Dead Man Walking

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I began searching for my birth family as soon as I found out I was adopted around 5 years old. Everywhere I went, I was searching for HER, my birth mother. As I reached my early 20’s I had already found my birth mother.  

But what about HIM? 

Where was my birth father…

When I asked my birth mother who my birth father was she said, “He didn’t know anything about you, and he wouldn’t want to!” She refused to give me any information, and that was that. I learned quickly if I wanted her in my life, I better never ask about him again. 

Soon after our very first meeting, she shut me out and I never heard from her again. I was heartbroken. I didn’t give up and I still very much wanted to learn who my birth father was. Occasionally I would call her home, to see if she would answer but she never did. Her husband answered on one occasion and we had a brief conversation. What did I have to lose?

I was never giving up in finding my truth. 

He expressed knowing who my birth father was, but that he was sorry to tell me he had passed away, and he heard that he had been shot many years ago. I asked him his name, but he said he couldn’t remember. He said there was no reason I needed it because he didn’t exist in this world, he was gone, forever. 

This was in 1996 when we didn’t have the internet, social media or DNA testing. Believing my birth father was dead never set well with my spirit. Deep down in my heart, I said to myself, “If he’s dead I still want to know his name, and I still want to see his grave.” I was never giving up on finding him, until I found my truth. 

No one would help me.

No one supported me. 

 I was up against the world and the legal closed adoption system. Born in the state of Iowa, these laws have been sealed since July 4, 1941. That was 79 years ago. This is 79 years of adult adoptees fighting against the grain for their truth.  It’s 79 years of living lies. It’s 79 years of secrecy and shame with adoptees plagued by the stigma attached to unplanned pregnancies, paying the price of this life sentence and even when we find our truth, the magnitude of the loss impacts every area’s of our lives. 

And we’ll find our truth If we’re lucky that is. 

Over 20 years had passed of no contact and I received a Facebook message my birth mother had passed away. I made the choice to go to her funeral, after I was invited by my birth sister. In 2011 I buried the woman I met once, who I dreamed of knowing my entire life. This was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I was introduced as “The daughter she gave up for adoption” and invisible from her obituary as if I didn’t even exist. It was beyond hard. 

Being surrounded by her friends & family, I started asking questions. I was able to get confirmation of who my birth father was, who his family was and how he was tied in to my birth mother. I was told he was a friend of the family, and he was about 10 years older than my birth mother. He lived off the land, with his brothers and parents all living in Leon, Iowa close to the Missouri border. I was told he was married at the time of my conception, and he knew nothing about my existence. But the real question was, IS HE STILL ALIVE?

“Yes, yes he’s very much still alive.” said a friend of my birth mother. 

So you mean to tell me I was told he had passed away, but that was a lie? That’s very much the way the story goes in my journey. It happens to adoptees all the time! The same trip to Iowa for my birth mother’s funeral was the same trip I drove to Leon, Iowa and showed up at my birth father’s doorstep.  

I will never forget November 11, 2011 arriving at his door and seeing his face for the first time in my life. It was a surreal experience. The man I had been told was dead, was very much alive, walking and talking. The internal nagging and turmoil of the unknown had come to an end, and I was looking at his face. Our visit lasted about an hour. He expressed he knew nothing about me, but if he knew about me he would have kept me. He wasn’t accepting of me, and over the last 9+ years I’ve given up hope on us having a relationship. 

I now have my truth. 

I know my truth. 

I have seen my truth for MYSELF.

I had to fight like hell to get it.

I would like to encourage my fellow adoptees to keep searching even when you’ve been told they have passed away.  Don’t give up! I encourage you to get DNA testing to make sure the person you’ve been told is your biological family FIRST. And if you’ve been told they have passed, I wouldn’t believe it until you know by DNA that’s your people, and then you are standing over their grave. 

I’ve seen countless adoptees be given falsified information by the adoption agencies, time and time again. I’ve seen outlandish stories written in identifying and non-identifying information that’s turned out to be completely false in attempts to throw the adoptee off from finding their people. I’ve seen this same paperwork say the biological father has died in a tragic accident yet they are found very much alive. 

I’ve seen it all.

Many adoptions are rooted and grounded in secrecy and lies. 

Please don’t believe what you are told. Verify with DNA your father is who they say he is. If you’ve been told he’s passed away, never give up until you are standing over his grave, but ONLY if this is the person who your DNA says your father is. This goes the same for biological mothers but it seems with many of them relinquishing without our fathers consent, it’s usually our fathers we’re told are dead, vs. our mothers. 

 We know DNA is changing the game for adoptees. If you are still searching, I truly hope you find the answers you are looking for. Everyone on earth deserves to know where they come from. Don’t give up! 

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I Don’t Know My Mom

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The Voice of An Adoptee in Recovery from Relinquishment Trauma & The Mother Wound

 

I don’t know my mom, but I wish I did. I’ve dreamed of her everyday ever since I was a little kid.

Spending a lifetime of searching, I finally found her name but uncovering the truth has been a heartbreaking game. 

Adoptions don’t have beautiful beginnings, instead they’re grounded in loss but the world says we’re winning. 

How am I winning when I didn’t know her name? The woman that brought me into the world, our fingers, toes and DNA are the same?

I don’t know my mom, but I wish I did. I’ve dreamed of her everyday ever since I was a little kid.

I waited for her to come back, but she never showed up. Did she have a clue how her actions would keep me stuck? 

Wading knee deep in my grief, loss & sorrow, many times wanting to end my life. Struggling to find hope or find happiness in tomorrow. 

Do they even think about how an adoptee will feel?

What if our wounds are too deep to heal? 

Did they consult with the adult adoptees before they made this life sentencing deal?  

What if love isn’t enough, or a house full of stuff? 

Did they care about the memories gone, or our grief or our loss? 

Did they know we would forever have a hole in our hearts, and what’s left is shattered in a million parts? 

Did they care that we would spend our lifetime picking up all the pieces?  

Using all our strength to find a glimmer of what deep down peace is? 

I don’t know my mom, but I wish I did. I’ve dreamed of her everyday ever since I was a little kid.

The beautiful bond, broken too soon. Did she know the sorrow she would feel after she walked out of the delivery room? 

How can the world celebrate such a deep rooted trauma? 

Oh, that’s right they have no clue what it’s like to never know or lay eyes on your momma.

Her smell, her smile, her laugh, her touch. No matter who or where she was, I loved her very much. 

I don’t know my mom, but I wish I did. I’ve dreamed of her everyday ever since I was a little kid.

Living life as my [ her ] – story unknown, created constant intense inner conflict and torment.

Parents unknown has been my greatest source of pain, case closed. 

I’m no adoption fairy,  I’m not into serving adoption feel good juice. I’m focused on dishing out 100% adoption truth. 

I don’t know my mom, but I wish I did. I’ve dreamed of her everyday ever since I was a little kid.

p.s. I’ll never get over it, so stop spinning that b.s. 💯

#healingthroughwriting

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