and Research) in the SF Bay Area, I attended a few Adoptee Rights/Open Records rallies — in San Francisco and Sacramento. It was exhilarating but ultimately frustrating, since nothing has changed in that regard in California. And they think they are SO progressive!

They are all over preventing cigarette sales in stores that have pharmacies, forcing families who hire babysitters 18 years or older to pay minimum wage and provides meal breaks and worker’s comp, and regulating manufacturers to the point that they are leaving that state to do business elsewhere (thus eliminating thousands of jobs). But they can’t manage to give adoptees the same rights that every other citizen has — i.e. access to their original birth certificates.

I’m feeling a little old to be hitting the streets chanting slogans and carrying signs. But I’m seriously considering going to the Adoptee Rights Rally in Chicago next August. Honestly, my primary motivation would be to finally meet the many online friends who have been touched (more like whacked) by adoption: Suz, Claud, Marianne, Gail and whoever else I can convince to attend. What a time we will have, face-to-face!

And perhaps contribute to changing the archaic closed records laws that exist in most states in this supposed FREE country!

As some of the signs I’ve seen say: “My dog has his papers, why can’t I have mine?” (adoptees) and “We were never promised anonymity.” (birthmothers)

Closed records was supposedly to protect adoptees (from being labeled “illegitimate”) and first mothers (from the stigma of giving birth out of wedlock or being found by their children, which most of us welcome). In truth, records were closed to protect adoptive parents, to keep adoptees and mothers from finding each other and their pretense that they are their children’s one and only family.

Oh yeah, I’m getting heated up now. Hopefully I can keep that mindset going through the winter and be just as eager come next summer.

OUR SSA CHAPTER BOARD OF DIRECTORS (AKA HERDING CATS)

2011-09-07T22:50:00.000-07:00

On a more cheerful note…

SSA = Society of Southwestern Authors. A Tucson-based organization that I joined after attending and being very impressed with their annual Wrangling With Writing Conference in 2006. A year later, I got involved in starting the Santa Cruz Valley Chapter, which includes Sahuarita/Green Valley and on south to the border town of Nogales, AZ.

I have been president of our local chapter for two years and just agreed to another term. (Although we’re supposed to, we don’t hold elections. It’s more like, “who’s willing to do this or that?” and okay, you’re it.)

The overwhelmed side of me said, “enough already, lighten your load.” The control-freak side of me protested, knowing that I like being in charge. Honestly, that’s not the only thing. We are doing great, even surpassing the main organization in terms of attendance and speaker quality, and I love being a part of that success.

We had one of our best ever board meetings today. Very productive, worked through a lot of issues quickly. Not being the Roberts-Rules-of-Order type (who’s this guy Robert and how did he get to be the boss of me?), I deferred to those who are familiar with that kind of stuff, and we actually had motions and seconds and votes. All to a good end.

We gained two wonderful board members and have a great season of speakers lined up for our October through May season.

It’s been said that, in any volunteer organization, 10 percent of the people do 90 percent of the work. In our case, I think that 60 percent do 95 percent. We have a few hold-outs who apparently want to be on the board, but don’t commit to do anything in particular. It’s not like being on our board is so prestigious that they would want it simply for their CV’s. I keep reminding board members that, since we are a small board, everyone has to take on a job, but to no avail.

Any thoughts on how to light a fire under these types — or inspire more members to get involved — would be appreciated.

Finally, here’s what it’s like to herd cats: Herding Cats Commercial

P.S. Don’t be offended by the “cat” reference. We have men on our board.

THE LAST TO KNOW

2011-09-05T23:12:00.000-07:00

OR: Another reason to hate Facebook.

A week ago, I saw on my granddaughter's and DIL's FB posts that Naomi was moving to Tucson. Immediate reaction, YAY! Tell me more...

Before I could hear more, I saw on FB that she wasn't after all. Her dad changed his mind (as if that hasn't happened before!) and they were staying in NM. Going back with the wife he's left several times? WHATEVER!

Now I read that she is living in Tucson. No details. Did her father move, too? Is she living with my DIL? Is it a real move or just temporary? As if anything in my son's life isn't...

I understand that his decisions change day to day, week to week, and therefore how crazy-making if I got the latest news everyday. Since it could change in an instant.

But once something seems firm, why am I the last to know? It's as if I'm on the fringe, an afterthought in her life. As well as the lives of her other family members. There was a party this weekend, mostly for my step=grandson Nick's return home (whom I also love as if he were mine). Naomi was there, included in the pictures posted on FB. And yes, I had a friend here this weekend, my DIL knew that, but if I had been invited, I would have at least stopped by.

Being a bit stubborn, I'm going to wait for someone to tell me personally (or via voice, not email or FB) what the situation is.

I'm kind of tired of feeling like a bit player in her life and the lives of the other kids. The one who shows up to give gifts, take for lunch or ice cream.

Feeling kinda sad about the whole thing.

STRANGER THAN FICTION

2011-09-05T22:04:00.000-07:00

Isn't most of life?

Okay, fine, these quotes from the movie aren’t going to be hilarious to anyone who hasn’t seen it. But they crack me up. If you are intrigued, especially if you are a writer, or interested in writing or literature, do see this movie.

Author Kay Eiffel with the assistant her publisher has sent to help her finish the book:

“How many people do you think I've killed?”
“Kay...”
“How many?”
“I don't know.”
“Eight.”
“Kay, you need to...”
“I killed eight people. I counted.”
“They were fictional characters, now get up.
Harold Crick isn't fictional. He isn't fictional, Penny. Every book I've ever written ends with someone dying; every one. Really nice people too. I wrote a book about the school teacher. I killed her the day before summer vacation. How cruel is that? And a civil engineer, Edward, the one I trapped with a heart attack in rush hour. I killed him. I killed! Penny, I killed them all.”

“I went out... to buy cigarettes and I figured out how to kill Harold Crick.”
“Buying cigarettes?”
“As I was... when I came out of the store I... it came to me.”
“How?”
“Well, Penny, like anything worth writing, it came inexplicably and without method.” (emphasis mine)

Harold Crick’s discussion with a literature professor who is trying to help him figure out what author is narrating his life:

”I've devised a test. How exciting is that? Composed of 23 questions which I think might help uncover more truths about this narrator. Now Howard... Harold, these may seem silly but your candor is paramount.”
“Harold. Okay.”
“So. We know it's a woman's voice. The story involves your death. It's modern. It's in English and I'm assuming the author has a cursory knowledge of the city.”
“Sure.”
“Okay. Good. Question one. Has anyone recently left any gifts outside your home? Anything. Gum, money, a large wooden horse.”
“I'm sorry?”
“Just answer the question.”
“No.”
“Do you find yourself inclined to solve murder mysteries in large luxurious homes to which you, let me finish, to which you may or may not have been invited?”
“No. No, no, no.”
“Alright. On a scale of one to ten, what would you consider the likelihood you might be assassinated?”
“Assassinated?”
“One being very unlikely ten being expecting it around every corner.”
“I have no idea.”
“Okay, let me rephrase. Are you the king of anything?”
“Like what?”
“Anything. King of the lanes at the local bowling alley.”
“King of the lanes?”
“King of the lanes, king of the trolls.”
“King of the trolls?”
“Yes, uh, uh, uh, a clandestine land found underneath your floor boards.”
“No.”
“Huh? “
“No. That's ridiculous.”
“Agreed. Let's start with ridiculous and move backwards. Now, was any part of you at one time part of something else?”
“Like do I have someone else's arms?”
“Well is it possible at one time that you were made of stone, wood, lye, varied corpse parts? Or, earth made holy by rabbinical elders?”
“No. Look, look. I'm sorry, but what do these questions have to do with anything?”
“Nothing. The only way to find out what story you're in is to determine what stories you're not in. Odd as it may seem, I've just ruled out half of Greek literature, seven fairy tales, ten Chinese fables, and determined conclusively that you are not King Hamlet, Scout Finch, Miss Marple, Frankenstein's Monster, or a golem. Hmm? Aren't you relieved to know you're not a golem?”
“Yes. I am relieved to know that I am not a golem.”
“Good. Do you have magical powers?”

I know. I should have more important things to write about. And I do. But I’ve committed myself to this writer angst movie thing, and once I’m committed, I’m there!

Peace, out.

MAKES YOU FEEL ALL WARM & FUZZY... NOT!

2011-09-02T21:06:00.000-07:00

I went back and forth before deciding to post this article mentioned in Suz's blog Writing My Wrongs today:

Supply and Demand

I'm not going to say anything except if you still have the notion that adoption is all warm and fuzzy, about couples saving children, instead of paying the big bucks to fulfill their own needs to be parents, read this. Prepare to be sickened.

And we're talking 1987 in this case. Not the olden days. Things have only become worse since.

Or stay in your hole and keep believing the myth.

CLAUDIE

2011-08-30T22:46:00.000-07:00

Note: I think I unconsciously started this thread when I blogged about writing about others online, if it was okay if they didn’t know. I’m thinking I will work my way through all of my best buds, in no particular order, and just see what happens, how it feels, how they feel when they find out.

One of my best friends is sleeping in our guest bedroom even as I write this.

She is a new friend. We met through our local writing group. We spent a couple of years connected simply by that, admiring and providing input on each other’s work. Hers, a suspense novel. Mine, the hippie novel that I’ve been working on for years. (By the time we met, I was finished with my memoir, although she did read it on the side and provided invaluable feedback.)

Then that changed. We started telling each other stuff, personal stuff, life-altering stuff. It just poured out of both of us. And from that our bond was built.

