Lets face it...

 Let's face it...."My Son" was mom's favorite,  my sister tells me.    My sister and her x husband came to see our newly remodeled home, we took them  for an early dinner and we had a good time. We both had a small drink,  and I chose each and every word that came out of my mouth, very, very....carefully.  I listened more than I spoke.  I am always cautious about what I share with my own sister.  She still, to this day, shares pretty much nothing of importance with me.  I guess I always find that to be an untrustworthy trait, for a sister at least?  I used to share way too much with her, and got tired of her sharing absolutely nothing with me about her life.  My husband, for years, urged me to stop telling her about our life, it took me many years to finally stop.   She waited six months to tell me that she and her husband divorced and he had already moved out before I was told.  We live 19 miles from each other, not 19 hours, and we've always lived very close to one another our entire lives.  Our families shared almost all Holidays together, mom & dads birthdays , anniversaries, you name it we were all together.  

My sister, feeling brave after having a drink,  goes on to list all of the things her son did for our mother.  A list of reasons in her mind, that made her son, our mother's favorite grandchild.    

I was at such a loss of words , I stood there, almost frozen by her coldness and listened as we walked to our cars.  As the words were coming out of her mouth, she was speaking it seemed, in slow motion.  At one point I couldn't hear her any longer, I could hear my heart beating in my chest, and I felt myself floating away, thinking I couldn't wait to get into the car and leave, and what seemed like an eternity as she told her story about her angelic son.  I was bargaining with myself, very quickly...do I shout at her and tell her to shut up, or maybe just punch her right in the nose?  Instead I stood there, with my mind contemplating all of the horrific things she's said and done  to me while our mother was slowly slipping away as she tries to prove to me that she and her son did more for our Mother than it seems, anyone else.  I chose to say nothing, and to be honest...after her first few sentences, I have absolutely no idea what she said to me as we said goodbye.

Let's face it, I was nobody's favorite, how could my children be "Our Mothers" favorite I thought?  How can she say such ridiculous things to me?  After all that has been said and done, she still feels the need to "One up me" or to hit me below the belt.  She still, after both of our parents being gone now for years, feels the need to flaunt her superiority,  proving that "She" is the important birth child and that her children still are our mothers favorite, and how she feels about our Mother is much more meaningful than how I feel about her.

Lets face it,  my sister feels that because she is our Mothers "Blood Relative" that her feelings, her regrets, her sorrow and grief are more meaningful and more important, than mine.  With her cunning words, she downplays anything and everything that I shared with our mother,  the time and precious moments we shared together.  

Lets face it, my sister still feels threatened by me,  as I wipe the tears running down my face as we drive home, I will always be my Mothers daughter and as much as she hates that idea, she can never change it.  Adoption, is a four letter word, it is the invisible abuse, the life altering decision nobody wants to talk about.  The others want to pretend that it's "My fault" - never wanting to own their part in the dysfunction and feelings they have about the fact that I was not born to my mother.  But trust me, at age 59, I can hear that pain in my sisters voice  and her lack of really saying to me..."She was MY mother not yours" and telling me that her pain, the loss of our Mother is much more meaningful to her than it is me.  If she could, I think she would say I have no right to anything that belongs to her.  

Let's face it, adoption doesn't always work, and I have to find a way to live with this reality.  

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. 

Adoption and exclusion

I'd like to say I was not adopted, that I was born to my mom and dad. It really would be wonderful, so much easier and less heartbreaking for me.    Time ticks away, the days pass by, I wake up, go to bed and another year has passed and nothing has changed.  It has been said for many years, oh there is no difference if your adopted,  we feel the same about you as the child [we gave birth to].  I sometimes can keep up the charade and pretend there is no difference.  Until there is a difference and those differences are practically shoved down my throat by those telling me there is no difference!

How can I continue to pretend there is no difference ?   My only sister, who's only daughter excludes my daughter from her wedding activities, they have grown up together.  They have spent every important moment together over the past 27 years, I video taped her birth, .  The exclusion is so overwhelming to me, I cannot breathe.  I am questioning the relationships within my family,  and I finally spoke up and told my sister it is dreadfully wrong and mean what her daughter has done.  Nothing will ever be the same, and unfortunately that is the truth.  I told my mom how I felt, she has no opinion, she doesnt want to take sides.  There are no sides!  She seems sad, but not sad enough to have a voice and speak up!    My niece has made comments over the years, probably without my sisters knowledge but nonetheless, it happened.  "Who is your mom anyhow" when discussing who looks like whom within our family . Does not take a brain surgeon to realize my children cannot look like my parents or their relatives, however my niece and nephew do look like them. DUH!   Its just a fact of life.  No fault of mine, or my children, yet I cant help but think this has been discussed within their family which is why she has said these things to me over the years and excluded my daughter.   Now she is getting married, and I did believe things were OK , the kids are all grown and I really thought my niece was different!!!

