Adopted kids have bad blood....

So, my sister texts me and asks if I wanted to "catch up."   We met late afternoon, had a glass of wine and a little bite of food.  We talked about what's currently happening in our lives.  She shared about the recent trip she took with her son and his wife who is pregnant.  I discussed our grandchildren and our plans for upcoming travel. 

I found myself feeling teary eyed as I confided in my sister that I had often wished that I could pick up the phone, and call mom.  I often pick up the phone to call mom,  and then I remember, that she has passed away.   I am somewhat falling apart as I tell my sister how I feel, now tears are running down my face.  

My sister, the woman who rarely shares anything of importance or "real" about her own life, her feelings, and her family, tells me, as I brush the tears from my eyes,  and as I am trying  to keep my composure, that mom would not be able to help you with your problems.  She stated that mom could never solve the problems between you and dad, what makes you think she could ever help you.     

It was like time had stood still as these words came out of my sisters mouth.  Again I told my sister  about often wanting to hear my mother's voice on the telephone, maybe she did not understand what I said, I thought?  Her facial expressions quickly changed, her tone of voice was telling  me how annoyed and angry she was truly  feeling, as though she was thinking,  "How dare you want my mother." As though I have no rights to call her my mother is what she could have been thinking?       Bam!   I hit the wall!   I was jolted back into reality again.   Just like that...the tears stopped, I woke up,  and quickly remembered who I was talking to!  

This woman sitting next to me,  I call my sister,  who "Pretends" that abuse was not served up  on a silver platter in our household, apparently it was only on my menu, is not a happy person!!  She wants to permanently sweep any evidence of abuse, both physical and emotional right into the large pile of dirt she has accumulated for the past 60 years.  My  God,  she's pretty much buried the truth of my life, the reality of our parents lives, six feet deep,  into its own grave!  

Just like that....just like that....ta-da....it's all gone!  Our parents have both passed away, and I guess shes lied about the reality of our parents her entire life, that she truthfully believes the lies she told herself and her own family and probably everyone else shes ever talked to over the years.   Those lies have become reality, for my sister and her children.  As time goes on, her grandchildren and great grandchildren will be fed these same lies I can only assume.  

When I said  that I wish I could talk to mom, have a conversation with her,  my sister feels threatened.  She quickly claims our mother as her own, and declares that our mother could not "Help me"  with any of "My problems" , as she could not help the "FANTASY" abuse that took place at the hands of both of my parents.   She did not say that, but what she did say was that our mother could not have helped me with the issues between dad and I.  See the difference, in her mind, I was the problem, and I am still the problem.  It was MY  problem with my dad, and it's  an unsolved problem between mom and I.  See how my sister has magically changed the reality of OUR family.  Oh, thats right, its not my family...ITS HERS!  Her mother was a saint, a person so kind and perfect, that God only knows shes been canonized a Saint.  Saint Mary, the woman who took part in the physical and emotional abuse of her adopted child.  Thats pretty neat, isn't it?  Such a kind thing to do, very saint like isn't it?  The child her husband did not want to adopt.  The husband  (and his mother) that felt adopting someone else's child, would not be "Their Blood" therefore I suppose this  meant  to all of them that the adopted child could be a monster, a thief, not trustworthy?   I really dont know what it meant to all of them , but that is what my own mother told me when I was a child, that my blood was an issue for my dad.  The words that came out of her mouth, the meaning was for me to figure out at age 9.  Gosh, I dont think it was a compliment, if dad did not want to adopt someone else's child that was not his blood, could only mean something negative?  Right?   The added bonus of abuse, being terrorized I actually call it, mixed with my bad blood, did not seem to be a winning combination for me?  Who would I go to and ask about this bad blood?      One could only come to the conclusion that adopted kids are bad, possibly hatched from an egg.  I was an ugly, dirty, bad girl...which is what I thought I was as a kid.  I dont think of myself  as bad, ugly, or dirty now, but the reality is, our family was 100% different than my sister pretends it was.  

So, my sister had to rear her ugliness at our "Catch up" get together.  That is not a surprise, not to me or my husband.  She always dishes out some sort of thinly veiled, backward jab with a smile on her face,  just barely showing just a little bit of her teeth.  A passive aggressive statement to somehow completely dismiss me as the daughter of her  mother, claiming our mother as her own.  

I have decided that I no longer need to catch up with my sister...I have already caught up.  I realize that adoption really  is a four letter word, a life sentence, even when ones adopted parents have gone up to heaven.  Leaving the fragmented remains of two women, one daughter  who feels she has all the rights to "Her"  parents and family, and the other woman, who has been left behind as some discarded piece of trash that is not even worthy of being able to long for her own mothers voice in a simple telephone conversation, stripped of the title of daughter in my sisters little, shallow cruel mind.   

I miss Mom

With all the exclusion, the dysfunction, heartache and sadness, I still miss mom.  

Im sad she never got to meet my granddaughters, her great granddaughters.  

She never got to tell me how she felt inside,  for the rest of my life I have to sit and guess how she really felt about me and a lot of other unresovled feelings I still have.  I have to investigate every moment we had together.  Maybe the truth is waiting for me to be found, somewhere?  Some days I can feel the burning inside of my chest, the tears well up in my eyes, and I have  the deepest, most unbearable ache I have ever felt, knowing I will never see her again.  

I did find voicemails mom  left on my old cell phone.  When I accidentally stumbled upon them I felt absolutey sick to my stomach, I felt hysterical inside.  She left me a lot of voicemails as her memory became much worse.  She would call me when I was on my way to see her as she  would forget that I was even coming.  I played the voicemails, I heard her voice,  and it was the most painful thing I've done since watching her take her last breath.   I listened to all of them, one by one, hoping to find the answers, maybe she said something of importance?   When alive, I kept waiting, day after day, for her to say something special to me, hoping she would give me the anecdote for the years of abuse I endured.   A secret I never knew, or something so earthshattering that I would be able to say, "I understand" and not feel this way another moment in my life.  