Carol and Julie will appreciate that I’ve got her talking like we used to — assigning boyfriends and taking a meeting and creating significances (like the Tuesday virus, which for Claudie and me is October 6th). Makes me feel at home.

So… she’s making a major life change. Which I’ve been privy to for months, listened and offered advice, but still unnerves me. She is getting divorced and moving up to the Phoenix area, two-plus hours north of GV. She landed a great job and found a nice apartment. She’s excited and I’m happy for her, although sad to lose her from my local circle.

She was a driving force here: facilitator of our writing group, vice president of our SSA chapter and my right hand woman in all of that. She keeps reminding me that no one is irreplaceable, and I know that’s true. But she feels irreplaceable to me.

Yeah, yeah, people will step up to “fill” the jobs she’s been doing. But will they do them as well as she has? Can I count on them as I have on her? Not likely, and I will have to be patient and flexible. I hate when that happens.

Most of all I will miss the constant contact with her, seeing her every week, that I could tell her anything and be heard, and vice versa. I know we’ll remain friends, that we’ll visit in both directions. But I won’t be able to call her up and say “help me pick out some make-up” or “come with me to choose my new glasses” or I just need to see you. As in “take a meeting.”

I never thought I’d have another friend who meant as much to me as the ones I have since childhood and early adulthood, the ones with whom I have 30, 40, 50 years of history.

But it happened.

Bye-bye Claudie! Even though I know it’s not forever. You go girl, follow your dream. I know we’ll stay in touch and never lose that connection.

THE BEST WRITER ANGST MOVIES

2011-08-28T20:13:00.000-07:00

My next weekly project...

It won't last more than ten weeks, and then I'll move on to something else. (I'm thinking adoption-themed movies.)

Julie & Julia is a fantastic movie, contrasting old school publishing (Julia) with new school blogging (Julie). I know nothing about cooking or recipes. But the angst of publishing on any topic interests me.

Highly recommend this movie to writers, chefs, eaters, and anyone who appreciates a good movie. Meryl Streep, Stanley Tucci and Amy Adams are awesome!

GIRL, RUINED

2011-08-28T16:07:00.000-07:00

This is the most amazing, eloquent, painstakingly honest story I have ever read. Written by Lee Strickland, appeared in The Sun Magazine, about her experience of giving birth as an unwed teenager, relinquishing her son, life afterward, and ultimately her reunion. Unfortunately you can only read the beginning here I will mail a print copy to anyone who asks. It's just that good. If this is representative of the magazine's articles, I must subscribe! I also learned that Strickland is working on a memoir... very powerful writer!

MOTHER/CHILD BOND

2011-08-24T23:08:00.000-07:00

I defy anyone to deny the mother/child bond after watching this...

Cat Mom Hugs Her Kitten

Yeah, I know. My cat behaves the same way with me. I am his adoptive mom. But imagine how far more comforted he would be if I were his familiar, furry, kitty mom.

MUSIC LEGENDS

2011-08-23T22:08:00.000-07:00

I've decided to discontinue my weekly posting of Music Legends. I hope you've enjoyed it and seen some of your favs (not all ended up as actual posts, and since the pictures were changed weekly, you can't find them in the archives).

I leave you with The Band, Bob Dylan's one-time back-up group, who later went out on their own.

This video, from Woodstock, represents the times, a turning point in my life: The Band at Woodstock

Enjoy, or at least try to understand.

ALICE

2011-08-23T21:44:00.000-07:00

I’m writing about a friend, who knows about my blog but doesn’t read here. She has no idea what I’m writing about her, which I’ve done before, and I don’t feel the least bit bad about it.

Alice is one of my closest friends of late. We are both writers, in the same writing groups, and evolved into being friends. She is in her early eighties, close to being my mother or father’s age, and yet we clicked. We feel comfortable telling each other personal stuff, knowing it will go no further.

She reminds me of my Auntie Em, who died four years ago. Not identical, but with the same spunk, sense of humor, and (to me) strange worries that I am able to hear and respond to with compassion. Perhaps she fills that void for me. She has two sons, no daughters, so maybe I fill that void for her.

When we first discovered our love for each other, she suggested we be “play mother and daughter.” Since I didn’t have a very positive feeling about mother/daughter relationships, I told her, “let’s be play sisters instead.”

And so we are.

We see each other at our regular writing group, three times a month, and sometimes in between for lunch. We email regularly, and talk on the phone on occasion. She is in my Dancing With The Stars “club,” which has only three members (Alice, my cousin Pam, and me), where we email our impressions of each episode and the results. If anyone wants to join our DWTS club, let me know.

Next, I am going to write about my friend Claudie, who is moving away next week. Also a writer, with whom I have become very close, and mourn this loss. Not just because she is the best proofreader on earth.

Even though I know I’ll see her again. But not as often... sigh... She reads my blog. I wonder if she’ll object…

BLOGGING: IS ALL FAIR?

2011-08-23T17:48:00.000-07:00

There’s been quite the kerfuffle going on over at First Mother Forum — hundreds of comments on several recent posts. One topic that came up stayed with me: whether it’s fair and ethical for a mother or adult adoptee to blog about the other and their relationship (or non).

Yes, I write about my son here. How can I blog about adoption and reunion without including him? I don’t use his full name, nor do I post pictures of him. And no, as far as I know he is not aware of it. I’m okay with him finding out (and he could if he simply googled me). I think he would like some (probably not all) of what I’ve written. Actually, I’m sure he would appreciate how much he is on my mind, even though we’ve been estranged for more than three years.

I write about my grandkids, too, and my father. They don’t know. I write about friends who both know and don’t know. But only in so far as they are in my life. I do not reveal anything private about them.

In my online travels, I’ve seen that many adoption bloggers include posts about their mothers/grown children/other family members, even if they are not (or have never been) in a relationship with them. Is that ethical? Is it fair?

I’ve had an “Internet presence” for more than a decade, long before I starting blogging. I had magazine articles published that were also online, facilitated a PACER support group that was promoted on their website, and so on.

One of the reasons I was tentative about Facebook was that I knew my son was on it and knew he had looked for me there. I don’t think he uses it much anymore. I was worried about friending my DIL and granddaughter. But I did and will let the chips fall…

Next step, the website for my book (coming soon). Will Twitter be in my future? Or Google+. I gotta do what I gotta do, as soon as I work through my next round of nervousness.

In the meantime, I don’t feel bad about anything I’ve done so far.

REJECTION: ANOTHER INTERESTING QUESTION

2011-08-21T21:23:00.000-07:00

What constitutes rejection in adoption reunion?

IMHO, it means refusing contact from the get-go. Not wanting to reunite or have any sort of relationship. But is that a personal rejection? Or something else? I think fear is a biggie: of having one's life disrupted, of the emotions that might surface, of what might be expected, of dealing with the past. And I think these fears occur in both mothers and adult adoptees.

What if the parties meet and then one doesn't wish to go further, refuses contact from then on? I still believe this is not personal, not necessarily a rejection. After all, they still don't know each other. Fear strikes again. By then emotions are running high and either or both may be overwhelmed and need time to process. I've seen many cases where minds have changed years later.

So, what if they indeed enter reunion, take a stab at a relationship, and then one or both pull away? Is that rejection? Again, I think not. Those who don't run away at the start often experience a "honeymoon" of sorts. Revel in a blissful time of reconnection and getting to know each other. We all know that honeymoons don't last forever. Real life intervenes, changes occur, personalities emerge, and, as in all relationships, conflicts are bound to raise their ugly heads. Some can be easily solved, some worked on mutually over time. Others loom and seem unresolvable.

The first time my son cut off contact, I found a "rejected birthmothers" site online. It didn't take long for me to realize that I didn't belong there. My relationship with my son was conflicted and difficult, but I couldn't identify with seriously difficult, even dangerous, situations I read about.

My son and I had a wonderful initial reunion. We worked through a lot of issues in the beginning. But there came a point when we could no long work on them together. His behavior toward me (and honestly, toward many of those in his life) became intolerable. I set boundaries that he did not respect, he pushed buttons in a attempt to get me to comply, and eventually threatened me.

Did I reject him? He would probably say so. What I believe I did was say "no" to the manipulative behavior, temporarily cease communication, and require changes before I would consider re-entering the relationship. So far (and I do have know what he's been up to, perhaps unfortunately for him), I haven't seen anything that gives me confidence.

I will always love him. I will always hold out hope that things between us can change. That, to me, is not rejection. Certainly not of him as a person, as my son. I am reminded of advice to parents I once read. Make sure your children know that even though you don't like their BEHAVIOR, you still love THEM. So they don't think that bad behavior removes your love. I suspect that works better on toddlers and young children. My son never seemed to get that.

In any case, I refuse to say I rejected him. I did not. I welcomed into my life. Nor do I think he rejected me when he became unhappy with me as a mother.

In truth, we are victims of adoption, with no history to fall back on, no foundation on which to grow a normal, healthy relationship. Despite our hopes, the dream of reunion doesn't always come true.

A POST SCRIPT

2011-08-17T19:42:00.000-07:00

RE: How I Almost Killed My Mother

"I once had the feeling I would dig my Mother's grave with my writing, but I later discovered this was vanity on my part. They are hardier than we think." Flannery O'Connor

(Thanks, Marianne)

I'm considering working the "How I Almost" post into a full-fledged essay about the fears surrounding writing memoir. Maybe even a workshop for a writing conference...

WHEN DOES REUNION BEGIN?

2011-08-16T20:33:00.000-07:00

I've been considering Suz's question posed on Reunion vs. Relationship "Does that mean I am not in reunion since my daughter never granted a re-meeting and only corresponded via email? What do I call my status?"