I realized I was wrong, my beliefs about how the others in my family feel for me and my family are brutally wrong.  Its a harsh and ugly reality, the most ugly feeling I have felt.  I planned my nieces engagement party last Thanksgiving, spent weeks hand painting signs and making custom napkin rings with their photo, along with a custom engagement photo book.  I was so excited, the first kid to get married in our family.

Turns out it is not exactly my family.  Its their family, and that is exactly how we all feel.  We debated about attending the wedding shower, but we went because as my daughter said, we do whats right.  Walking into the wedding shower I quickly realized most these women did not know my sister even had a sister.  I was not introduced, and went to the hostess and introduced myself.  She said, and I quote, "Oh my God, I didnt know {my sister} had a sister."  She went on to say that she did not see a photo of me anywhere,  I took the time to have many pictures printed for my sister to frame and place around the wedding shower.  The hostess was correct, not a single picture of me, anywhere.

BAM!  Slug in the gut, slap in the face, I am falling off a cliff, down down down down I go, spiraling out of control.  I hold it together long enough to make it through the shower.  However I know the maid of honor, the hostess' daughter.  I picked that girl up the next morning after many high school parties.  When my daughter and I arrived at the shower, rang the doorbell, another birdesmaid we know answered the door.  She pretended not to know us, did not recognize us!  The rude bridesmaids and maid of honor could not bring themselves to speak to us, I know we must seem like some other species, not human. That is how we felt.  My kids know many of these bridesmaids as they all went to the same schools throughout their lives. 

The difference is huge, so big that it has divided our families.  My sister has told me that it does not matter what I wear to the wedding when I discussed wanting to blend with her and mom.  Said I can wear a cocktail dress if I want to, I'm not part of the family so it doesnt matter.   I have realized throughout all of this, I am just a guest.  I cannot tell you how badly this has broken me, my heart, my soul, and to be honest it has blown me away so badly I dont even know how much damage this has done yet!   And I am still trying to sort out how I could have been so wrong, how I could have believed that my sister and her family loved me and considered me their family.

All I know is that if adoption did not exist, I would not be blogging and going to therapy.  They go about their day, as though nothing is wrong, and they really have no desire to apologize or make things right, if they even know there is a problem?????.  My daughter and I did receive a long text from my niece, she sounded like she was writing a letter to one of her clients, trying to win an account.  As I have said many times, your actions speak louder than your words.

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.

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.

Seriously can't believe this!

My husband drove me to my parents house late tonight.  Since my accident a few weeks ago I'm still scared to drive the crazy freeway.

My mom is going in for an angiogram, she may need a stent or if that is not possible, open heart surgery.  She is not planning on that, so I don't know what is going to happen.

My sister cannot get here until tomorrow night, so I came early so she is not alone the day before the procedure.

My last visit was hell, no nice way to put it.  I stayed up 3 nights in a row to get the real picture of what is going on here when my sister and I are not around.  My sister doesn't spend the night,  she comes for a visit during the day.  Although she did spend the night for the first time in a long time, last week.

So we decide to go to bed , mom comes into the room and tells me she cleaned off the other bed, and not to sleep in the bed I always sleep in when I come here.  Mind you I'm here all the time, and I stay days at a time.  I'm at a loss for words.  She tells me no, that is my sisters bed, you sleep in this one.

Now this sounds trivial to a lot of people out there, Im sure!  So...I stay here days on end on a regular basis, my sister stays one time  and I don't get to sleep in the same bed I always sleep in?  And this is the bed with the mattress topper!

OK, whatever.  I text my husband, and tell him what mom said.  He always knows how to get me out of this funk.  He responds by saying, "Thats because your just a number."   I laughed to myself.  And responded to him, "Yep, your right."  His response sounds mean, but its not.  Its dreadfully true.  My adoption papers all state baby girl #, no name, and so that is our inside joke.  I am not a real daughter, just a number, a purchase of theirs.  Basically, I do not count.  That is how he jolts me out of this la-la land of wanting a good mom, and to not feel sad, etc.

