Facing my own demons

adoption, adoption loss, life,

Fighting my fear….am i doomed for a life of this terror

The nightmares have started again…. I was sure that dream was gone forever… I haven’t  had it about 10 years…. It took me almost 10 years to get the last of that demon out of my sub-conscience. I was sure that I would never feel that fear again… Sat. Night, the dream demon visited me in my sleep, as he did last Sat… In anticipation for the Sunday to follow… And this morning, Sunday morning, while brushing my hair, I saw that old fear in the eyes that stared back at me from the mirror. Fear.. Terror! My stomach lurched when I recognized the terror in my eyes.  How could I go there again on Sunday? I knew what would happen. I knew “he” would come into to the restaurant where I work and I knew what would happen… How could I go and face that again? I picked up the phone… What could I say? What lie could I use to get me the day off? What about next week.. The week after? How many weeks could I call out from work and not get fired? How long could I keep this job when I had to face this terror every Sunday?

It was asking these questions that made me realize I had to go today. This day would decide my future… I would ether face this fear head on or I’d run away screaming and allow this demon to destroy my life… Yet again!

My logical Brain argued with my fear… I’m 42 years old… I have built a new life for myself.. I’m not that young scared girl any more….But my fear countered my arguments with memories that are much harder to argue with….

I was 18, he was 30 when we got married. He had rescued me from possibly living on the streets just a few short months before. He gave me a place to stay when my step father and mother kicked me out….before my 18th birthday. He was my Knight… Bla bla….The age difference didn’t mean a thing to me, then… I felt that I was much more mature than most 18 year olds. (Don’t all 18 year olds feel that way?) But in truth, I was just a child… Emotionally, I was in no way ready for any type of marital relationship…And I was too emotionally immature to recognize the warning signs that were flashing above this man’s head.

In truth, the brain washing had already begun, even before the wedding. I had turned in my notice at work, at the job that I loved, because “my man” wanted to take care of me…..It made me feel important and protected. With the job, I also gave up my friends. I didn’t see anyone, because it was important to spend time with my new husband….and my new home….He wanted so much to be “everything” for me… To take care of me, forever.” I thought it was wonderful and never dreamed of what the future could hold for me when I was cut off from the rest of the outside world…

The other thing that I thought was so wonderful was his desire for children. He let it be known from the very beginning that he could hardly wait for me to have his child.. The first couple of months after our wedding, he told me this so often that many times I felt a twinge of guilt that I wasn’t already pregnant… That guilt didn’t last long, as he got his wish very early. R was born one month before our first wedding anniversary. Never in my life at this time would I have imagined what would come next! I was happier with life than I had ever been! I had a husband who “wanted to take care of me for always” and the most “beautiful” baby in the world! I felt that my life was complete at 19 years old!

I dedicated my whole life to my beautiful baby girl. She became my world. I found it so much fun and so rewarding that nothing could seem mundane or distasteful about taking care of a baby. I didn’t notice the lack of sleep… I woke up with a smile every time my baby woke up. Changing diapers even felt special to me… Tickling her little tummy and playing “this little piggy” with those cubby little toes. If R was awake, I was with her. Every thing else in my life took second place to my daughter. I believed that was the way it was supposed to be and I really couldn’t have done it any other way.

I did what I could to take care of our home, when ever the baby was asleep. But if it was messy… So be it. I didn’t notice. I started buying sandwich meat and t.v. Dinners instead of cooking elaborate meals that I had cooked before R was born. It is a balancing act to take care of a new born and still make time for one’s husband. One that I never learned. And my husband felt it. I think that his initial reaction was totally normal. He felt left out and alone and he told me so. In truth, I mostly just waved away his feelings. I figured when R got older she wouldn’t need me as much and he wouldn’t feel this way any longer.

That’s how the fights started…. As simple little arguments that I didn’t think were important. I did try to balance my time better. I didn’t give up any  of the time I spent playing with my baby or taking care of her the way I felt I should.. But I spent less time resting when she was sleeping. Trying to fit in more time for the things that he complained about. I cleaned the house more.. I cooked meals again. The more I did the more he found that I wasn’t doing. I began to feel the pressure of lack of rest and lack of time for myself. And the arguments became more intense, as I found voice to argue back. I began to see my perfect little world start to crumble around me but I still had no idea how far this would go.