Here's what I've come up with:

If you find or are found by the mother/father/daughter/son/sibling/
other that you are searching for and reach out to them, you are not in reunion until reciprocal contact is made. If contact is denied or ignored? Then, no, still not yet a reunion.

However, I believe that any two-way communication between the parties, whether through letters, email or phone comprises a reunion. You are in touch, something that wasn't so before. Even if an in-person meet doesn't happen right away, that's still at least a reconnect. Sometimes it's years before families can make arrangements or afford to travel to meet. Sometimes they aren't emotionally ready. But it's still possible. It's still the goal, even if only held by one of the parties. That, to me, constitutes a reunion.

If contact ceases at some point, does that mean the reunion is over? I say no. How many first parents and adoptees have had huge gaps in contact, only to have it start up again? Sometimes they need time away, to reflect or heal. I haven't had spoken to my son in three years (with good cause), after more than 12 "in reunion." Yes, we met and were close all those years. It's not necessarily over. It's simply not working right now.

This happens in families that were always together. I know it does. Something causes a riff and they don't speak for a long time. That doesn't mean they aren't a family anymore. I'm thinking same with a reunion. It still exists.

Others may define reunion differently. Perhaps I'll suggest this as a topic for First Mother Forum, since they kinda started the discussion.

Issy says this: "I don’t think reunion happens until there is a face to face. That’s how I feel. Sarah Saffian, whose book I thoroughly enjoyed is often villified by first mothers because she insisted on a two year correspondence before she did the face to face reunion. The nerve of an adoptee calling the shots in her own reunion... I wonder what her interpretation is of what qualifies as reunion."

BTW, I think Issy has a very sensible analysis of reunion relationships going at her blog, beginning with Things I've Learned. Keep reading through to parts two and three.

ROCK DEFINITIONS OF LOVE

2011-08-15T21:09:00.000-07:00

I just posted Pat Benatar as this week's music legend. Even though she's had many fab hits, I chose this one:

We are young, heartache to heartache we stand
No promises, no demands
Love Is A Battlefield
We are strong, no one can tell us we're wrong
Searchin' our hearts for so long, both of us knowing
Love Is A Battlefield

You're beggin' me to go, you're makin' me stay
Why do you hurt me so bad?
It would help me to know
Do I stand in your way, or am I the best thing you've had?
Believe me, believe me, I can't tell you why
But I'm trapped by your love, and I'm chained to your side

We're losing control
Will you turn me away or touch me deep inside?
And before this gets old, will it still feel the same?
There's no way this will die
But if we get much closer, I could lose control
And if your heart surrenders, you'll need me to hold.

Methinks a kinda rough and pessimistic look at love.

Way different from Barbra Streisand's "Love, soft as an easy chair" in A Star Is Born, which I've always thought was schmaltzy.

Shouldn't it be somewhere in between an easy chair and a battlefield?

I welcome musical references that more clearly definite love.

HOW I ALMOST KILLED MY MOTHER

2011-08-14T19:47:00.000-07:00

I came close so many times. At least according to my father.

“If any of our friends find out you’re pregnant, it will kill your mother.”

“Just don’t tell my family about (finding) Josh. I would kill your mother.”

“You haven’t told your mother’s family in Virginia, have you? That would surely kill her.”

My mom only pressured me with my dad’s well-being once. When I moved home after my pregnancy, she said I couldn’t see a doctor for follow-up care. “Because doctors talk and word will get out. That would ruin your father’s reputation.” (At least she spared me causing his death.) BTW, hers was the only “request” that I honored. I didn’t see a doctor for the next year.

The rest I struggled with. But eventually did what I had to do. I told.

I’d lived with the secret long enough. Once I reunited with my son, my loyalty to them changed to him … and, yes, to myself.

My mother didn’t die after any of these egregious acts on my part. In fact, my refusal to comply forced my parents to adapt or lose me forever. If only I’d realized that I could object and disobey sooner.

When I first finished my book (an early draft), I offered it to my sister, brother and dad to read. My dad said, “Oh gosh, I have such a stack of things to read right now, I probably wouldn’t have time.” (Huh?! My mom was alive then.) My sister read it and said it explained a lot of things. My brother (true to our family tradition) emailed me, “You can’t publish this. People will be hurt.”

And people weren’t already?

He told me to never speak of it again. That was several years ago.

I have yet to tell my immediate family that my story is going to be published. Does that mean I’m still afraid of their reaction? Probably. But now it’s a done deal. They can choose to embrace it or not. I’m thinking no one’s going to die because of it.

My mom passed away in 2004. A blood clot took her while she was still in the hospital, two weeks after a successful back surgery.

REUNION VERSUS RELATIONSHIP

2011-08-12T17:27:00.000-07:00

I’ve always said that words are important and strive to use just the right one, whether I’m writing or talking.

I learned something important today from blogger Issycat at Adopt This.

She wrote: “There is all this talk about failed reunions. Failed Reunions. Everybody’s got a failed reunion.
I beg to differ. My reunion did not fail. It was weird but it wasn’t a failure. See. I view reunion as that first initial meeting. Everything after that is a relationship."

True dat.

Read the entire post at:

The Blame Game

SELF-PORTRAITS

2011-08-11T21:02:00.000-07:00

I am not fond of having my picture taken. Yes, it can work in a spontaneous situation. I will not resist. I will cooperate, smile and pose as best I can.

Outside of that, I am a photography maniac! I love taking pictures — of people, animals, scenery, just about anything. I simply prefer to be behind the camera.

Video? Fogedaboudit! If there’s one thing I hate more than pictures of me, it’s moving pictures of me. I am even more critical of my voice than my image.

It’s not that I think I’m ugly. I’m okay with how I look. After all, I've lived with it my whole life. Although I must admit it was better, in my humble opinion, twenty or thirty or forty years ago, pre-wrinkles, droopy neck, etc.

On Saturday, I am having a professional portrait taken, for use on my website, book jacket and whatever else I’ll need it for as an author.

My friend Claudie helped me choose what tops (head and shoulder shots only) to take with, advised me on make-up (which I hope to get professionally done, since I’m not very skilled along those lines), and will go with me to lighten the mood. Lots of FB friends have also offered advice, like no print blouses and to wear lipstick and darken my eyebrows a bit.

Hoping that I’ll be “ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille” — and that dude has a soft focus feature on his camera!

Reminds me of a movie quote from one of my favorite movies, “Tootsie,” where Dustin Hoffman gets a TV role as a woman:

Producer: I'd like to make her look a little more attractive, how far can you pull back?

Cameraman: How do you feel about Cleveland?

Wish me luck!

WHAT FREAKS ME OUT

2011-08-08T23:13:00.000-07:00

I don’t like spiders, snakes, swimming in deep water, driving in torrential storms, and any number of other things.

But I’d rather face any of those over knowing or hearing about an unwed teenaged girl.

This scares me above all else. No doubt because I’ve been there.

I know that if she is 18 or 19 (as I was), she is adult and can make her own decisions.

AS IF!

Even today, the pressures are huge: 1) to get an abortion (now that it’s legal, which it wasn’t in my day); 2) to have the baby and give it up for adoption (there’s the hole that I fell into); 3) to have the baby and raise it with support from the father and/or her or his family (nonexistent in my case because an unmarried pregnancy was the worst of shames).

Think whatever you will, but my reaction is: unless you have number 3, go with number 1, if you are within three months of pregnancy, and number 2 should be the last possible option.

I’ve gulped and palpitated every single time I’ve learned of this situation ever since I lost my son. It doesn’t matter who or what the situation is. I just freak.

But never so much as now, when my granddaughter is 15, built like she’s 21, and so vulnerable to the pressures of love and affection.

I don’t know what I’d advise if she gets pregnant in the next three years. Probably the same as I stated above: 1, 3, 2. I think I would totally freak out if she was pressured into 2.

This can’t happen again.

Talk about freaking out.

I’ll hold a good thought that her father is continuing to provide her with protection. Early sex is a given in this day and age. Pregnancy doesn’t have to be.

MENTAL ILLNESS OR ADOPTION TRAUMA?

2011-08-06T23:50:00.000-07:00

Unfortunately, there are still many mental health professionals that aren’t aware of the effects being relinquished and growing up adopted can have.

Many adoptees are misdiagnosed as bipolar due to that tendency not to recognize the effects of adoption. There’s always a “diagnosis of the week” and bipolar is it right now. It used to be borderline personality. Even though many of the symptoms of borderline personality and bipolar can be very similar to the coping behaviors adoptees might exhibit, the source for the adopted person is a real separation—a physical and psychological separation from the mother. Therefore, the treatment must be different.

Adoption is only looked at as such a wonderful thing. Many therapists have bought into this belief, this idea of “Well, you were adopted, so if you had good parents why should that be a problem?” Everyone thinks the substitution of another parent makes everything okay, but that’s just not true. There is no worse time for a baby to be separated from a mother than right at birth because the baby knows nothing but that mother—she is the whole world. Cutting the umbilical cord doesn’t untie the psychological connection. So when the baby is separated from the mother and that psychological guidance is cut off, it feels like chaos. There are a lot of things that need to happen to a baby after birth. For instance, the birth hormones need to recede. If the baby is anxious, that’s not going to happen. The result of this trauma is that the child’s neurons actually connect in a different way. This is why many adoptees always have a lot of adrenaline pumping through their body; this is why they’re quite often experiencing fight or flight symptoms.

— Nancy Verrier, therapist specializing in adoption issues, and author of “The Primal Wound” and “Coming Home to Self,” in an interview on Adoption Mosaic

Nancy Verrier was my first therapist in 1997, whom I sought out once I found myself drowning in reunion issues. I was fortunate to live in the SF Bay Area where she practices. I read her book, “The Primal Wound,” before I began seeing her. Like most first mothers, I was in shock to learn of the damage caused to my child due to relinquishment and adoption — not that she placed blame. She understood the coercion that mothers endured in order to fulfill the needs of the market for adoptable children. She was and is dedicated to repairing that damage.