What did my life mean to mom?  Did she  find it hard to feel the same way for me as she did her own birth child?  It sure felt that way to me, and I was like a  little child, waiting on each and every word that came out of moms mouth.... up until she passsed away.   My heart wants to believe that she loves me, but the reality of it all was that she struggled to have those feelings for me, I felt it, my husband felt it, as well as our grown children.   They feel as though they grew up without a grandmother, and feel mom had no voice, no opinion,  and sadly...she did not.  She sat and allowed a lot of unfavorable things to happen,  to be honest there was a lot of things she did not do that hurt just as much.  These unfavorable things continued to happen up until she couldnt remeber much due to dementia.    

My sister had said to me before mom passed, that I had the issues regarding adoption, insinuating that I had the problem.  I stopped her in her tracks, I told her very bodly, that NO...I did not have the issues, it was moms and the rest of the family that had the issues.   Why else did all this ugliness  happen over the years, up until our niece got married recently?  After her weddding,  I checked out, I distanced myself from all of them both physically and emotionally as best as I could.  I had to see mom at my sisters house until she passed away,  so I had to keep things somewhat mellow.   I have to say here, that regardless if other family members refuse to recognize what they are saying and doing , exclusion stinks, its paralyzing, its past devastating.

I see what it's done to our grown children, they have endured more than their fair share of disappointents with this family.  They have all become so used to behaving this way, that it's normal to them.  And sadly I blame my parents for this.  Mom never had an opinion about anything and would say, everyone is different.  That was her way of saying she refused to step up to the plate and make things right within our family.  I still cant believe my nephews eulogy stated that my mom never did a wrong thing in her life.  It was then that I fully understood he, my niece and sister  did have a different grandmother/mother .  How do I continue within this family when I feel so deeply different than the rest of them?  I cant speak the truth around any of them.  I have to listen and keep quiet and have little to no words from my mouth.  I feel like this adoption sentence may last a lifetime if I don't find a way to unbury myself from the emotional wreckage I have been left with since mom has left this earth.  

Its over...

Its been a lifetime of trying to win her over, a fight for her affection, attention and love.  Since I can remember, I have been holidng her hand, sitting in her lap,  practically begging for love.  I didnt know I was doing it at the time, it wasnt until much later in life, after I had children and they were grown, I realized I was fighting for something I could never attain.  I kept trying, for the majority of my life, I really believed if I was a good girl and keep trying, that I'd somehow be like her real daughter, right up until the moment she died I believed she would give me a sign.   A sign that let me know my efforts, love, affection, loyalty and devotion to her were not in vain.  I never got that sign from mom, and I cannot explain to you how deeply sad I am about this now.  I will never have another chance to make her mine.  

A few years ago I was scanning old photos for my nieces wedding present, you know making a huge photo album of our family photos and not wanting to use originals.  Since mom has died, family wants access to all the thousands of family photos I've scanned.  Digging deep in my cloud I added thousands of photos to Dropbox, one by one.   

One by one,  I noticed something I had never noticed before.  I’m holding moms hand , sometimes with one hand , sometimes with both of my hands, leaning into her body .  Clearly I was an affectionate small child.  The look on my face in between mom and dad in Christmas photos , I look proud .  I even lean into dad , appearing very affectionate, which I’m sure I was until I reached about 3rd grade and realized what was going on.  And of course I guess I wasn’t as cute by 3rd grade and the novelty of being the baby wore off .  By 3rd grade I must have found my own personality and started to have my own opinions.  Looking back now I realize dad must have not liked who I was even in 3rd grade  or  maybe I wasn’t as cute or maybe it was just because he never wanted to adopt and was forced into it by mom?  Probably a combination of all of these things but I’m guessing my looks and personality were drastically different than my sisters who was his biological child .  

I realized last night while cooking dinner that it’s over , this struggle, this fight to somehow prove to my mom that I am worthy of her love , affection and trust .  This deep desire to belong to this family , is over .  No more trying so hard to be perfect, to cook the perfect dish for birthdays and holidays.  No more trying to sell myself to a family who clearly has never truly accepted me as one of them .  As I cook my creamy potato cheese soup I think of mom , how she loved this soup and how I will never again cook her another meal .  I will never again try to prove my worth to any of them again .  Sacrifice my health and well being to somehow get a smile or the reaction that only in my mind means I am accepted as one them.  Every visit with them results in a score , we rate the visits like the Olympics . Score cards showing how this visit rates and I’m usually saying , oh they seem nicer or kinder this time . Hoping that somehow , someway,  I have managed to convince them that I am worthy of their love and trust . 

A GIANT burden has been lifted off my shoulders since mom has died.  The game is over , nobody won. Truthfully I am the biggest loser .  It is now clear,  they really just don’t trust me as they do their own blood related family .  If you were here and could see the way they acted and looked at me while my own mom was dying you’d understand why I felt I was intruding on their private and personal journey of watching mom die .  I was a stranger amongst them , not even appreciated like the paid caretakers were.  I have never felt so alone and lost in my life as I did in the hours before mom died.   At one point we were all standing around mom and I let my niece find a spot around her bed.  She looked at me and said no, you can stand here...shes your mother.  I paused, and had no answer or reaction to that.  I thought, oh...you really had to say that out loud, that she is my mother too?  Did you just realize that after 32 years of life?   

I realized as I wiped away my tears and served moms favorite soup ( from scratch ) last night, that the fight is over.  My dearest husband said to me "Dear" you have been married to me for 35 years, longer than you lived with your parents.  I am your family and so are our children.  We debated the issue, and it was clear to me last night for the first time, that mom really never was able to bond with me, or have the same feelings about me as she did her own birth child.  She wanted to have those feelings about me, but never could force herself to feel it. Its over now, the fight to try and win her over, to force her to have the same feelings about me, is absolutely over.  I will never be put in that situation again.  I will never feel like an intruder again with their family, the odd man out.   I realized last night that I dont have the same love for my own mom as the others do, not becusae I didnt try, and not because I didnt want that wonderful feeling of belonging to my mom,  but because she has failed me her entire life.  It is my moms fault and no fault of mine, and somehow I have to accept this hearbreaking reality and keep breathing and living each day.  Some mornings I wake up and cant believe I will never get another chance to make it right with mom, but I also have found comfort in knowing the fight to belong to her and the rest of my family is over.  

