It’s been about two months since I wrote my swan song, signing off from this blog for the rest of forever. But…being the kind of women we are, we simply cannot not write. It is impossible. So with that non-apology, I think I am ready to head back into the adoption blogging fracas. All for all those sniping little toads who think my blog is a train wreck, well POO POO on you. You just don’t like it because you know I am speaking the Truth and the Truth makes your veeeeeeeeerrrrry uncomfortable (with good reason).
So at any rate, much has changed in the past few months. I finished my dissertation and graduated with my Ph.D. Little Penelope Rose turned a year old. Captain Knuckle grew another inch. The Professor has finally learned to stop arguing with me. Okay – maybe not that last one. A woman can dream, can’t she?
I also found out one my lovely little sister has tried to contact you but you have rebuffed her as well.
At least it isn’t just me. It’s all of us.
But mostly not.
Okay – totally not.
Graduation was particularly hard for me. I had always dreamed that I would have all of my children there with me. But there are dreams that cannot be. And that was certainly one of them.
Over the past few weeks, I have spent serious time contemplating the idea of just shoving all of this adoption crap back into whatever recess of my soul it used to reside in and just moving on with my life. However, I have two sons who will not let me forget they have another sister. I have wondered at the wisdom of telling them, of burdening them with your rejection of me – of us. Sometimes I wish I could un-tell them so I could protect them from the hurt they feel when they think of their older sister.
There. I said it.
I know that must smart and sting to read. I know it hurt to write it but I sometimes wish my children did not know about you. I wish I had waited to tell them until you came to us first, not because I am ashamed of you but because it shreds me to have to witness their struggles to reconcile all of this. Because by choosing to not have a relationship with me, you are choosing to not have one with them. My adult mind can understand it (sort of) but theirs? Not so much. I think they would have been able to process it better as an adult instead of as young children. Watching the Professor and Captain Knuckle try to figure all of this sadness out is extremely painful for me, as their mother. Especially knowing I did this to them. To you. To us.
Does this make me a bad person? Perhaps. But that is where I am at this point in my life. Maybe in a few months or years, I will go back to feeling like it was the right thing to do. Who knows. All I know is that right now I wish I could protect them from this adoption crap.
On the flight to Utah, the flight attendant asked the Professor if he had any other brothers or sisters. In his sweet, wide-eyed six-year old innocence he replied, “Yeah, my big brother is at home with dad still. They are coming to Utah next week but my big sister – I don’t even know where she lives. She doesn’t want to talk to me and I don’t know why.”
I don’t know why either, sweet little boy, I don’t know why.