Which is complicated.

Are the problems that some adopted adults have genetic or the result of having been separated from their mothers? It’s difficult, if not impossible, to know for certain.

My family doesn’t have a history of mental illness, and I have no knowledge of my son’s father’s medical history.

And what about the adoptee’s experience in their new family? My son reports abuse, which I’ll never know if it’s true or not. At the very least, he says that at a young age he didn’t feel as if he fit and even asked if who his real parents were. They denied that he was adopted, according to him, and he only learned the truth (accidentally) when they took him for counseling at age 12. Which is when, again according to his story, his bad behavior began.

I understand the huge trust issues that plagued him at that point. This was thirty years ago, and I hope that today adoptive parents have been educated enough not to hide the fact of their child’s adoption. Most experts believe that it should be mentioned even before the child understands the concept, with more information provided as they become able to comprehend. That their questions should be answered honestly.

And on that note, I’ve got to say that any reference to “grown in my heart,” “chosen child,” or your mother “loved you but couldn’t take care of you,” is just plain dishonest. Most adoptive parents don’t know the real circumstances of their child’s mother. Chosen means someone else didn’t “choose” them. They start to think that they were not good enough to be kept. How awful is that? Professing their mother’s love (“she loved you so much that she gave you up”) causes them to equate love with abandonment, and they will continue to fear it in future relationships.

Four years ago, my son was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. Something my next therapist had come to suspect based on my reports of his behavior. So I was familiar with the disorder when his therapist confirmed it. I knew it was only treatable though therapy and behavior modification, as in not curable.

He immediately began using that as his excuse for anything he did, as in “I can’t help it, I’m sick.” When I protested along the way, he asked me if he were physically disabled, such as paraplegic, would I not stand by him?

By then, I had already endured considerable abuse at the hand of “his disease.”

He has more recently been diagnosed with DID, Dissociative Identity Disorder, which has the following symptoms. (I’ve added an * to those I’ve witnessed or have known to occur.)

• Multiple mannerisms, attitudes and beliefs which are not similar to each other*
• Unexplainable headaches and other body pains*
• Distortion or loss of subjective time
• Depersonalization*
• Derealization*
• Severe memory loss
• Depression*
• Flashbacks of abuse/trauma
• Sudden anger without a justified cause*
• Frequent panic/anxiety attacks*
• Unexplainable phobias
• Auditory of the personalities inside their mind
• Paranoia*

DID was once called “multiple personality disorder,” which doesn't seem to apply to my son. Although I’ve read that some adoptee’s develop a “split” — between what they feel to be their true self (what they were born to be) and what they feel they are expected to be in their adoptive families.

When we first met, he told me things that ultimately proved not to be true. For example, serving in the military and being religious. He later explained that he thought I would those things would impress me. He tried to guess who I was before meeting me and acted accordingly.

I have often felt as if I were “walking on eggshells” in an effort to keep our relationship going. I believe that his ex-wife (who must continue to deal with him since they have a son together) and his daughter (who lives with and loves him) are attempting the same. While my granddaughter was here, she admitted to being careful how she responded to his texts, wording them just right, so as not to upset him. She said, “because of his disease, he might get angry.”

Talk about keeping your loved ones in a stranglehold.

I think this explains why I’m staying away. At least for now.

WHEN I CONSIDER RECONSIDERING

2011-08-04T18:51:00.000-07:00

”I will not make the same mistakes that you did
I will not let myself
Cause my heart so much misery
I will not break the way you did,
You fell so hard
I've learned the hard way
To never let it get that far

Because of you
I never stray too far from the sidewalk
Because of you
I learned to play on the safe side so I don't get hurt
Because of you
I find it hard to trust not only me, but everyone around me
Because of you
I am afraid”

— Because Of You, Kelly Clarkson

Every now and then, I get an email from my son. Mostly expressing that he loves and misses me, sometimes asking if enough time has passed that we might start over.

I love him, I always have and always will, but I don’t miss him. Does that make any sense? All I can offer is that my life is more peaceful and sane without him in it.

I did 12 years in reunion before I got to the point that I couldn’t take it anymore.

I posted the song above because being in his life has made me afraid. Something I’d never felt before.

We began locking our doors, even when we were home (at my husband’s insistance) because of him. We got caller ID. I’m careful not to reveal too much information to those who are in contact with him. I friended my granddaughter and (ex) daughter-in-law on Facebook with some trepidation.

Pretty sad, huh?

It’s not about time, as he assumes. It’s about his behavior, which hasn’t changed much since we’ve been estranged. He continues to use women to his advantage, manipulate everyone in his life, and abuse his children emotionally. I know this because of his ex. Good for me, not so good for him.

Honestly, I don’t know what it will take. When I’ll feel open — and not afraid — enough to make the move back into his life.

At least he knows that I didn’t reject him from that start, as some first mothers do out of fear or shame or secrecy. I welcomed him with open arms. I shared his existence with everyone. I was a proud mother for more than decade.

Maybe that will come true again. I just don’t know.

SO HAPPY TOGETHER

2011-08-03T22:06:00.000-07:00

Imagine me and you, I do
I think about you day and night, it's only right
To think about the girl you love and hold her tight
So happy together

If I should call you up, invest a dime
And you say you belong to me and ease my mind
Imagine how the world could be, so very fine
So happy together

I can't see me lovin' nobody but you
For all my life
When you're with me, baby the skies'll be blue
For all my life

This is a boy/girl love song that meant a lot to me in the sixties, when it was popular and I was coming up. Today I dedicate it to my granddaughter Naomi.

ENRICHMENT

2011-08-02T23:11:00.000-07:00

Enrichment, according to the online Free Dictionary:
To make rich or richer
To make fuller, more meaningful, or more rewarding
To add fertilizer to

Tonight a friend told me that she thought the experience of reuniting with my son had enriched my life.

Huh, I thought, then responded, “well, maybe at first.”

She further commented that I had been enriched by writing my memoir about the experience and that other women would read it and be enriched.

I still wasn’t getting the “enriched” thing. To me, the loss of my son to adoption was a traumatic and unnecessary event, for which we both suffered. Finding each other was joyful and provided some level of closure, but for the last few years it’s not been what I would call enriching.

If my book helps other mothers and educates the public about the impacts of adoption and the difficulties of reunion, then I guess that could be considered enriching their lives.

But I was still having trouble with the word.

My thesaurus offers: augment, enhance, develop, deepen. Okay, I sorta get it, that my experience as written in my book or told to friends might develop, enhance, or deepen their understanding of adoption or who I am.

Let me just say that this friend has no like experience. However, I believe that she has learned from me that adoption is not necessarily a wonderful thing, and in fact, can forever mar the life of the surrendering mother. Even if they later find and reconnect with their child.

Finally she said (perhaps in reaction to my confusion) that knowing me has enriched her life.

All right, I’ll buy that. Quite a compliment, in fact. Knowing her has enriched my life as well, and I told her so. I can honestly say that I feel the same way about a number of friends and family members. They have augmented, enhanced, developed and deepened my life. I believe that people, as well as experiences, do that.

As for adoption, I think the third definition is most apt: to add fertilizer (I’m thinking seeped in manure) and hope something grows. Same with reunion.

While I am glad for the full-circle of knowing my son, I can’t bring myself to feel enriched by any part of that 40 years. Other than finding the courage to put it into words.

GRANDPARENTHOOD, PART 2

2011-08-01T21:51:00.001-07:00

In my last post, I focused on Naomi. She is always on my mind because her father and I are estranged and I worry about her. They say it’s the squeaky wheel that gets the grease.

It’s high time that I write about the grandson who doesn’t worry us: Jordan, my stepson Jeff’s son, who is 16.

He was about a month old when we first met him. (Where did the time go?!) The cutest baby ever and a sweet child. Even though he was a rascal, which I attribute to being the second child — my hub, who is 18 months younger than his brother, was a handful — or maybe Jordan inherited this from his grandfather.

Memories: When he visited us at about age three, he loved racing and sliding down our hardwood floor halls, usually bashing into the walls along the way. By the time he left, he looked like a battered child and we feared arrest! When he was about five, we discovered his gift for math. We were just chatting and he said something like, “when I’m X old, Logan (his half-brother) will be X and Samantha (his half-sister) will be X.” I took the bait and asked him, “when you’re X, how old will Logan and Samantha be?” This went on into the teens, twenties, thirties and hundreds, and every time he got it right. I asked Jeff, “did you know about this?” “Yes,” he said.

We had many more visits, both at his home and ours, and we watched him grow. He played soccer for a while, but his interest in sports escalated when he started playing basketball. During one visit to our home, we enrolled him in a half-day basketball camp for the few days he was with us. He was amazing to watch: his enthusiasm and skill, even though he was on the short side then. Since then, we watched him compete in a regional game in Phoenix. By then, he was playing point guard, a position that requires an overall understanding of the game and directing of other players on the team.

When he started high school, he soon got moved from the freshman basketball team to Varsity, skipping Junior Varsity. It’s hard work, lots of practices and weight training, but he is dedicated. By the time he’s a senior, we predict that college scouts will be eye-balling him for scholarships.

The good news is that Jordan is not just a jock. He is an honor student, scoring in the top of his class in all subjects, most especially math. In fact, second only to a senior who is going to MIT!

I love that he’s proud of his academic accomplishments, that it’s no longer uncool to be smart, and that most of his friends are also in Advanced Placement classes.