Lost but not found

When I was found, I was almost 20 years old.    I blindly walked into reunion, expecting rainbows, ice cream cones, hugs and kisses.  I expected them all to love me, adore me, to want to know my entire life, play by play.  I was convinced they would want my precious keepsakes, like baby teeth I left out for the tooth fairy.  My blonde curls my mom cut and preserved in the family bible.  I thought reunion was going to be like "going home."  They would all understand me, think like me, and would teach me how to cook all the special secret family recipes I missed all those years. 

Meeting the families, I quickly realized something was just not quite right.    Why was everyone staring at me with confusion?  One grandma looked horrified and the other was scanning through my baby pictures to see if there was a resemblance.  That is what it looked like to me.  Then my one grandma asks for a nitro glycerin.  OK, I thought to myself, something is definitely not right, and now that grandma is popping a pill while looking at my baby pictures, its a confirmation!  

She starts to cry, something to the effect of, oh my baby, while looking at my baby pictures.   That is what I remember, I could be wrong, but it was for sure a distressed situation.  Looking back, I can now see the unspoken debate that was going on between all the adults.  My birth mom was somewhat amused, and everyone else seemed frantic, and the chaos of everyones emotions was very apparant to me.   My birth mom walked me to my car and I asked her, what is going on?  She gave me some ridiculous story that left me even more confused.   That was a long drive home, alone, with my thoughts.  For 20 years I had waited for this moment, my heart felt heavy, and I knew I wasn't getting ice cream, or cooking lessons,  the hugs and kisses didn't seem too promising.

I didnt know the truth behind my adoption, but I figured it was not going to be the truth I was told by my parents.    I heard a couple different stories, your birth  parents loved you so much but couldnt care for you.  My dad told the story of how I was picked out in the store, he'd  point to the imaginary wall and say, "This baby, no this baby" like they were shopping for a new toaster.   

I was pretty shocked when my birth mom sent me photos of herself and family,  in the mail.  I was expecting her to be a blonde, I had no idea she was part Lebanese.  She now likes to say I knew, but I did not know. I had a paper with non identifying information that really equaled nothing.

I did not receive anything from my birth dad in the mail, but I later spoke to him and we met alone.  I cannot deny the fact that I was so nervous, I was just a kid. 

The truth as I now see it, is a variation of different stories I have heard from different family members throughout the years.  My birth mom became pregnant with me.  She was dating (now confirmed) birth dad.  At some point in time, she wrote a letter to another boy she liked.  Saying something like, she didnt think his parents would allow him to marry her, so shes going to have now confirmed birth dad marry her.  But in this letter she tells this other boy, she cant wait for "Their" bundle of joy.   Probably the most disturbing story I have heard in all these years is the one my birth mom told me after we met.  She tells me her best friend came over,  she sat in boiling hot baths and used a coca cola douche, let your imagination decide what they were trying to do.

So at one point early in reunion, I went out to dinner with my birth dad, his mom and the family.  I was asked what blood type I was, at this point I really was not sure what was going on.  My birth mom has not been the most trusted source, in all these years, but she was very crafty and cunning throughout this whole ordeal.   She was smart, did not tell me the story, instead let me suffer and it took years for me to really understand completely what was going on. 

It wasn't until 2016 when my daughter somewhat forced me into doing Ancestry DNA.   She ordered the test and had it shipped to me.  Weeks went by, and I stared at that test, and finally after weeks of my daughter calling and asking me if I spit in that darn thing, I had the nerve to actually do it.  I sealed the box and dropped it off at the post office.  Then I started wondering to myself, what if my birth dad is not oneof the two men that I was told about ?  What if he's someone else, what then?  Weeks went by  and I was so anxious waiting for the results.  My daughter had already done the Ancestry DNA test and had her results.  I was driving to the grocery store and it hit me,  I can figure out the answer via her DNA results.  I went home and searched through her DNA results.  TA-DAA!    There it was, the answer to the question I have wondered about for 35 years.  

I decided to wait until my own DNA results to come in to tell anyone, even though I knew the man I had met was 100% my dad. 

Let me tell you, getting my DNA results was a  liberating moment for me.  Not knowing who fathered you for 52 years is a big deal.   I beg to differ with all those people who think I did it for revenge or some other stupid reason.  I did it for myself, I wanted to know my heritage and  I think every person should know this basic information, its their birth given right. 

OK, off my soap box!  But seriously, if it were not for modern science and DNA testing linking me to DNA matches who have extensive family trees, I would still not know the answer today. 

Divorced my birth mom

I started back to therapy, for a short time and decided to go back to Al-Anon.  I've been MIA for 16 years and decided it was time seeing the new challenges in my life.  I feel like I am in a better place now to process and make permanent decisions on a lot of  issues I have struggled with for 34 years.  One of them being my birth mom. 

I have made a difficult and permanent decision, and that was one of the reason for therapy.  I have decided, with the help of my therapist, to divorce my birth mom.  It is necessary and long overdue.  I have continued over the years to keep this "Fantasy" alive.  I have kept up the charade that my birth mom will somehow miraculously change and be my fantasy mom.

Its an awakening for me,  I feel like I have just woke up from a long sleep.  I've looked around and realized I have been punishing myself, and practically begging this woman to love me.  To accept me, and maybe even give me a hug and say, "I love you, unconditionally, no matter what."   I've compromised, Ive given more than I have received, and truthfully, I do not like what I have been offered.  I have been cheating myself, pretending that it doesn't matter, because she gave birth to me and I have to accept her the way she is.  I have even tried to convince her to love my children, her grandchildren, based on Ancestry rules.   She doesnt know my kids, and has never been interested in them since they were born. 

NO WAY!  Another BAM, smack in the face moment.  A punch in the gut for me, literally!  Hey, guess what, NO, I do NOT have to continue to speak to you because you gave birth to me.  I get to decide who is in my life,  and I have made the decision that I am a pretty good gal, and I am worthy of being loved, adored, appreciated and respected, unconditionally!  