I don’t remember what the argument was about the first time my “hero” showed his true colors… Maybe there were dishes still unwashed in the sink… Or he didn’t have clean socks… Who knows how it started… The only thing I remember is that we were having a yelling match with each other and suddenly his eyes took on a new look… I swear, they seem to change colors… I had never seen a look like that in anyone’s eyes before.. I didn’t know what it meant, but I knew it scared me more than I had ever been in my life.

My reaction to this fear was to not let it show. So I took a step closer to him and yelled back at him with all my might. “Never let them see your fear!” I had heard that somewhere and was sure it applied here. That’s when I learned my first lesson on challenging my husband. I learned it on the floor. I didn’t see it coming. I barely had time to feel it. For a second, I wondered how I came to be laying on the floor… But only for a second, as then the burn set in on my face that now had a bright red hand print across it. And he was like a wild tiger, pouncing on my chest. His hands around my throat would leave finger size bruises that would serve as a reminder to me for weeks to come.

I began to fall into the darkness of unconsciousness before he released his hold on me. As quick as he had turned into this mad man, he seemed to change again… He sat on the floor next to my crumpled body and while I struggled to breath again, he talked calmly to me about his childhood. I couldn’t understand his words… It was like he was speaking another language to me for several minutes…

When I did regain my ability to breath normally, I couldn’t understand what had happened. Did anything happen? Did I have some sort of psychotic episode and imagined it all? There he was, just talking as if nothing had happened. While my face still felt the burn of his first hit and my throat would not let me speak. I was afraid to try to move. I didn’t know how he would react if I tried to move away from him, even though every fiber of my being was screaming at me to get away from this man…

As I fought back the sobs that were building inside me, he continued to tell me a story of his childhood as if nothing had happened. Then when his story was finished, he proclaimed that he was tired, kissed my throbbing cheek and left me on the floor and went to bed. When I heard the bedroom door close, I allowed the tears to flow, I laid on the floor in fetal position until I had sobbed myself to sleep. That strangely enough, was the first night that R slept through the night.

What woke me up was the noise of my husband in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. When he realized I was awake, he spoke of how tired I must be… “To sleep so late”. (Even though it was still quite early.) And told me how he was going to try to help me more with cooking and cleaning, because I was looking so worn from taking care of the baby. The whole thing could have easily been some kind of scene from a sweet romantic movie… Except for the bruises on my face and neck. It all had a strange dream like quality to it. I almost felt as if I was coming off of a drunk night or something.

Before he went to work, he apologized for the fight. He claimed that he could barely remember what happened but it wouldn’t happen again. Remembering what he said now is impossible, but I remember how I felt. Before he was finished, I felt sorry for him. I had pushed him into that violent moment, it was all my fault. It wouldn’t happen again.. I was so sure of that.

But the only thing that didn’t happen again was he never again left a bruise on my face. His “out of control” rage always seemed the same, when it came. It seemed as if he was not in control of himself and he always seem to “forget” after wards… But he never again put any bruises on me that could not be hidden. Some how I never realized how calculated his rage was…

Each out burst was worse than the last. The after wards was always the same.. He always did some grand gesture to show his undieing “Love” for me.. And bought me gifts and apologized and told me how he didn’t remember his outburst and couldn’t imagine what was happening. He eventually began adding promises to find help for himself. And he always found subtle ways of turning it around on me and I always fell for all of it.I always believed him when he said it would never happen again…  I always felt that it was my own fault. After all, it was only me that he ever became violent with. The fact that he never drank or did drugs also in my mind proved that it had to be my fault… I’m not sure how this came to be my logic… but it is what I thought. If he had done drugs, or drank than I could blame that. I couldn’t find anything to blame. I didn’t know that he was the blame, that thought never accured to me. As I look back on myself then, I wonder who this young woman was.. I wonder why she couldn’t see reality that slapped her in the face! I still do not understand how I could excuse his violent out burst or the torture that he put me through. I alone was allowed to see that side of him, and yet I still fell for the act that he put on around other people. Around our child.

As R became older and less dependant on her mother for everything in her world, I watched her form a close bond with her father. He was so good with her. He would sit on the floor with her and play with her for as long as she wanted. He seemed to have unending patience for her. He was so gentle and happy with her. He took such pleasure in watching her learn new things, things that he taught her… She learned his schedule and would always become excited as time approached for him to come home from work. She was never exposed to anything but love and happiness. He was two people… One was loving and kind and patient… And the other person didn’t come out until R was safely asleep at night. I began to dread R’s bedtime because I knew I wasn’t safe if she was asleep.