Best of all, he has cecome a sweet young man. When we talk to him on the phone, he is conversant, open and funny. He and his grandpa have a great time kidding each other. He loves spending time with his dad. How many teenagers do? They share a love for heavy metal music and have great times together at concerts.

His parents — Jeff and his stepmother, Lainey — deserve the majority of the credit for how Jordan has turned out. They value education and have supported his interest in sports, even when it takes a big chunk of time.

We are as proud of them as we are of Jordan. They have truly made a difference in his life.

We look forward to seeing where our grandson will go from here. As he once told his grandpa, “all of the doors are open to me.” I wish every kid felt that way.

GRANDPARENTHOOD

2011-07-31T16:29:00.000-07:00

We’ve known our grandson Jordan since he was a baby. Now he’s 16 and although we haven’t seen each other more often than once a year, we feel like we know him, that we are closely connected. Not like we wouldn’t have an even closer relationship if we’d lived nearby while he was growing up. But since that was not to be, we’re content with what we have and hope it continues to grow.

My granddaughter Naomi was with us for two days. I’ve also known her since she was born. But have seen her even less often — sometimes years between visits, then for a while every week, the last few years sporadic contact, dependent upon her father’s whims. She doesn’t remember everything we’ve experienced together like I do. Still, we have an incredible bond. Whenever we see each other, it’s like no time has passed, for which I am very grateful.

Despite her history — her mother deserting her at 10 months, coming back into her life and then leaving again, the number of “mothers” (her father’s wives and girlfriends) she’s had in her life — she is amazingly well-adjusted.

I’ve worried about her. And now am delighted to see what a fine young woman she is becoming. She was a joy to have as a guest — insisted on loading the dishwasher after breakfast, offered to buy our lunch while we were out yesterday, said please and thank you at every instance, and showed me that she had made her bed and asked if it was good enough (Hello! I’m not all about hospital corners!).

She is very attached to my dad, her great-grandfather, and he to her, even though they’ve seen each other even less often. She was also sweet to her Aunt Debby when we met for dinner last night. I think Naomi has come to value extended family.

I’ve posted pictures on Facebook. If you don’t do that, let me know and I’ll send you pictures via email.

She told my dad that she wants him to walk her down the aisle, along with her father, when she gets married. He said he’ll do his best to be there, given that it’s (hopefully) several years away. What a wonderful moment that would be.

Is that when her father, my son, and I will finally reconnect? I don’t know. He’s working hard to get me back into his life, but I am still not sure that it’s safe, good for my sanity. I love him, always will, but I don’t miss him. I lived through 26 years without him. I longed for him. But after 15 years (more like 12 since we spoke), I have seriously doubts we can ever have any kind of “normal” mother-son relationship. (As if that’s ever possible after adoption… I know it does happen, but I’m beginning to think it’s rare.)

Whatever happens down the road, I will always treasure my relationship with Naomi. I feel sure that it will last, no matter what happens between my son and me.

EAST COAST ADVENTURE

2011-07-28T19:19:00.000-07:00

We returned from a week (actually five days, if you don’t count two travel days) with family on the East Coast: Maryland and Virginia.

First, our nephew Ian’s wedding to the lovely Erica at the Naval Academy chapel in Annapolis — side benefit being many Roessles in one place. I must say, the R boys and girls are a hoot! We hadn’t seen them (and then, not as many) since our niece Raina’s wedding in Los Angeles in March 2010. It is a rare occasion when all three Roessle brothers (Bob, Henry and Ron). Our nephews, Rob and Mike, and niece Jennifer (who we hadn’t seen since her wedding in 2001) were also there. Her two daughters, Alexandra and Michaela, were flower girls in the wedding.

When Michaela met Henry for the first time, she told her mother, “he’s Poppy’s twin.” Meaning their grandfather Bob. They do look quite a bit alike (just 18-months age difference) and we called them “the twins” the rest of the visit.

We ate delicious crabs on the waterfront, enjoyed one of the best steak dinners ever, and closed down the bar at the hotel both Friday and Saturday nights (Sat. after the reception). How many times have I advised, “don’t drink with the youngsters?” and yet we did because they are simply irresistible and paid the price in the morning. As my mother-in-law (Henry’s dear mother Anna) used to say, “But you had fun, right?” Yes, yes, we did!

Next, we drove to Leesburg, Virginia, to my cousin Pam’s. There we had a gathering of the Kendall clan — starting with a fun gathering at my cousin Kendall’s (my Auntie Em’s daughter), which included my cousins Dave and Jo. We hadn’t seen each other in four years. A couple days later, Dave treated us to a trolley tour of Fredericksburg, where there are many Civil War sites. Pam and I also got some girl/shopping time, during which she encouraged me to buy a pair of very cool purple Converse sneakers (like she had to twist my arm!).

I asked her if they fit into my new “author image” and she said yes, absolutely, purple shoes could become your trademark. Gotta love my cuz! (I buy shoes every time I visit, plus Hellman’s mayo and Gravy Master for the Hankster.)

A couple of side notes before I sign off:

I forgot what real humidity is like! I’ve lived in Hawaii and Florida, and it does get humid in Arizona during the July and August monsoons. But holy mackerel, 100 degrees with 100% humidity… yikes! The good news is that I didn’t need lotion on my now reptilian skin the whole time.

Hertz gave us a car with a GPS. We’ve never used one before and I swear we will never rent a car in an unfamiliar area without it. “Matilda,” as we called the lovely woman’s voice who directed us, saved our bacon a few times. I know I could buy a Garmin, a portable GPS, but I know my way around here, so it would be a waste unless we go out of town.

Finally, I love Southwest. Bags fly free and they are almost always on time. They don’t feed you anything except peanuts, pretzels, and crackers, but that’s fine as long as you know to eat before or bring your own sandwiches. So this has nothing to do with them. However, on the last leg of our return home, they announced that they would not being serving peanuts (only the other items), because someone on the flight has a peanut allergy.

Huh? Were they worried that someone next to them might have the peanuts and force them to eat one? Do peanuts permeate the air like cigarettes, as in second-hand peanut exposure? I just think this is really, really weird. What if someone had a scent allergy? Would they sniff you before you got on the plane and turn you away if you had on perfume?

It’s good to go, but it’s good to be home. Our cats, Bindi and Snoop, agree. They’ve been celebrating ever since we picked them up at the kennel. Lots of purring and meowing and begging for treats (proof that we still love them, I guess).

Thanks for your patience during my absence. More soon…

ALL ACCORDING TO PLAN

2011-07-19T17:13:00.000-07:00

I’ve been a bit over the top lately, actually maybe WAY over, since I got the news that my memoir will be published. And somewhat uni-focused. But I figure I’m entitled.

After nearly a decade of writing and pitching to agents and publishers, who wouldn’t be doing a nonstop happy dance?!

As I wrote before, the timing is perfect.

I tell my fellow struggling authors that every rejection puts you closer to that one acceptance. And it only takes one. Even though I didn’t necessarily believe that myself as I was dealing with the emotional depths of rejection.

Every serious rejection (as in they asked for chapters or the whole manuscript after my query) I’ve ever received — many from the cream of the crop among agents and editors — been kind enough to provide feedback, and admit that while the story is compelling and the writing outstanding, it came down to the difficulty in this market of selling memoir by anyone who is not a celebrity.

Even though I have pointed out that there are at least six million birthmothers (and growing unfortunately) in the U.S. alone. And who knows how many in foreign countries. Add that to at least six million adoptees, birthfathers, adoptive parents times two, and extended family (also impacted by adoption), and you have yourself a market. A niche! I believe that I know how to reach them.

Not to mention the general reading public who are interested in memoir, women’s issues, or simple a great book!

I’m working on my website and it’s coming along. Still needs some tweaking and more content. I expect to announce it for viewing in early August. Also will be working on a FB Fan Page, although I don’t quite get how that different from a regular page. “They” say I have to have one, so okay? Some say I have to twitter as well… oh lordy, please, one thing at a time. I’m old and slow.

I have secured commitments to read and hopefully blurb/review my book from four of the biggest and brightest stars in adoption issues, reunion memoirs and the like. Let me just yell our my own YAHOOOOOO! For the most part, support in the adoption community is really something.

I’ve worked hard and it’s all coming together as it should.

More soon…

THE NERVOUS SIDE

2011-07-16T23:13:00.000-07:00

We went to dinner at a neighbor’s tonight. She invited a few other friends as well, so we could meet her two lovely daughters and adorable grandkids who are visiting from afar. When she called to ask us, she said something about her daughters being big readers, as she is, and she couldn’t wait to introduce me as her soon-to-be-famous author friend.

I’m still a little gun-shy, even though I’m thrilled that my book is going to be published.

Because this isn’t a novel. It’s MY STORY, ME UNVEILED… a soul-bearing, brutally-honest work. A lot of people with whom I’m sharing this news don’t know my history. That I’d given up a child for adoption or anything about my reunion.

They don’t know me. I fear their reactions, ranging from “what a wonderful gift you gave a childless couple” (ugggg!). to “how great that you found him” — especially since our reunion is no longer going “great.” I get a lot of questions and I try to answer them honestly. I don’t want to set anyone up for a hearts-and-flowers adoption story.

If and when they read the book, they will see that adoption isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, nor do reunions resolve the pain on both sides. Or they’ll think I’m a total nutcase and not want to know me anymore. I’m okay with either outcome.

But here’s the deal. I knew that my book would expose me in many personal ways. In fact, when I first started writing it and got feedback/critiques, every credible reader encouraged me to dig deeper, to reveal more about the times, the pressure, my feelings — instead of holding the reader at arm’s length. And that’s what I did. Worked it, rewrote, expanded, until my own blood (and my son’s) was on those pages.