I have raised with my husband, three wonderful humans.  Somehow, this woman I call my birth mom thinks her absence all these years is not a big deal.  She feels she can reap the benefits of calling our children "Her grandchildren" even if she has been absent most of their lives.  She feels it makes her look good, to have these three wonderful people as her grandchildren.   She would like to turn these wonderful humans against my husband and I, if possible....which it is not possible. 

The child she kept, is an addict, mentally ill and is a non functioning person.  My full birth brother is a sad person.  But he is also a dangerous person at the same time from what we have experienced.  Our grown kids do not trust him.    Another BAM, in my face moment.  I do not want him in my life either, and my family does not want him in their lives .  And guess what Cathy, you can say "NO."  I have said NO! 

I was knee deep in making a family tree on Ancestry.  I drove down and borrowed my birth moms family pictures to scan them.  I did a lot of work, put them all in new scrap books, organized everything.  I have found all the missing families in Lebanon, not an easy task.

Then the reality of it all sunk in.  Jealousy can be a dangerous emotion, dangerous and ugly and I believe this emotion is the catalyst for her behavior.   I had actually spoke to my brother on private messenger for the first time in about 13 years.  He asked about our grown kids, their jobs & lives.  I told him they are all happy, successful and in jobs that support them and we couldn't be happier for them all.   My birth mom stated she did not want to know what my brother and I talk about and not to even hint about our conversations.  OK, no big deal.    Next thing I know I am receiving a private message from her asking me not to tell my brother that our kids are successful and rich!  Yes, I quote "Rich."  Well, I have never stated anyone in my family are rich, its just not true!  hahaha!  She stated that by telling my brother that my kids have good jobs and are successful , will discourage him from seeking mental help!  OMG!  Seriously?   He has been unstable and non functioning since his early 20's and he's now pushing 44 years old! 

I guess that rule of not telling about my conversations with my brother only applies to me!  He must have told her half truths about our conversation!  Birth mom tells me that he feels bad that "The kids" are doing so well, he feels like a failure, etc.   I reminded her that our kids are grown adults now, does my brother realize the oldest is 29 and should be in jobs to support themselves now!  Hmmmm....well birth mom, your constant enabling of this grown man may be a big reason why he is almost 44 and still repeating the same mistakes and not seeking help and not able to take care of himself!     She clearly does not see what she is doing, and it is NOT my place or job to make her see.   Sad, but true, I just cant exert another ounce of energy on these two.   They are not my problem! 

Seriously, who does she think she is?   She then has the nerve to elude to the fact that my brother has never done anything to our kids over the past 20 years.  And has no idea why they have no interest in having a relationship with him!    WOW!   One can only guess that she has conveniently stuffed all the craziness that me, my husband and three grown adult children have experienced with my brother over the past 20 plus years.  Like its all erased, never existed and we are made out to be the liars, the mentally ill ones.   She has done this before, given me my brothers life and my life to my brother.  What is even more frightening, she is believable, and she is convincing, and charming and I feel she is also a person one cannot trust. I finally had a voice and spoke up and said, OK birth mom, what do you think would happen if my grown kids saw him now?  Do you think he is fit and mentally OK to see them?  She answered NO!  I said you are correct, if they saw him now, they'd never give him another chance!  My brother has sent me the most bizarre and crazy messages, my oldest son has said that he is "Tweaking" on drugs or is in some sort of psychosis.  Either could be true, he's done  hard core drugs over the years, and I truly believe he is still doing them now.  He was recently in jail I heard, and from what I understand was detoxing while in jail.  Yeah, I know, I made this up too, its all a lie, he really was not in jail, and if you spoke to birth mom, she'd convince you I made it all up and I was the one in jail!  HAHAHAHA! 

She has absolutely nothing to offer me.  No love, loyalty,  time, kindness, truth, stability, absolutely nothing.  Her morals, ideals, way of living and even her mother skills are completely and utterly opposite than mine. If she had not given birth to me, I would never even consider her as a friend.  Her title is no longer important to me, and truthfully she is nothing more than an egg donor.

I had a revelation that I wish I had never met her, just found out the ancestry information I dearly wanted.  Looking back I realize it was a mistake to waste so much time and energy on a woman who clearly has no plans on loving me, adoring me and my kids,  and a person who without batting an eyelash, is capable of betraying me! 

The lost bond of adoption

As time goes by and my birthday candles keep increasing, I realize there is one thing I cannot escape.   There is no anger or resentment, only a bit of sadness left as I realize there is nothing I can do to change "what is."  

Its a life sentence I have been given, a lesson to learn, again and again,  and at times I feel I have mastered the whole mess!   But some days, like today,  it seems too large of a cross to bear,  and I feel the strength I've built up, to escape the anger...weakening.  I feel weak today.   Something happens, a look in my moms eyes , a touch, a gesture,  a small sentence spoken that makes my heart skip a beat.  Time stands still,  its like an out of body experience,  everything is moving in slow motion, and I want to  take a picture, and show them "this right here" is what I am missing.  I don't get that same look, I don't get the same touch or gesture, or the deep love in that small sentence.    So many people overlook, don't appreciate, or even recognize that "Belonging" is such a gift.  The bond created when a mother gives birth, gets the privilege of keeping her baby is overwhelmingly different.   Different than that bond  of an adopted child.  There really is a language they speak to one another, when the bond is not broken.  

Nobody can tell me differently, if I could capture the moment, I would.  I could show you, prove to the world I have been cheated.  I deserve to allow myself to grieve, but I also deserve to never feel like this again.  I don't want this feeling another day, another minute or even second of my life.  But I also cannot deny the existence of what I see.  I know that touch, I know that gesture, and the secret language that is spoken between a mother and her children.  I experience that with my own children.  

In time I will learn to accept what I cannot change. 

I don't need this mother

Lesson learned.  Cannot trust those that are not blood related, except my own husband.

My help, my opinion, not needed nor are they interested in knowing it.