So I sit here, on top of my bed at my parents house typing this blog.  In the dark, as I plan on sleeping on top of this bed, not to dirty my sisters sheets!  Wow, what a punch in the gut.  Who are they kidding, and how much can a person take.   I am very glad I brought 2 bottles of wine to soften the blows from mom this week, maybe I will sleep and not lay awake wondering why I'm here, away from my family, trying to help a woman that really doesn't care or think very highly of me or even want me here.

Adoption will never work for me.  And I know that I will have to make peace with this mess and somehow be a better person and not get all choked up  and feel like I've shrunk back to age 10!!!    I have to be the better person, take care of people that don't care for me.  Its tough, but has to be done, with character, and kindness.  Its a big test, and I have to pass this one.  Maybe that is why I have been put here, in this situation, with these people?

auto pilot

Thats how my life is.  Around my parents and sister & her family.  Auto pilot.   Whats been taught and just about beat into me as a kid, just automatically happens.  Cathy, the good girl.  That is who I'm supposed to be.  Its awful to think that Cathy, the adoptee, could or would be bad.  Choose to do something wrong.   Its much more "Wrong, or shocking"  when an adoptee does something...bad.  In their eyes.

Its not just with regards to the family, its much more widespread.  Your so afraid of being bad just from being born, that you live your whole life second guessing each and every move you make.

Thinking that you will be judged, as the bastard kid that nobody wanted.   You think to yourself, a lot of stuff that I'm guessing other kids never think.

So theres this story I want to share.  One that is just unfolding now.  Today.  This week.

My parents health is failing.   Long story short, it was told to my moms sister,  to contact my sister, not me, to get the updates regarding moms health.  I guess I am not a reliable source.  I am not trust worthy like my counterpart.  The child they gave birth to.

When does the stupidity end?  When will these people get their heads out of foreign places and smell the fresh air and become human?

Because I was not born from this woman's body does not make me a gremlin.  A monster.

Because I was abused by my own mothers husband, yes my dad, I am considered to be unreliable.  Because I am not blood.   That automatically makes me a trespasser, someone you cannot trust.

My moms sister told me what my own mother said to her this week.  Don't contact Cathy, contact ......and named my sister.

What does this mean?

I am so over fighting to find my place.  To prove that I am worthy, that I am good.

In two months I will be 50.  I think its safe to say this will never end.  The stupidity will continue, and I will never, ever, get what I want.  Its just not in the cards for me.

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. 

I was right....the silence continues

I have not had a single response from birth mother since I contacted her.  Yes, she did respond to ME initially, but she has not contacted me on her own.   I am OK with this, because I dont feel the same about her as I used to.  I dont have the desire, but its interesting to see that I was right.  She was texting my aunt to get to me.  The texting has stopped.

My (adoptive) mom is still the same as well, this is just my lot in life.   I basically have no mom.  I call her mom, she acts as though she is my mom.  I am just some other woman's baby, that she has kept for 46 years.

A good example of this, was just last month when I was told at her birthday lunch with my sister.  She tells me, in this backwards sort of way, like she's terribly guilty of doing something wrong, and trying to tip toe around the subject.  She tells me that she went to an attorney to get her family trust fixed.  My dad was the first one on the list, but now that he's had a stroke and cannot speak, she has taken him off.  OK, I thought, this is a good idea.  Well here it comes.  She cleverly tells me that she drove all the way out to my town, and took my sister with her to see this attorney....oh, but your name is on the papers, it always was Cathy....     OK, so why in the heck did you not call me and tell me that you were coming all the way out to our neighborhood and why didnt you invite me to come along if you are saying I'm such an important part of this process?

I wonder if my mom has any idea how this makes me feel?  I have yet to tell her, but right now, writing this, I realize I have to call her out on it.  I'm 46 years old, not 9 years old.  And why am I not important enough to tell?  Better yet, why would they get together and not tell me, or invite me?  One can only think of one answer...and you know what that answer is, dont you?

I'm that baby, someone else's baby, she calls her daughter.  In reality, I'm just that.  I dont look like them, I am not important or trustworthy enough to be invited to attorney meetings to discuss my mothers trust.  My sister works all day long, so you know she planned this around her schedule.  Then why not at least invite me, let me know? 

So, that is the bottom line, I really feel this is true, regardless if mom never admits to it.  I'm someone else's baby, even though I am a grown woman, I am still treated like I am not quite as important as the birth sister and not trusted like her own child.  

Sad, really....