There was never a warning to tell me ahead of time when he would go off. He would be a perfect gentleman full of smiles and kisses and soft touches… Then he would make a check on R to see if she was sleeping and come back and just snap on me. Suddenly he’d be abolishing me for some slight indiscretion I had done or he had perceived that I had done during the day. It always ended the same.. With me crumbled on the floor with bruises on my arms or legs or chest..Or knots on the back of my head where he slammed my head against a table… Sometimes leaving me with bruised or broken ribs.. (He even broke both my little toes once. Amazing how I still couldn’t see how calculated his punishments were. He purposely chose things like my little toes, because I could still function without anyone knowing how broken and bruised I was…but I still believed him when he said he didn’t have control over his actions.) His all time favorite thing to do was choking me. His hands around my neck, his thumbs pressing into my throat, cutting of my ability to breath until I would see the blackness start to envelope me, only then would he let go… And he always told me then that he didn’t have to stop.. I couldn’t stop him.. He only stopped because he wanted to. But if I ever tried to leave him, he wouldn’t stop until I was dead. And I believed him. I still believe that he meant it. That he would have gladly killed me if he could have… Years later… When I did leave him, he tried to do just that and if he hadn’t been stopped by other people, I still firmly believe he would have killed me that day.

But I didn’t leave him, for five long years after the torture began. How I lived through some of the things he did to “punish” me, I do not know to this day. Some of his torture was so horrible and so elaborate that I know now that he must have planned them out well in advance. Some of it was so horrible that I still to this day can not bring my self to say it out loud… Or write it as the case may be… But I began to believe that I had indeed married Satan himself and nothing short of death could save me from him.

By the end of that marriage, he had almost total control over me and my every movement or thought, even when he wasn’t around. Except for one thing. There was only one aspect of my life that he could not control, one part of my personality that refused to bend to his will. My motherhood! My children were always put first in my mind. I did what ever I saw as best for them even if that was against his wishes. OH, yes, it made me live in constant fear of what punishment I would receive, but I still took care of my daughters in what ever way I thought was right.

 My refusal to allow him to change me as a mother was indeed what saved me from death by his hands, I believe….The only reason I ever had that was strong enough to get me to run from him was the love of my children and my desire to protect them.

But even after I exscaped the physical punishments of this man…Even when he was no longer in my life, he still had control over me for so many many years…. I had nightmares every night in the beginning in which he would excape from the prison he was in and find me and slowly torture and kill me.

The dreams so vivid that would leave me shaking for most of the next day in my waking hours…. Even after I moved to another state, I watched for him every where. If I saw a man with his hair color, or his height and basic build I would have a panic attack. I do mean I would totally freak! This went on for several years… Slowly, the dreams came less often and I learned not to panic when I saw someone who couldn’t posibly be him who just happened to be about the same height. Even though I had a set back when the year came that I knew he would be eligible for parolle.

but now! after 19 years, I thought I had beat this! I thought this man was finally out of my head and no longer had control over me. Sadly I was wrong! About a month ago, while working I learned that this man, who I haven’t even seen in 19 years can still send me into uncontrolled terror. When a man came into the resteraunt where I work, as a costomer. This man for what ever reason, caught my eye imediatly. And I cringed and held my breath and felt again like that small 19 year old girl lying on the floor wondering what had happened. This man looked exactly like what I would expect my ex husband to look after 19 years.

Now imagine this.. I have no real knowledge that this man is indeed my ex husband… no rational reason to believe that he was and that he had somehow found me and came into my work with his wife and child in tow?! But I couldn’t think rationally! Logic had nothing to do with how I reacted! I spent the rest of the time that he was there in hiding from him. That was just the beginning. As it turned out, this man, his wife and young son came in every Sunday after. Each time my fear grew stronger and I spent more energy hiding from his sight. Two Saterdays ago, the night mare came back. Two Sat. nights in a row I’ve had that same night mare that I used to have when I first left my ex husband. Sunday morning I would be sick with fear….

Which brings us to this most resent Sunday… When someone I know saw this man, who had no idea of my thoughts or fears. A friend of mine was the answer without even knowing the question. He knew the man. When I saw them talking, I managed to get my friend by himself and asked him how he knew him. Come to find out that he worked with him, years ago and his name was not the name of my ex! Glory of Glories! This man is not my ex husband and I no longer have to fear Sundays at work.