I am not trustworthy, they feel.  I cannot be responsible for anything important, except for parent sitting when said relative decides to take our mother and her sister  to a play.   I then, can be responsible for 10 hours, and oh, don't forget that dinner I was reminded to plan in advance so when they arrive back from the play, they can eat!  Because this relative of mine stated she has to work the next day, so she does not want to be at our parents house all night long!  Oh, excuse me.  Oh, and don't forget to get the ingredients for whatever your cooking, although our aunt had mentioned she loves pizza, and maybe a salad, because you won't be able to leave dad alone while we are gone!   I guess I'm also an idiot, and have not raised 3 children, and somehow have forgotten how to cook...even though I am the one who usually does most of the cooking and baking at all our holidays over the years.    Maybe they should just kick me in the rump and slap me in the face too.   Gets better, I was also told to watch dad while my sister and mom took my aunt to the airport.

So this is how its going to be from this point forward.  I will not go back to moms house unless I am asked, very nicely.  I will never be anyone's maid, cook, or be used again.

The past year I have scrubbed pee off carpets, scrubbed floors, changed beds, cleaned house, laundry, windowsills all in the name of helping mom whiled dad  is dying.  Now, I see that my help, even though it was accepted, was not wanted.  Wow, do I feel like a fool.  I guess when I volunteered to put eye drops in my dads eyes and my mom would not trust me to do this, I should have gotten a clue!

My relatives forgot to let me know that a supposed important person in my life, my own mother, was going back to the cardiologist yesterday.   Mind you I took her to countless doctor appointments in prior months, kept my lovely sister in the loop every step of the way.   And my own mother is going in for an ultrasound on Monday for her carotid arteries, something that slipped their minds.  As usual, I get a call many hours later from my mother, she left a message, once she realized that I somehow was forgotten in her plans.  Oh, gee, I was not needed to baby sit my dad, or schlep her to the doctors, so I guess that is why I was forgotten.   If I had not asked my sister about something, I never would have known.   I am their last thought, and to be honest, I am sick of this.  I cannot and will not do this again to myself.

This same thing happened when my mom went in for the actual procedure a few months ago, I had spent days at her house, each week, taking her to tests, appointments, etc, and when it came time, my sister arrived,  and told me I was baby sitting my dad and she was taking mom.  The next day after moms procedure, they both got up, got dressed, said nothing to me and off they went, for 3 hours and left me with my dad.

What other conclusion can I come to?  Im important enough when I am taking care of dad all day and night and cook them dinner, so they can go see a play, but when my services are not needed, I am kicked to the curb, my feelings not important,  keeping me informed, not important to them.  I am the last person they think of.  Im just free maid service.  

Sad, heck yeah.  But as my dear husband said yesterday after work, "I don't mean to make you feel bad or mad, but you don't need a mother" - that really hit me between the eyes.  He is right, I do not need this mother, because she is not my mother.  She is a woman, that took someone else's baby, and does not have the same feelings for this baby as she does her own.  Nothing can be done about it, its not my fault, its just is.

Don't tell me I'm too emotional

I have to pull up my skirt, I have to stop this craziness.   My mom needs me to help her right now, and I have to step up and move into her house and be there for her, until my dad dies.

Can I do this?  Can I ?  Can I help her without feeling like I want to go running through the streets pulling my hair out?

I texted my sister, she is on a trip with her daughter.  As though this trip is so important, she tells me she cannot talk to me about (mom) she is "Trying to have fun."   Oh, wow, sorry.

Remind you, I have rheumatoid arthritis, I have zero pain relief and I somehow find the strength to spend countless days at moms.   She, on the other hand feels that when she is on a trip, a trip that has very little meaning , that she is not to be bothered by things like our mom not making sense, and firing my dads caretaker. (dad is at home in hospice)

This is where my feelings of being that dirty, unwanted kid come in.  My feelings, my opinion and concern for our parents is not of worth to her.   She gets to decide what happens to [her] parents.  Shut up Cathy, we don't want to hear your ideas, your worries, your concerns.  That is what she is saying when she tells me she cannot talk about this [now] because she is trying to have fun!  When she shuts me up and says that what I have experienced is not real, it did not happen!  This is why I have resorted to video taping things that happen at our parents house.

Sorry, but this is pure insanity in my opinion.  Your trying to have fun?  Give me a #&$(% break.

Yeah, I know this could happen in any family.  But this is not any family.

The question still remains, do I continue to push my way into this?  Do I help my mom & dad?  Or should I back off and allow my sister, their birth child to make all the decisions?  It seems I am looked at as being too emotional.  Even though my mom cannot remember what was discussed just 5 minutes ago, I guess I am over reacting. She is living alone, with my dad who is dying.  She has fired now her 2nd caretaker for my dad, who is blind, cannot do anything for himself, and mom is a train wreck.  She can barely take care of herself, and her health is not good.  She is not making wise choices, and telling me she does not have the money for a caretaker.  She does have the money!  Got so mean she basically hung up on me, and let me tell you her sister called me worried as well.  Saying that she was not making sense.

I think my sister wants to be in the drivers seat.  She wants to make the decisions, my opinion and feelings do not matter.   On the outside, everyone thinks that adoption is no big deal.  I am so lucky to have been adopted by this wonderful family.  Nobody really wanted you, so your lucky.  It amazes me at age 50, that I am still having this conversation.  That I feel like I'm still second guessing my position.  Are these really my parents?  Should I be able to step in and make decisions on my own regarding their well being?  The answer my friends, is NO.  My opinion, my feelings mean nothing.  I really am that unwanted, unloved kid found in the shopping cart, or found on the side of the road, left because I am too stupid, or not cute enough, or not clever enough to have any sense, not enough worth to make a reliable decision.

If adoption did not make a difference, if being the adopted daughter was not an issue,  why is this happening?  My sister would not be talking to me this way, and arguing about what our mother is doing.  Refusing to admit that our mother is not mentally well and needing a dementia screening.

I have not decided how to handle this, but maybe I will have to just push these awful feelings aside and do the right thing, and live with my parents and take care of them.  I really need to do this, to prove to myself that I can, that I CAN love unconditionally.    I should be able to do this, I could do it for a stranger, I can do it for my parents.  Regardless if they love me and adore me or not.