Every now and then, when the reality of being published hits me, I say “yikes!” More like, “OMG, what have you done!” Because people are going to ask — both before and after my book comes out.

Any other author would be grateful for the exposure, right? The opportunity to talk up their book, create buzz.

Oy! (to borrow Suz’s expression). What the hell am I doing? Writing and publishing a book on a topic that is painful to talk about!?!?!

I’ve got a lot of work to do. And not just on the pre-publicity. I’ve got to cop an attitude of comfort (or at least not deer-in-the-headlights discomfort) around talking about this.

The topic didn’t come up at my neighbor’s dinner tonight, for which I am grateful. I’m pretty okay with spilling my beans one- or two-on-one. In a room full of strangers? Not so much. Again, I’ve got to work on that…

FUNMEISTER

2011-07-14T23:36:00.000-07:00

I was thinking tonight about an old friend (who started as a advertising agency client). We haven’t had contact in years and I wonder what he’s up to. I searched for him on FB, but there were too many SR’s and none of the ones I clicked seemed right…

Back in the mid-eighties, we had a fifties party and I invited him, his wife and daughter to join us. They came in full era regalia and spirit, and had a great time. It was a great success all around. People really got into the costume thing and we had a tie for best, between Marilyn Monroe and Howdy Doody. I dressed as a drive-in carhop, minus the roller skates. Also lots of great lip-syncing (the precursor of karaoke) performances that night.

Afterward, my friend Steve said to me, “you must be the funmeister in your family.” He said that he was in his own. Meaning we are the ones who instigate the silliness — the parties, the laughs, the fun.

Indeed I was! We used to have some sort of party every year, whether for Halloween or just for the heck of it. I love costumes and period music. We did the sixties for my 40th birthday — “it was 40 years ago today,” complete with Beatles Sgt. Pepper invitations (I am fine with planning my own bday parties, so they come out just the way I want them to), a seventies/disco party one Halloween, and an Oscar party (where everyone was instructed to come as their favorite movie character from any era, and man, we got some fab creativity at that!). I sprayed troll dolls gold to hand out as prizes for the best costumes (“Headies,” I called them, in honor of Edith Head, the costume designer). Among the multiple winners were Cruella de Ville, Gandhi, Yoda, Cleopatra and her slave boy, the Flintstones, and Shelley Winters in the Poseidon Adventure.

I love how my friends embraced my ridiculous ideas!

I regret that I put my funmeister-ness on hold after I reunited with my son. From then on, our parties turned to more serious themes, like introducing him to our friends at a very normal BBQ and then a Christmas party when he came with my granddaughter. Not like that wasn’t great. But clearly it triggered a change in my style.

All of a sudden I was a mother and a grandmother and I felt the need to start acting like one, whatever that seemed to mean at the time.

We’ve had a few parties since we moved to Green Valley: cocktails or dinners. A couple of times I’ve included games or trivia quizzes (like Famous Fathers on Father’s Days). But it’s not the same, not as outrageous as I once did.

Am I too old for such ridiculousness? I don’t feel old. Many of our neighbors don’t act old. Should I give it one last go and see what happens?

I liked being the funmeister…

DONE!

2011-07-13T19:40:00.001-07:00

The new and improved write-o-holic! Actually, it’s not new or improved, maybe just a bit more focused. I ended up deleting a lot fewer past posts than I thought I would — around 100 —and still have more than 660 total! Dang, am I prolific!

How many hours do you think it takes to review three years worth of posts? I spread it out over a few days, but I’m guessing 8 total.

I’ve made some good progress on my website and will be announcing that as up to view soon…

The excitement of getting published keeps me motivated!

A MOTHER BY ANY OTHER NAME

2011-07-13T19:25:00.001-07:00

Discovered this article of mine, written in 2007 and published in the PACER newsletter. Was surprised to find that I'd never shared it here. See what you think...

A MOTHER BY ANY OTHER NAME

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.”
William Shakespeare (Romeo & Juliet)

When I relinquished my son for adoption in 1970, my claim to motherhood was gone, erased, a secret from almost everyone in my life. I don’t remember being referred to as anything — “birthmother,” “natural” or “biological” — during the adoption process. If I had shared my secret afterward, I might indeed have been called something: slut, bad mother, or worse (in my opinion) a saint for giving a child to a deserving, infertile couple. Better, I decided, to be nobody.

By the time we reunited twenty-six years later, my son had no other mother except me. He called me “Mom” from the start. I was thrilled, even in my doubt that I deserved the title. The first time I heard the term “birthmother” was when I contacted PACER for support after a year of struggling alone in reunion. I took no offense. Used widely in the adoption/reunion books that I read and by other post-adoption organizations, the word seemed to me an apt descriptor for my circumstances: that I gave birth to, but did not raise, my son.

Only in my recent Internet travels did I discover that a great many birthmothers and adoptees take issue with “b-language” (i.e., birth and biological in reference to the mother, father, and family of origin). Some consider it blatantly disrespectful and dismissive. On “Adoptese,” the message board and chat forum at the Adoption Crossroads Web site (adoptioncrossroads.com), these terms are prohibited. “Natural,” “first,” or simply “mother” are the acceptable labels for women who have “lost children to adoption.”

“When there is a divorce, the adjectives are used for new relationships, not original ones,” said Joe Soll, therapist, author, and founder of Adoption Crossroads. “Why should it be different in adoption? There is no such thing as an ex-mom, ex-dad, ex-sibling, ex-child.”

Wow, I thought to myself, he’s right. If your mother dies, she is still your mother. Any subsequent mother becomes your stepmother. Even if you call a new parent Mom or Dad, you will likely use “step” to clarify the relationship to others.

I began to wonder: Had I been in some sort of weakened and confused state when I so easily accepted the b-mother title? Had all of these authors and organizations fallen prey to adoption industry doctrine? Or were those who objected being overly sensitive? Was this another case of much ado about nothing? I decided an objective look was in order.

A Brief History

“History is hard to know… but even without being sure of ‘history’ it seems entirely reasonable to think that every now and then the energy of a whole generation comes to a head in a long fine flash, for reasons that nobody really understands at the time — and which never explain, in retrospect, what actually happened.”
Hunter S. Thompson (Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas)

As I began my research, I heard/read a lot of rumors about the origins of “birthmother.” The information that follows has been confirmed through multiple sources.

Nobel Prize-winning author, Pearl S. Buck, was the first to use the phrase: “…persons are eager to adopt children, though born out of wedlock, yet society as a whole condemns the unwed mother. If it is better for the child born out of wedlock to stay with his birth mother, what can be done to change social attitudes toward her and her child?” (Excerpt from an article, “We Can Free the Children,” published in Women’s Home Companion, June 1956) An adoption advocate and adoptive parent of multiple children, Buck continued to use the term in subsequent writings on the topic.

Concerned United Birthparents (CUB) founder Lee Campbell is credited with coining the term, as the first to combine the adjective “birth” with mother, father, and parent in 1976. In Rickie Solinger’s book, “Beggars and Choosers,” Campbell is quoted as saying that CUB agreed on “birthparent” because they didn’t want to upset adoptive parents with “natural” and they felt “biological” sounded mechanical. Birth was the key, and as one word, birthparent became like other progenitors, such as grandparent. (Some, however, still insist that “B” by itself simply made for a better acronym.)

By the mid-seventies, social workers were replacing the term “natural” (historically used in adoption documents) with “birth,” citing it as more “adoption-friendly.” Positive Adoption Language (outlined in 1979 by Minnesota social worker, Marietta Spencer), which has since evolved into Respectful Adoption Language (further developed by infertility and adoption educator, Patricia Irwin Johnston), have made birthmother, birthfather, and birthparent the standard descriptors for these roles in the adoption industry. But more about that later…

And The Survey Says…

“When I use a word,” Humpty Dumpty said, in a rather scornful tone, “it means just what I choose it to mean — neither more nor less.” “The question is,” said Alice, “whether you can make words mean so many different things.”
Lewis Carroll (Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland)

My query and the responses don’t by any means comprise a scientific study. I sent an email to my own contacts in the adoption community and posted my “survey” on post-adoption Web sites. A relatively small sample, evenly distributed between adoptees and relinquishing mothers (and one father), plus two adoptive mothers, produced mixed results. Half spoke out against the b-terms, about a third found them appropriate, and the rest were neutral. Of those in reunion, the majority call or are called Mom or Dad, rather than by their first names. Most introduce each other as mother/father, son/daughter, without a qualifier.

A small sampling of responses from all points of view:

From Mothers and Fathers:

I think too much emphasis is placed on the label. In reality, I am my son’s mother and always will be. His adoptive mother is also his mother. But to use labels such as biological mother or adoptive mother, I feel is demeaning.

To me, “birthmother” sounds forced and superficial. My son has called me Mom since the first contact. I feel that the b-parent term contains the assertion that it was only a biological, pregnancy, delivery, passing on of genes sort of experience. For me, it was an emotional disaster, and I was in denial about the effects. If I limited myself to being only a birthmother, wouldn’t I still be in some sort of denial?

(My son) called me Mom from the first moment. I do confess to it feeling kind of weird each time I hear it, like it’s a stage name. I think “natural mother has its downside; does that make his adoptive mother “unnatural?” And would “first mother” make his adoptive mother his “second mother?” In my opinion, “birthmother” describes who I am: I gave birth to him, but I did not “mother” him.

My daughter calls me by my first name. Previously she used the b-term. I asked her not to, but instead to refer to me as her first mother or other mother. She refuses to do this. I feel rejected as her mother. When she calls me the b-word I feel as if my sexual history is being unfairly broadcast.