But the truth is I have a much larger problem! This only brought out that problem into the light of day. I am a 42 year old woman who now knows how to take care of herself. I know now that I don’t need a “man” to take care of me! I now know that I did not then, nor do I ever deserve to be abused by anyone in anyway! I know all this and yet, I can not beat this fear! How can I win over this demon of the past when I can’t even face someone who looks like him???

If by some wild stretch of the imagination, this man did seek me out after all these years and seek revenge on me… I do believe that I could find a way to defend myself against him… If I was not frozen in fear! But as I see by my reaction to a slight posibility that I might have to face him, that I would indeed be Frozen with Fear!

As I see it, there is no need for him to ever seek revenge as he still controls me without any sort of contact what  so ever! How do I beat this control? How can I get this demon out of my head?


November 7, 2006 Posted by | past, today | 9 Comments

Where will the money come from: AKA; it takes a village

Normally, when I write a new post, I wait until the post is complete to name it. Why? Because when I start writing, I have a thought of what I want to say, but I never know for sure where it will end up. My ideas start out as small little thoughts and become “complete” during the writing of a post. As I write, I learn more about what is truly in my head. This is the way my mind works. I’m sure that it is the way many writers minds’ work.

This time however, I do know where I want to end up at. I have a beginning and I have an ending… Or perhaps the ending is the beginning… I’m hoping for that anyway. What will come in the middle is what we shall see…. 

In my last few post, I’ve been trying to find some alternatives to adoption and to find a way to make the act of adoption … More human… So to speak. Some of my thoughts were to utilize programs that are already in place with in the our government. (Ok, here I must stress that I am talking about the U.S. Government, because truly I don’t have enough knowledge to speak of any other country, even though this is a world problem that needs to be addressed everywhere, I am only able to talk about what I know.)

Thanks to Harlow’s Monkey, we know that at least in some states, the family foster system does indeed already exist. Unfortunately, many of the women do not know about the existence of such programs that could mean the difference between being able to keep their child, or loosing that child to adoption.

In my last post, I talked about the need for government regulations on the adoption process. There needs to be a requirement that any woman who is considering adoption must be told about the programs that she could access to help her raise her baby. We need to stop telling women that they can’t give a child what another couple could, just because she is poor or under educated or doesn’t have job skills that could land her a good paying job.

Instead, we need to have programs that are readily available to her, that will provide day care, and skill education so she can learn how to support herself and her child. I’m not talking about putting yet another family in the “welfare” system, so that they will be trapped in that government controlled life without hope of making it on their own, EVER. I’m talking about our government using the programs that they already have created to help these people to gain control over their own lives.

So if the government suddenly, today, starts telling everyone about the programs that exist that could help them… What then? Well, I am sure that a lot of women would suddenly realize that adoption isn’t their last hope for the child they love so much. Suddenly the increase in women who are asking for government help could be astronomical. Who will pay for all this?

Well, first off, if it was done correctly, the cost would be temporary. The benefit would be that people wouldn’t remain on Welfare all their lives. They would go to school and learn skills to get careers and they would become productive members of society that would increase the taxes paid in to fund these programs.

But also, I’m a bit angry that I am sure the government officials would be asking this question. I see public, government supported schools that have books that are outdated, and doesn’t have enough supplies for all the teachers without help from donations from citizens in the community. I drive on roads and even interstate freeways that are in such disrepair that you could easily damage your car if you do not avoid the potholes and cracks.

And then I see people working two and three jobs just to make ends meet, because the government is taking so much of their hard earned money in taxes! And then they go to the stores to buy supplies for their lives and pay more taxes. And the people like my dad, who worked all their lives, paying into the social security program for fifty years or more and now they don’t even get enough back to pay rent on a house! Who’s going to pay for it? We are! We already are paying for it! Everyday! We are paying and now the government needs to step up and use that money that we’ve paid with blood, sweat and tears to save these families.

You would think that this would be the end of this post. As I have said in my past post it is important for us to make our voices heard. We have to speak up, yell out for the rights of those who can’t or don’t know how to speak up for themselves. But is that enough? NO! It’s not nearly enough!

Should we stand here on these self proclaimed pedestals and demand that the government fix this all themselves? No! While I truly believe that the government has the power to fix this broken system, we need to realize that we are all here, now, together on this lovely planet we call earth.