I will always long for my mom

As a little girl I always tried to force mom to be close to me, I'd sit in her lap, I remember laying on the couch with her.  Remember the game kids play, you put the bottom of your feet on the other persons feet, and pretend your riding a bike?  I always laid with her, even though she was in a bad state at the time.  Looking back I didn't get what I wanted.   I don't think I thought that way at the time, I did not realize that I wasn't getting what I wanted or that it was not possible.  But as years went by and I grew up, I just know I did not trust women, or want to be close to women like the closeness shared by a mother and child.

I took care of my mom, behind closed doors.  On the other side of the door she was a nurse, taking care of others.  But when I had her, I was the nurse.  That is how it felt to me.  It was my job to make sure she didn't somehow die, and I was there to comfort her when she was crying. I'm not really blaming her for this, she was unhappy and did not have the tools to make it better for herself.  She still doesn't have the tools.   To be honest, she did cook, and clean.  She did not take care of herself, though.  She did not care what she really looked like, as far as her hair and clothing.  She has never worn a stitch of make up.  She used to care, I have the pictures to prove it, before she was married and shortly after.  Cute clothes and make up were part of her daily routine.

I'm not sure what this does to a kid, having a mother that does not show affection.  My old friends tell me I was quiet as a kid, never said much, but I was kind and always shared my lunch if someone did not have one.  I did not get mad and mean until my teenage years.   Mom did make my lunch, she was so worried about what others would think, at age 83 she is still worried about what others think!   But I know how I feel now, about the years of my life spent longing for what I've never received...it has tried to take over my life and heart.  

Its strange, because I have a relationship with my mom, now.  But its not what it should be, we can never fix what is broken.  I realize this now, but in all honesty it does not make it any easier.  I still long to have what I cannot have.  I know I'm repeating myself.  But I want to give myself permission to grieve what I cannot have in this lifetime.  And watching my sister so attached to mom makes it somehow harder.  I see that she really cares for mom differently than I do.  She received what I did not receive from this woman we call our mom.  With hesitation I say I love you.  Knowing that I do not have the same love for her as I do my husband or children.  I do not love her as I should.  I feel guilt about this, and I feel shame.  I cannot make myself love her as I should.  I have tried again and again.  I want to, so badly.   This years Mother's Day the pain in my heart was not as bad, so I think I may have achieved some relief, forgiven myself a little for not feeling how I should for mom.

But I know I will keep trying and trying, in hopes that something will ignite inside of me, and I will all of a sudden feel that click in my head and feel differently.  It does not come, that click.  I feel disappointed, I feel sad, and I lick my wounds and time passes by.

But I thought telling mom about my blog, and how I felt about a lot of what she has done over the past 50 years would make that click come.  It did not.  Instead it made her look more tired and old.  In turn I felt guilty when I saw her on Mothers Day, after spending one week away from her house.  I'm usually at her house every week, helping her with dad.  She is slowing down, and seems worn out.   Its sad that she has refused to attend counseling with me, I suggested it many times.   I'm realizing she will never go, because that would mean allowing someone to know the truth of her life, the abuse and neglect, the awful life she has lived with a man she does not like.   She talks to people she does not know and tells them lies about how her life is, paints a picture of the perfect family, perfect everything.  It almost makes me sick, her deception.   The truth cannot be exposed, and keeping that truth hidden is more important to mom than having a relationship with me, or my children, in this lifetime.

Lots of bargaining and sorting today

Wow, I'm ashamed that I still keep trying to bargain for a different set of moms.  Yes, I intellectually know the situation wont change.  I know my birth mom is not available, never  has been, emotionally, or physically, for me or my family.  My mom is around, but she is also unavailable to a point.  I sit here this morning, trying to sort through the things my birth mom recently said to me.  The fact that she does not have a bond with me, honestly doesnt give a darn if I drop off the face of this earth.  She backs what my full birth brother does, age 39, regardless if he's wrong.  She's been enabling him for 20 years now.  She is a liar, yeah, I know this.  She cheats, yeah I know this.  She's dishonest, oh wait that was covered under a liar.  Probably the worst part is, she tells false stories, and people believe her.

OK, so what is it that I want?   I'm doing it again, trying to restore that fantasy I've had forever.  It must be a mistake, I must have the wrong woman.  How could this woman be my birth mother?

I keep searching for the good.   She sometimes seems to be on my side, she kind of seems to like me, then when she tells me these terrible stories about my birth brother (she kept) dating these young girls, etc (I wont elaborate) she pretends like she does not know what has happened over the past 30 years of our reunion.  She acts like an idiot, pretends she doesnt know what I'm talking about, and a stranger would think after she's done talking, that my birth brother is a saint, a wonderful and honest person that has his life together.  She is clever, she is crafty, she is believable.

OK, so she tells me stories I have asked not to hear about my birth brother, I get upset, and then she turns on me.  Tells me that I say nasty words to her, and before I was fine.  She doesnt understand why I get upset with her, and say what I say...YES SHE DOES.  As though there is no basis for my  words?  What, is she kidding me?  Thats like being the mother of a murderer who then turns to another and says her son is a saint, wonderful person, and expecting to hear a glowing review.  I dont know what she wants me to say in response, I cannot lie.  Its the pure truth that my birth brother is a non functioning person, has type 1 diabetes, has bipolar disorder, has severe OCD, has severe anxiety he cannot go in public much.  He takes steroids to build his muscles - has abused drugs for many years, such as meth, LSD, and another liquid drug that destroys the brain.  Oh, and he has irreversible brain damage from drugs as well.    I'm not making this stuff up.  Why does she turn on me and make me seem like the villain?  I am the easy kid, never did drugs, got married and I'm still happily married, independent.  I was lucky not to get any mental disorder such as bipolar disorder, I dont have any OCD, and I dont have anxiety disorder.  That was just pure luck of the draw!

This is why I sit here this morning, bargaining.  Thinking maybe theres a way to make this right, when in reality, I have tried over and over again and failed.    Never able to make it right, and never able to get through to her.  Each time she gets mad at me, pretending that I am the villain, when in reality, I am just being truthful and have been nothing but up front with her about our relationship and what I want.