(Being called Mom) is sometimes awkward for me. I still haven’t accepted the legitimacy of the title.

I have always felt that my rights as the birthfather were limited and entirely secondary to the rights of the child and of those who raised her as their own. The bonds between the child and the genetic parents and the de facto parents are obvious. What one is called doesn’t change history. Once my daughter introduced me to a friend as “my father.” Then she caught herself and explained that I am her biological father, not the father who adopted and raised her. It was still wonderful. She is lucky. She has two fathers.

“Birthmother” is just a term like any other. I don’t think it’s worth being insulted over the genesis of the label. It’s simply shorthand for our circumstance. What about the evolving Black/African-American nomenclature? Changing terminology neither changes the person nor alters the essential experience represented or the pain involved.

I’m not sure that mothers who gave birth to a child who was adopted need to be upset by the term. It does not make them any less of a mother. The adopted person is free to call both mothers “mom,” as my daughter does. All adoptees have two sets of parents. It is more in the attitude that the importance lies, not with some term made up to distinguish about whom one is talking when speaking about adoption.

From Adoptees:

I feel funny calling her mother, not out of loyalty to my adoptive parents, but because it feels too intimate. She actually advocates the term (birthmother). I don’t like it personally. It demeans me as well, like I’m just part of the adoption commodity. No term resonates with me. Mom is strange, first name is strange, and b-mom is strange. It just doesn’t fit, nothing really fits, and that’s the tragedy.

If any relationship deserves a prefix, it’s the adoptee’s relationship to the adoptive parents. If my mother is only my b-mother, by the same logic wouldn’t that mean I’m only her b-child?

(My birthmother) has not introduced me to her family or invited me to her home. She doesn’t feel like my mother! I think terminology should match the relationship, and for others to insist that I refer to her as my mother is dictatorial and would be inaccurate. Calling a stranger, someone who has not even accepted me as part of their family, “mother” or “father” would be absurd as well as insulting to what parenthood is: raising a child and everything that entails.

I feel self-conscious (calling her mom) because I still have a reasonable relationship with my adoptive parents and they have always been Mom and Dad. It feels funny to be calling my mother “mom”… I’m not looking to replace my adoptive mom, just build a separate relationship with my mother after all the years of separation.

I have a mother and father, just like most everyone else. Those terms are used exclusively for the a-parents who raised me. It is how I knew them growing up. It defines our relationship. For me, it is a personal decision, within individual families, what to call one another.

I do not like the terms “first” or “natural” mother. I have always used “birthmother.” My mom is the person who raised me. I love both my mothers in different ways, but I only have one mom and that is who raised me.

When speaking to my birthmother, I always refer to her as mom. I do this out of respect for her and her feelings. Those with no personal experience in the adoption process tend to minimize the importance of the relinquishing parent’s feelings. I’ve learned that my mom suffered in more tangible ways than I have as a result of giving me up for adoption. On the other hand, when I am speaking about her outside of her presence, I usually refer to her as my birthmother. While I do consider her my mother, there are times that I want to reserve that title for the mom who raised me.

When introducing (my natural mother) to friends, I will say, “This is my mother.” If there is some confusion or need for clarification I may explain that I am an adoptee and we are reunited.

Language: Evolving or Manipulated?

“What I think the political correctness debate is really about is the power to be able to define. The definers want the power to name. And the defined are now taking that power away from them.”
Toni Morrison (as quoted in the New York Times Magazine, 1994)

The conventionality and suitability of words change over time. Girls were once “chicks” and guys were “cats.” “Unwed mothers” are now “single mothers.” The Orient is now Asia; rugs are still “Oriental,” but its natives are “Asian.” People are no longer handicapped; instead they are “challenged” or have “special needs.” Then, there are the pejoratives, purposely created to insult and disparage. Although drummed out of polite conversation, derogatory words for women, various races and nationalities, gays and lesbians are not gone.

So what about Positive Adoption Language (PAL)? How does it compare to “politically correct” language, which strives to minimize offense to certain groups and has been embraced by the government, employers, and the media?

“Neither adoptive parents nor social workers consulted with the people they were naming about how the term ‘birthmother’ made them feel,” writes Sandra Falconer Pace, Director, Canadian Council of Natural Mothers (www.ccnm-mothers.ca). “(Politically correct language) arose from the right of a people to name themselves. For example, we once referred to the Eskimo people, but now we use their own term for themselves, the Inuit. We refer to African-American and Hispanic people because those are the terms they have chosen for themselves.”

The stated objective of PAL was to promote adoption as a way to build a family, equally important and valid to birth. Some examples of PAL: “Real” and “natural” parent are considered negative; “birth” or “biological” parent are positive. “Adoptive parent” is negative; “parent” is positive. “Give up,” “surrender,” and “relinquish” have been replaced by “make an adoption plan” or “choose adoption.” “Reunion” has been deemed negative, while “making contact with” is the positive phrase.

Does this supposedly kinder, gentler language reflect the true experience of adoption? I certainly never chose adoption or made a plan. If my son and I were just making contact, I doubt we’d still be reeling in emotion after eleven years. Was there intent to further sever the bond between mother and child, as some would accuse? Or was it simply an oversight in the exuberance to assuage the feelings of adoptive parents? Those who reject the “birthmother” term feel as if it was forced on them, as opposed to politically correct language, which is based on self-affirming descriptors.

While it’s no surprise that natural mothers find PAL objectionable, many adoptees do as well. One friend of mine rejects the phrase “touched by adoption,” insisting that he’s been “whacked by adoption.”

“PAL is very negative when it comes to the first mother and dishonest when it drops the descriptor from the adoptive parent,” said one adoptee. “I don’t expect a child to constantly refer to the parents who raise her as her adoptive parents. The parents who raise us become Mom and Dad for most and fair enough. But adoptees should grow up comfortable acknowledging the truth of their relationship to their parents. PAL seems to reinforce denial.”

“If adoptive families are dismissive of the child’s mother, what does that say about their attitude toward the child?” another wrote. “We love you and accept you as long as you acknowledge only us as your true mother and father. What came before was just biology and we discount that. We wish it were different, wish you were ours completely, so let’s just pretend it’s so.”

Educating the public on the issues of adoption is a common goal among member of the adoption triad. How useful is a word that only confuses them?

“The term ‘birthmother’ is neither widely used nor understood by the uninitiated,” said one reunited mother. “I’ve told others that I’m my son’s birthmother and half of the time they think I was a surrogate.”

Perhaps, as Toni Morrison said, it is all about power: who has it and how they use it. When it comes to adoption, the power lies with the industry itself: the agencies, social workers, pregnancy counselors, attorneys, and legislators. Another author, Philip K. Dick, wrote in 1986: “The basic tool for the manipulation of reality is the manipulation of words. If you can control the meaning of words, you can control the people who must use the words.” Maybe that’s what the fight is all about.

A Matter of Respect

“R-E-S-P-E-C-T
Find out what it means to me.”
(From the Aretha Franklin song, Respect; written by Otis Redding)

Clearly, “birthmother” works for some and not for others. Can we live with that? Is the b-word as bad as, say, the n-word that was once used to identify African-Americans?

It seems to me that in recent years language has become more divisive and adversarial. For all of our political correctness and supposed humanity-centered speech, we are more easily offended, we have lost tolerance and compassion for others, and lip service has replaced honest dialogue. Individuals no longer matter. People are being categorized into groups — the bigger, the more clout — and these groups are pitted against one another. And not just by race, gender, sexual orientation, and political affiliation.

As I researched this article, I was shocked that almost every post-adoption web site I visited had some degree of bias. No wonder we can’t function as a “triad,” which implies three equal and united sides. No wonder triad is being replaced by “adoption constellation.” In truth, we’re all floating around, part of the same universe, and yet as isolated as can be. Or worse, like the rest of our culture, it has become “us against them.”

The words we choose are important, and respect is a two-way street. I cringe when I hear adoptive parents referred to as “adopters,” or worse, “abductors.” Even if this was the case, and I don’t doubt that birthmothers were lied to and babies were stolen, these words have the same vengeful ring as calling an absent father a “sperm donor” or an ex’s new wife a “step-monster.”

Respect — for oneself and for others — is the key. Self-respect is something natural mothers fight hard to regain after relinquishing a child. Reunion can bring battles for respect from their children, the adoptive parents, and a society that doesn’t understand. On the other hand, there seems to be no shortage of admiration for parents who adopt. Does that mean they don’t deserve the same courtesy we would give a stranger on the street?

No minds are going to be changed here. Hopefully, some will be opened. It’s unlikely that we will ever agree on language that suits everyone’s needs. We can and should use the words that resonate with us and stand up for our preferences, while being respectful of others.

“I think terms should reflect our own experience,” said one adoptee. “As long as nothing derogatory is used, the speaker should be given the choice of using the words most correct to them.”

DESPERATELY SEEKING WORDS

2011-07-08T16:56:00.000-07:00

I'm in the process of creating my new website.

I want to include some quotes about adoption loss, the impacts of mother/child separation, reunion — at least on my welcome page, perhaps on every page. I've poured through the dozens of books on the topic, googled everything I could think of, and so far nothing's quite right. (Although I especially like the quote from Women Who Run With Wolves on Suz's blog.) But I need some shorter, more hard-hitting ones.

I'd be so grateful if those with this connection to adoption would their favorite quote(s) along these lines. I believe it has to be public domain (Shakespeare?) or from someone who might grant me permission. My understanding is that song lyrics are off-limits, big trouble. (So many songs express this feeling for me — like I Will — but it would be difficult and likely expensive to get an okay.)

Thank you!