This blogging group, that I consider myself a member of is a diverse little group. There are people in it from all walks of life. Adopted Adults, First mothers and fathers, and Adoptive Parents. We “come together” here on this thing we call the Internet and our differences fall away. We are here for one thing.. We seek out information, answers to our questions… And we share our own answers with each other.

One thing I am sure of, we all work hard, in one way or another, for what we now have. What ever that may be. But I’ve also seen the hearts of this “group”. And it amazes me! These are people who know what love is. They know how to love and how to care for others. They share that love in small ways with other members of this “group” even though most of us have never met in “real life”

So when this woman: http://awrungsponge.blogspot.com/ showed her heart in this post, http://awrungsponge.blogspot.com/2006/09/teddy-bear.html

I was not surprised of the love she projected. But I was a bit taken back, because here she was being proactive in trying to start in some small way to help the people that I was sitting here shouting out for someone else to save them. Suddenly I realized that having a voice, was a good start, but it is not enough! I have to jump in and take action to help those faceless women that I write about with such passion. I have to use that passion to help them get started in a new life.

So I wrote to Cloudscome, and told her that not only did I want to make baby blankets for these women, but I wanted to help her form a group that could grow into something wonderful. We could be mentors for women who love their unborn babies but don’t have anyone to tell them that they can keep their babies. We can help them get a foot up so that they can start out on the right road to the wonderful world of parenthood.

And she wrote back with enthusiasm for this. So now we begin.. for now, we begin with an idea and we present it to you, our “internet blog friends” for your approval. Who among you will reach out and take our hands and help us help someone else?

Of course this group will start small. We don’t have resources to just jump in and start a huge charity. And of course, there is life, that tends to demand attention from us, so we will have to find ways to juggle our jobs and children and family and this new adventure. But it is my dream that someday it will grow with the help of other’s who know the need of this.

For now, we want to start with, using the words of Cloudscome, a closet of hope. My next post will be about my dreams of what this can and I hope someday will become. I will go into how the differences among us will be a great help in this project. Each of us bringing their own talent and resources to the group.

While you are waiting for my dreams for the future, be sure to check out Cloudscomes latest entry on this: http://awrungsponge.blogspot.com/2006/09/this-little-nagging-idea-that-wont-go_25.html

It will give you more of an idea of her wonderful idea that will hopefully some day grow into a real Answer!

September 26, 2006 Posted by | Hello World, today | Leave a comment

9/11 I will remember….

Sept 11, 2001… A day that went down in history. Life in these United States paused if not but for just a moment on that day, as we all watched in horror that terrible history being created.

I remember that day as if it were yesterday. And then it seems fuzzy. Did I eat? Did I sleep? Did I leave the couch or the T.V. That I was glued to for three days? I’m not sure. I am sure that the mundane task of the day were preformed without thought, while I kept one eye on the nightmare that was shown over and over on that television set. When I did return to “life as normal” going to work the first day after this.. I watched the same reports before work that I had watched for the last three days and when I returned home from work, I watched again. I was an emotional wreak but it never accured to me to stop watching. I watched the twin towers crumbling to the ground, over and over, with wide tear filled eyes. Afraid to blink in case something changed on these tapes that I had seen so many times. I’m sure I shared that zombie stare with thousands of others. Until one day, I’m not sure how long it had been by then, finally told me, it was enough. I needed to turn off the T.V for a while. I needed to rest my heart.

I cried, I cried with the rest of America that day and the days to follow. I didn’t know anyone who was lost that day… But my heart felt their loss…Never in my life had I felt the loss of strangers as I did on 9/11. America felt the loss of these lives. People of my generation, and the younger generation have never had to bare witness to such devastation. Our lives had been coddled with a good economy and nothing of significance that would ever make us feel unsafe in our lives. Most of America had grown with, if not a silver spoon, at least a feeling of well being. Those who were suffering in our country were mostly ignored because the majority of this country had never seen any devastation in life. We grew up with the belief that we were invincible. No one could hurt us, we were AMERICA.

We got a rude awaking on that day five years ago. It took a while the shock to give way to the pain and the pain give way to fear. But indeed, we all learned a terrible lesson. We learned that we are not as a country, total invincible. We learned that we are not safe from harm, just because we live in America. What a horrible lesson we learned.