I have wanted her to act more like a mom, not someone you met just yesterday.  I wanted her to be like family, act like the grandma to my kids.  I wanted her to be involved with my extended family.  None of these things have ever happened, and its been 30 years this year.  Time to get my head cleared out and straight.  She is not coming for me, or making this right.  Its ridiculous for me to continue to have hope, dont you think?  I mean 30 years is a long time to wait!  I have been patient, I have gone back to her again and again.  Maybe I need to write her a letter, explaining what I have wanted from her, so there is no misunderstanding.

All I know is that I need to get a grip on myself.  I have to stop bargaining.  Maybe I was not meant to have a mom, maybe this is my cross to bear.  Maybe I am supposed to learn how to give what I did not get, which I believe I am successfully doing now, with my own kids.  I think that is what I am supposed to do in this lifetime, be accepting.

Dirty, disheveled girl...but obedient.

My sister and I were discussing the fact that my mom has somewhat lost it, which is why I told her about mom's comment about "Now your part of a family Cathy"

Her response was something like - I dont think she meant that, your just sensitive.

I'm sensitive?  Well, yeah.  Especially when my mom says insensitive stuff to me!

And why wouldnt I be sensitive?  And how would SHE feel if mom said to her, "Now your part of a family" at age 48?

Well, it would NEVER happen, because my sister was not adopted, I was.  And my sister doesnt feel how I feel, because she was not adopted.  AND my sister was not abused by my dad, because she was not adopted.  and, per my sister, she had a "Perfect" childhood.  Hmmm...well...we must have lived in different homes!

Im not mad at her, she just doesnt get it .  And its not her fault she was not adopted, just as its not my fault that I was!

I guess she thinks I should continue forgiving and somehow eliminate all of the things that mom says? Im sick of trying to be "Thick Skinned" and constantly processing what this woman says.    Its funny how she was confused when I told her that "SHE" had her mom, but it was not in the cards for me.  She already knows that I have been micro managing my mom since the time I was around 5.  I have been forgiving her and trying to win her affection and love most of my life.  But having said this, its taken its toll on our relationship.  Do we even have one?  Not really.  But I know my place, the #2 daughter, the obedient girl, the dirty, and disheveled one.

 I sat in mis-matched clothes.  Too big, and doughty looking, sometimes hand me downs.   Looking back I now know why I always made my own clothes once I learned to sew.  But I never quite felt put together.  I was punished for not "Liking" the clothes and shoes other people gave my parents.  One day my dad came home from work, saw these shoes next to the back door which I guess meant they were not being used.  He freaked out, hit me on the back of the leg with the bottom of these shoes which had a hiking type of bottom.  Left a huge bruise, somewhat bloody mark.  I guess this is why I have such a bitter feeling when it comes to how I look.  Its a life long struggle to somehow learn that I deserve to have nice things.  I am not mismatched, I am not defective.  They were the ones that had the problem, not being able to accept someone else's baby.

More trials and tribulations...life is but a test

Two weekends ago my sister and I went to visit mom to celebrate my sisters birthday.  

I am having Thanksgiving at my house this year, first time ever really.  So I thought while I'm at moms house I will grab all of my china from her garage.  My name is written on a lot of stuff out there.  So I just grabbed all that I could see.  Last Christmas said cute husband bought me a 1930's china cabinet we picked out together.  I'm too cheap, I wouldnt have bought it if he wasnt with me! ha!  So I've waited 27 years to display my beautiful china!  

I got home, it was around 11pm, I stayed up and unpacked all of it.  Unwrapped all of my grandmothers dishes from World War II.  My mom's mom I mean.   Along with my dads mothers china and some special items like cut glass perfume bottles and many other things dad must have brought back from the war.  

The next day came, mom called to see if I had a chance to unpack the stuff.  I told her oh yes, I stayed up until around 1am to unpack everything.  She seemed surprised and said "Oh" --  I told her that I realized while unpacking that I now have about 4 womens china in my cabinet.  That I told Steve my husband that it was absolutely amazing, he agreed.  Wait for it, here it comes...oh yes she did say it......

"Oh see now your part of a family Cathy"  

I respond, Uh........

"Oh I really wanted you"

Silence on my part....

I was at a loss for words....

My mom elaborated, went on about how lucky I was to get the china and said that possibly my niece, my SISTERS daughter may want the china but dad had put my name on the box.  I remember mom telling me years ago that I would get her mothers china...

I respond, Uh huh, well mom  I will share the china with my niece,  she can have it for awhile and we can all use it for special occasions.  I went on to tell her that I was planning on using the china for Thanksgiving.   

Incidentally I ordered another 8 dinner plates off ebay, won the bid so now we do have enough plates for everyone come Thanksgiving.  

Being adopted is so strange at times.  Mom saying that "NOW" I am part of the family left me feeling odd inside.  I was painting furniture when she said this, and now forever I will look at that piece of furniture and remember her words.  Funny how a person can be as old as 48 and still feel empty inside at times when someone such as your own mom comes up with possibly trivial words (to her) that can do so much hurt and damage inside.  

So I clicked on Netflix this morning, I have a little Mac in the kitchen so I can listen to movies or music while I cook.  What is up to play, "Lilo and Stitch" -- a cartoon movie.  Wow, was this planned by someone up there?  You know this movie incorporates adoption.  Stitch feels lost, screams out he is lost,  and Lilo tells him  "Ohana means family. Family means nobody gets left behind, or forgotten."    This part of the movie really is emotional for me.  So sweet and the face this little creature makes, I can identify with.

I feel like that little creature at times, like a lost little puppy.  Then I look around, see what I have created with my own family and I am shaken back into reality.  I am the mom now, I have control over my own life.  I just ordered 8 more Noritake Ridgewood dinner plates for Thanksgiving, and I am going to have such a nice Thanksgiving table this year. Probably spray some mini pumpkins silver to decorate the table.  Make cute little old fashioned flower arrangements.  I can always pick myself back up and move forward, focusing on the exciting things coming up in life.    Mom will enjoy seeing her mothers china this year!  