P.S. I'm fine if you want to submit something you said/wrote! Credit will be given.

CONSTANT CRAVING

2011-07-05T20:09:00.000-07:00

I can so relate to this K.D. Lang song:

Even through the darkest phase
Be it thick or thin
Always someone marches brave
Here beneath my skin

And constant craving
Has always been

Maybe a great magnet pulls
All souls towards truth
Or maybe it is life itself
Leads wisdom
To its youth

Constant craving
Has always been

Craving
Ah ha
Constant craving
Has always been

Constant craving
Has always been
Constant craving
Has always been

HAPPY 4TH!

2011-07-04T19:29:00.000-07:00

I had a busy and fun weekend with my visiting friend Gayanne (as well as local girlfriends). Got some sun, did a little shopping, played way too much Yahtzee. I'm going to sleep good tonight, get up tomorrow, install new software, and start designing my website. Going to make a list and check it twice: tasks to be accomplished, instead of bouncing off the walls.

I'm working on an epilogue since a lot has changed since I ended the book. I had to end it somewhere — or I'd be writing it for the rest of my life — and I chose a hopeful point in our reunion. That was seven years ago. The publisher thinks it would be good to recap what's happened since. I plan on having a good first draft by Thursday to share with my writing group. Who, by the way, will get the good news about my book. Only three of my local writing buds know so far.

No fireworks in our neck of the woods, thank goodness! AND thank goodness for the huge monsoon rain storm this afternoon. (The temperature dropped from around 100 to 70 in about 30 minutes.) Hopefully that will keep the fire danger down in the areas that are allowing fireworks.

Hope everyone has a fun one, however you celebrate it!

I'M TRYING TO THINK...

2011-06-30T19:03:00.000-07:00

...BUT NOTHING HAPPENS! (Curly in the Three Stooges)

Could me my continuing euphoria over my publishing news. There's so much to do in preparation and I can't quite seem to focus. Jumping from one thing to another. Need to make a list and check it twice, prioritize. Oh, and stop giggling!

One of the things I'm thinking about is changing this blog. Mostly in terms of subject matter. I worry that I'll scare away potential buyers of my book if they read my sometimes radical opinions and philosophies. Who really cares what I think about the state of our country, our economy, the public school system?

Or I could leave write-o-holic as is, and start a new kinder, gentler one on my new website (when it's up).

Or I could give up blogging per se, leave those sorts of communications to Facebook and personal emails. And concentrate on more worthwhile projects — finishing my novel in progress and several unfinished short stories.

I don't have to decide any of this right now... just trying to think...

STEELY DAN

2011-06-28T00:23:00.000-07:00

Out of all their wonderful songs, I choose this one: Deacon Blues...

They got a name for the winners in the world
I want a name when I lose
They call Alabama the Crimson Tide
Call me Deacon Blues

Man, how many times I have been there, felt like a loser. It doesn't matter all the great things that are going on now. I understand how it is to be there... and will never forget. I hope that I can provide encouragement to those who are feeling like I did.

STILL REELING

2011-06-26T21:15:00.000-07:00

Heaven
I'm in heaven
And my heart beats
So that I can hardly speak

It's just wrong to steal this love song lyric (Dancing Cheek to Cheek), but that's the way I feel right now.

On Cloud Nine, so excited, so can't wait to be in print (or even E)!

I feel like I should be doing stuff, in preparation for the big day, and I fear I am driving my publisher crazy with questions via email. Although he's been more than kind so far, saying it's okay. I'll try to curb my enthusiasm and angst, so that he doesn't rite of me before the book comes out.

I so appreciate all the support I've received, here and via email and Facebook. Anyone who had known me for more than a few years, and especially my writer friends, know how difficult it is to get published these days. I understand why so many have gone with self-publishing. I was on the verge of that myself. But now I'm glad that I held on. I know I would make more money that way, but I really didn't want to be in charge of my books production and distribution. And I needed, for some strange reason, for someone in the biz to say, "yes, it's worthy."

Color me insecure.

But now that it's been accepted, I am feeling strong, ready to take on the world, and will work my A off to make it a success.

This book is my baby, as much as my son was...

AT LAST!

2011-06-22T16:46:00.000-07:00

I can’t even count all the posts I’ve written about the difficulties of new authors getting published, let alone link to them here.

It’s been a long, strange trip, but I finally have good news:

MY MEMOIR, “SECOND-CHANCE MOTHER,” WILL BE PUBLISHED BY RED WILLOW PRESS!!!

Yesterday (the day of Summer Solstice and the beginning of my favorite season) I got an email, the subject line: “letter of acceptance.” My heart leapt. I gulped as I opened it. Absorbed the first line: “Red Willow would be honored to publish your manuscript.” Honored. Wow.

I have just accepted the contract (thankfully, short, clear and fair — not like some of the contracts I’ve seen).

Red Willow Digital Press is a fairly new, traditional publisher (not a vanity press), building their list. One of my writer friends, Harvey Stanbrough, told me about them. They specialize in e-books, but also publish print books. Mine will be available in both later this year.

As some of you know, I have been going through yet another period of angst, considering shelving the book, maybe even stopping this writing nonsense. It’s been eight years since I finished this book, although revisiting it every year or so has made it better, and I am ultimately thankful that it didn’t get published in its original form (or any of its many renditions along the way).

The timing was meant.

Thanks to everyone who supported me along the way, as readers, advisors, and cheerleaders. I’m so excited I could… I don’t know what, except vibrate in excitement and nervousness.

You’ll be hearing more about this FOR SURE!!!

RIP “BIG MAN”

2011-06-19T10:38:00.001-07:00

Striking out? Well, count me in
I'm gonna stand right by your side through thick or thin
Ain't no doubt, gonna win
A walk through hell ain't bad compared to where we've been

Oh, you can depend on me
Over and over, over and over, know that I intend to be
The one who, who always makes you laugh until you cry
And you can call on me until the day you die

Years may come and go
Here's one thing I know
All my life
You're a friend of mine

You’re A Friend of Mine, Clarence Clemons, with Jackson Browne

DISCO FEVER

2011-06-14T20:56:00.000-07:00

Yeah, I was there... from 1978 until 1980. Frequenting mirror-ball lit dance bars with my "running partner" Debbie, in our shiny, flowing dresses and way-too-high heels. Looking for love in all the wrong places. Dancing our disco-queen behinds off (sometimes until 2 a.m. on a work night). Then getting up, going to work, eating fast food for dinner, and starting all over again the next night. Dang, did we have stamina back then!

I'm not saying this was the ideal life, although I had one helluva good time. Debbie was (and still is) seven years younger than me. The disco life made sense for her.

If things had gone different, I would have already been married, had kids, or some sort of career. Would have been a more serious girl.

But by then, I'd been pregnant, lost my son to adoption, rebelled for five years as a hippie chick, finished college against all odds, couldn't find a job in my chosen field, settled for secretarial work (or selling cameras and film at Long's Drugs, which is where I met Debbie, and we clicked, so to speak: we called ourselves Phyllis Photo and Fanny Flash). I was looking for something, but I didn't know what — and, again, searched in all the wrong places.

My point, and I do have one, was that the Bee Gees were all that during this era, and when I hear their music, I can't help but get up and sway or jive around the room.

Thank you, Barry, Robin and Maurice!

Staying Alive

And from their pre-disco work, equally impressive:
Early BeeGees

I’M JUST SAYIN’… WHAT NUMBER ARE WE UP TO … 963?

2011-06-14T20:43:00.000-07:00

Arizona’s crack-down law (SB 1070) on illegal immigration is still making its way through the U.S. justice system, and yet other states are taking the same types of things.

Missouri, for example.

Read this by Missouri State Representative Nita Jane Ayres, printed in the Ozarks Sentinel: Missouri Immigration Law

In part: I’m sure you’ve seen the headlines about Arizona’s new law aimed at dealing with those who enter our country illegally. It has been called the strictest immigration law in generations. While Missouri hasn’t gone to the same lengths as Arizona, our state has made significant policy changes that effectively deal with illegal immigrants who enter our state. Because of those changes, Missouri is ahead of the game when compared to many other states that are now dealing with this issue.

Talk about “Show Me!” Apparently Missouri have no problems with illegals, because of a law implemented in 2007. Their law was came before the Feds began imposing their will on state’s rights.

Will they also sue Alabama for their new law?

Alabama Immigration Law

Maybe not, since they are not a border state. Arizona is among those taking the hit on both sides.

I’ve heard that California is loosening their laws on illegals entering the state and giving them more and more benefits. I’m thinking that the other impacted states might contract with a bus lines to take them there.

Go ahead and pummel me for this attitude. But this is not racial. It’s economics. I'm for open borders. Come on in, I say, just do it legally. And enjoy all the freedoms and opportunities that America has to offer. But not at other citizens’ expense.

AMERICAN INGENUITY

2011-06-13T19:05:00.001-07:00

At last, an email circulation that proved true on Snopes.

Dude in Michigan used the food stamp program to purchase $141.78 in lobsters and steaks, plus a case of Mountain Dew (which of course perfectly compliments a surf and turf meal).

He’s not in trouble for that, instead that he sold the gourmet food to someone else for fifty-cents on the dollar.

Apparently, dude should have just eaten what he bought!

Small giggle, heavy sigh…

Read about it here:

High Steaks

MIDNIGHT IN PARIS

2011-06-12T16:10:00.000-07:00

Just got home from seeing Woody Allen's new movie Midnight in Paris

I highly recommend it to anyone, but especially history, art and literature buffs — as well as writers. I'm adding it to my list of favorite "writer angst" movies, which also includes "Stranger Than Fiction," "The Hours," and "Adaptation."