The lives that were lost that day… Such a horrible nightmare that we each hope to wake from.. But we don’t because it was all too real. For the first time in our generation, we were touched by terror, loss and fear that we couldn’t just blink away. It wasn’t something that happened across the ocean that we could point at and say ” oh how sad for them…” For this time it was us… And this time, we finally got it. Even for those of us who lost no one they knew, could feel it. We felt the loss of those people. We hurt for them, we hurt for their family… We realize that it could have been any of us…

We will remember! That is what we say about 9/11 and it is true. We do remember. It is heartbreaking and we can not forget. But Now, after 5 years, I wonder… Do we remember the danger? Of course, we can’t live our lives in daily fear.. No one should live that way… But are we once again so over confident as we were 5 years ago?

As for the pain: Today I watched those tapes again. The ones I spent days and days, more than a week watching over and over, five years ago. Today, I watched them again… And I cried…..

For everyone who’s life was touched by the tragedy of that day.. For everyone who lost friends and loved ones… For everyone who’s lives changed forever on Sept. 11, 2001. I think of you today. My heart goes out to you.

September 11, 2006 Posted by | today | 2 Comments

Who are all these People?

standing-in-the-rain.jpgWho are are all these people I see;

Standing in the rain.

See there, the one who smiles;

Every so softly…

Something in her eyes…

There is one who tries so hard;

To comfort those in pain.

Gentle voice, soft words

Hugs to be given freely.

Standing there, is one,

Who is crying out in terror.

The fear that can not be hid.

Then the laughter,

From the one in front.

Do what it takes;

My friend, to hear laughter,

From those around you.

And over there, see the red?

The one who’s anger,

Screams for attention.

One hiding from the world,

No one to see..

Who are all these people, I see?

Standing in the crowd.

Loving, and hating?

Pain and happiness,

All in this one crowd.

Screams of terror,

Smiles of comfort

Who will show themselves today?

All these people, I do not know.

Looking at me;

From the mirror.

June 30, 2006 Posted by | life, today | Leave a comment


I had a dream last night that disturbs me on so many levels. All of my dreams lately have been related to my emotion turmoil of my children. This one was ominous and cryptic, but I know it was also related to my feelings about my search. I feel like I can find answers now, if I can find the answers to this Dream. But that is silly, isn't it? I mean I made up the dream. I can't really will information to come that I don't have by deciphering a dream that was made up in my sub-conscience, can I?

So here it is:

I was in this… Tent? Very very large unending tent.. Like a military medical tent as I would imagine it… There were all these people….laying on cots, rows and rows of cots so close together that you had to walk sideways between them. My duty was to give each person one, no more no less, one sip of water. Now mind you that none of these people, men and woman of all races, (I did have the sense that there was someone there from every race in the world and ever combination of race… In other words, the cots of people waiting for ONE sip of water from me, was endless.)

None of these people had any physical signs of injury. No bruises, no marks, no cuts, no signs of illness. But I knew all of them were in terrible, undescribable pain. Each time I looked into the eyes of yet another {Patient}, my heart stopped beating, my lungs seemed to constrict and I couldn't breath. I was shaking and my chest hurt so bad that I was sure I would soon pass out. And suddenly, I knew that this sip of water was not helping AT ALL! I couldn't just blindly continue doing this, JUST BECAUSE I WAS TOLD I SHOULD. So there was this nurse at a desk suddenly. She wasn't there before. She was moving files from one side of her desk to another and back again. I went to her and told her that I couldn't just keep on giving these people water. It wasn't helping… "these people are in serious pain!" I said, and she said "Why do you say that?" I told her it was in their eyes and she nodded and shuffled me to a door. The door wasn't there before…

"Go on now", she said, "you passed." And I tried to argue, who was going to help "them", who was going to give them water? And she said someone else was already assigned to them. The next "room" was not a room at all. It was like a desert. It was dusk. Enough light to see, but just dark enough to make everything look dull. It was like a waste land. There were no people, no plants nothing. But my "job" was to find the people. No one told me this, I just knew. The "people" were lost and I had to find them and then find where they were supposed to go…. I started walking, my legs started hurting so bad, with the first step I took, but I walked. I only took a few steps and thought I saw something…. What I saw I don't know, because I woke up.

OK, So I guess this dream was not so Cryptic now that I have wrote it down I can see the logic of it… But I can't put into words the feelings that were involved in that dream. On waking, I stand up from my bed and discover that my RH has flared and my knee won't hold my weight. This is not unusual, it happens sometimes overnight for no apparent reason. But I wonder if this  time it was the stress of the dream? So how do I find my lost loves in this waste land? Why couldn't I stay asleep and finish that dream!?