I dont like to wallow in sorrow for myself or focus too much on the cutting words that could possibly mean nothing to my mom really.  Possibly just a mess up on her part, loss of words, not being able to accurately tell me how she feels about me?  I like to think this is what makes her say such heartbreaking and cutting words.  

This is the furniture I painted and then stenciled:

The "Card" for my mom

  I dont recall the last time I purchased a card for mom.  I usually print a pic, and make my own card that requires just a "Love Cathy" signature on the inside.  No long, complicated verses of trust, love, devotion, adoration, cherished memories, etc.  

I didnt make her a card this year for her birthday, husband was very sick and we spent time in the ER the day before we got together to celebrate her birthday.  On the way I stopped at the local party store, I walked to the card section that said "For her" and I looked around to make sure nobody was near.  I usually end up with a lump in my throat and have a few tears escape reading the "For her" cards.  I picked one up,  didnt see too much mumbo jumbo on the front, grabbed the envelope.  Started to walk away, and stopped.  I went to the other side and saw this card I liked,  a sweet painted pic of a mother and daughter, opened it up, and realized this was the card.  I put it back.  Then grabbed it again, put it back, and grabbed again.

I forced myself to walk to the check out.  Theres no escaping now, someone is standing in line behind me, I thought.  I grabbed some blow pops candy and kept my eyes searching for things to read to distract me until it was my turn to pay.

I bought the card.  I walked out, drove to my sisters house, and I signed my name.  That was seriously painful, so painful I was sweating.  Yeah, it was hot outside, but I wasnt really moving for about 20 minutes while driving with the air conditioning on!  ha!  I debated about giving her the card, but I didnt have an alternative to give her.

The card was given, I could feel my heart pounding.  I took a pic of her reading the card, her facial expression was unusual.  She got teary eyed.  Now that wasnt so hard I thought to myself, or was it?

It was hard, and I'm still lamenting over this today.  The card is racing through my mind, the picture of the mother and daughter still stuck in my mind.

I texted my daughter who is up in college,  something was mentioned about my mom, and then I mentioned to her about the card I gave her.  My daughter knows I dont give mom store bought cards and why.  She said something like "Oh really" with surprise in her voice after I told her I gave mom a sappy mother/daughter card.  I texted her a pic of the card, and told her this is the card I'd give my mom.  Well, I did give this to my mom.  But this is how I want to feel, and this is how I should feel when I give her this sort of card.  I told my daughter this is how I feel for HER, so I know I CAN feel this way.  

I feel cheated, and like I'm back in first grade and Sister Marceline Marie has caught me talking when I should be quiet . I feel guilt , like I've cheated my own mother as well.  This is just a card but it has such a larger meaning and there is so much attached to this little card.  The picture on the cover is worth a thousand words.  Nobody has to explain the meaning, it's understood, its a universal feeling .

I've dreamed about you every day, my mother

The two movies that really opened up a can of worms for me....August Rush and Antwone Fisher.    I was flipping through the channels last night and I came upon Antwone Fisher, near the end.  When he meets his birth mom for the first time was when I think the inside of me was shaken so deeply, my world as I once knew it never the same. Throughout the movie he has dreams that he is sitting at a large table with extended family with an amazing spread of food, something that looks like Thanksgiving.  I swear that symbol in the movie just about took my breath away.  More than anything else in the movie, that image just crushed me.   That deep desire you have as an adopted child to meet your (real) family and have that moment.  I did not talk about it the fantasy, but it was inside of me since I was a little kid.  It makes my insides hurt watching that part of the movie, I physically hurt.  I've never had that happen in my life and I have wanted and wished for it my entire life.  When he does meet his extended family, I dont think that I could breathe seeing this scene in the movie.

August Rush, "The music is all around you, all you have to do is listen."  -- Looking up to the sky August Rush says this.  Something clicked inside me when I saw this movie and I cried hysterically, so hard I came close to throwing up.  The music is a symbol for the connection the birth family has with one another.  Its a sixth sense that my adoptive family has with each other, one I'm not part of.  Its an innate sense we are born with, to seek those who are like ourselves.  To find the missing link, to find out the basis of my quirks.  Its the reason why I have to know things, understand everything, to get the details of things other people may not give a damn about.  

For me it was silently picking up magazines at the Lucky's supermarket as a kid.  I was sure my mother was a model, on the cover of one of the magazines.  I have a clear memory of doing this for years.  Searching for her in crowds, looking at everyone I saw, everywhere I went.  I never told anyone, except for maybe my best friend Maria.  I dont think she understood.  I was probably around 8 or 9 years old.  I searched for her starting at a young age, probably around 5 or 6.  Probably this is the reason why now, as an adult, I scan everyone's face, I match people to one another, try to decide if random people are related.

This is the reason why I chose to pick this blog title, Fantasy mom has died.  Because honestly, my mother only exists in my mind.  Both adoptive and birth mom is a fantasy for some adopted people, like me.  

My oldest son just made a wise crack today, said something about my "So called Mother" -- dont remember why this came up, but I said yeah, she is my so called mother, but in reality I dont have one.  Silence.   Its make believe, like my life up until the time the fantasy was cracked open wide.  And I can thank those two movies August Rush and Antwone Fisher for helping me achieve this goal in my life.  

There is some mystic, soulful connection the adoptee has with her birth family, it may not get her what she wants or needs.  But it does exist and it is real.   Even though my own birth mom is what she is...gone to the dark side and a horrible liar.   If she didnt make the wrong life choices, our future may have been drastically different.    

What I dreamt about, every day, my mother, is only a fantasy.  I did dream about you, a blonde  model on the cover of a magazine.  Someone who would treat me special, take me clothes shopping and really adore me. Teach me to cook, do special art projects I loved to do so much, and look into my eyes with the love and bond only a mother can have. 

I hope that adoptive moms out there understand the secrets and fantasies that linger in the minds of adoptees.  For years I was disconnected to the world because of my disconnection at birth.  I missed out on "Experiencing" life as I should have.  I was in some adoption fog, wanting something that I could not have and that made me angry.  Anger is just a symptom.