My chest hurts… Again… Off to take a hot bath so I can maybe get through work today……..

June 18, 2006 Posted by | Adoption, life, today | 4 Comments

Thank God for Sisters!

Sisterhood: The solidarity of women based on shared conditions.

Sometimes we find sisters in the oddest places. I've found many that I would say I am in sisterhood with inside this odd little box, I call my 'puter. These are the woman who share with me the horrible loss of a child, or children to adoption. It's a sisterhood that we all wish we didn't have. Not because we don't want to share with each other, or support each other. (I've met some of the most wonderful giving women anyone could ever hope to meet in my travels on this Internet quest.) But if we could step into some kind of time machine. Knowing what we know now, we'd change the part of our lives that put us into this sisterhood. We'd find a way to keep our kids! Some way, some how, we'd not be, according to the eyes of society, Birth-mothers! We'd just be mothers!

But there is no time machine! We can't go back and change it all. We can't get that piece of our hearts, our soles that were, lost, stolen from us. All we can do now, is go forward and try to support each other in our sisterhood. And pray that someday… Some wonderful day we will reunite with those little lost souls. Sometimes it seems that is all we live for. That someday!

Of course, for me, until very recently, I never thought there might be a someday. At least not for me and my youngest son. OH I'm not kidding myself here, I know that my chances of even finding him are slim, but now I see that there is at least a tiny microscopic chance. Some times I feel like I'm walking in a fog, sometimes I feel like I'm walking on air. Sometimes I get so depressed I can't even cry at all. Finding that there is a sisterhood that I can be in helps, but when the computer is off… I am alone….. And scared! Yes, I am. Scared that this is a fruitless search, scared that I will find him and he will reject me. Scared that I'll be a little old lady someday still searching and never finding. I'm scared. This is not a good place to be, all the time.

What I had forgotten is one other source of support that I wasn't using. I haven't really discussed any of this with anyone in my family. I haven't talked about all of this to anyone in years! On my bad times, I usually just say I'm sick. My family sees what they want to see for the most part, so they accept my depressions as illness without question. And if it is not too bad, I can usually fake it enough for no one to notice anything being wrong. Except when it comes to one person in my family. The one person who knows when something is "not right" with me, even through email, or lack there of. The one person who has more than proven time and time again just how much she cares for me and loves me. She has never judged me, never. And yet, because I have spent much of my life being judged and judging myself, I didn't reach out to her . For no reason what so ever, I didn't trust her any more than I trusted the people who had hurt me. Ironically, this person is my sister!

K and I lost touch for several years when I was a young adult. It wasn't until my marriage to my second/current husband that K and I found our friendship again. But it didn't matter, all those lost years. We were best friends again immediately just as we had been as kids. And we are today, best friends. We email each other daily and K is the only person that I actually like talking to on the phone. I hate the phone. Ha.

Recently, I pulled away from K., because I had entered the blog world of lost mothers. K knew something was wrong. She felt it. But I gave her excuses why I missed writing to her yesterday. Why I only wrote three words today. She didn't push, but she let me know she was worried about me. Finally, I told her everything. I had never even told her my complete story …. This seems unreal to me now. Why Why hadn't I turned to her before? Because, partially anyway, I thought, she's never been through this, she won't understand, and she'll see me as bad like everyone else did.

I wrote her a letter that was easily 5 pages long I think. Everything! I told her everything. I had also told her that I didn't want her to be my sister, when it came to all of "this" I just wanted her to be my friend. I begged her not to be angry with me. I begged her to still be my best friend… I cried the whole time I typed that letter. When I hit send, I jerked my mouse back to where the button would be trying to get the letter back. I checked my mail every hour for the rest of the day until I went to bed. I couldn't sleep that night. And when I got up, there was her letter.

"I'm not mad at you. I love you. I can't believe you had to go through all this by yourself………." were just a few of the wonderful things my sister said to me.

My favorite thing in her letter was so simple yet held such love and understanding and knowing. She knew just what I need and she's there for me. What was this magic sentence?

"I also hope I can help you to find your son."

My dear sweet sister! Again I have to tell you I was wrong to say I didn't want you to be my sister in relation to my adoption loss. I need my sister now more than ever! You are and always will be my sister, not because of the blood that runs in our veins, but because you are my best friend! And I love you!

June 16, 2006 Posted by | Hello World, life, today | 4 Comments