Adoption--- A view of the child that was adopted.

Alright I will be the first to admit I am probably not the most typical adopted child. Between having some massive complication from before birth and a few medical problems I was born with that went undiagnosed until I was an adult I just don't function like a typical person in general. But even with all that said I've had adoption on the brain lately and I was thinking if you've never come in contact with adoption then you may have some misconceptions, and so I wanted to give you a different view.

First let me get some things straight. I love my Mom, my Biological Mom, and My Mom-in-law more than I can even tell you here, and they have all three had an incredible impact on my life. Not to offend anyone reading this, but if I had chosen my own mother I would have chosen my mother-in-law over anyone. In fact I have the opinion-- humorous as it is-- that in heaven before my conception God gave me the choice of my parents. I made my choice, and then he said “Alright, if you want these parents then this is what you are going to have to go through...” And I saw the hell my life would have to become to get to have my mother-in-law and my dad as my parents. In my little funny vignette I hardily agreed, and proceeded to be conceived and born and adopted and raised and married and divorced and married again to finally get to what I asked God for. To this day I would tell you it was worth it even if this life is what it took.

Don't get me wrong I love my mom. She is an awesome person in a lot of ways, but she and I are very different. It took all the time I was a child and until I was twenty and pregnant with my own very stubborn daughter for me to really see how wonderful she is. As a child I gave her hell. The nice way of saying it is-- her parenting style and my being a child style just didn't mesh at all.

She did do a few things very right, though.

1. I always knew I was adopted. As a baby she called me 'my little adopted doll', and when I was old enough to ask she explained how special and wonderful I was because I was adopted. She talked openly with me about adoption and about my biological mother. I could ask any questions of her or my dad. When as a seventeen year old I began my first search to find my biological family she was there to help in anyway she could, though I found out later that she was scared to death that I would want my biological mother more than her.

2. Recently I realized she gave me methods and names for things that most people don't have to think about. You see in my family (birth family) there are a few things that are genetically hardwired. One is a form of autism called Asperger's Syndrome. My mother gave me names for my first-- birth mother-- my biological mother. She gave me ways of dealing with adoption. But even more importantly she gave me ways to learn to deal with people. My mother is very very social and part of a very very social family. As a child I had the propensity to be almost antisocial. She taught me how to act in every situation, and then forced me into those situations. Though I am still not comfortable at a party, for instance, I can be at one and know how to act and probably no one there would realize how blasted bad I wanted out of there! She taught me right behavior and wrong behavior. For a child with autism this is no easy task. Every time I said something out of line she would reteach me how to handle the circumstance again. For example I know to look people in the eyes when I am speaking to them, and to smile when I am speaking to them. Yes, to most people these are simple things, but to me, as a child, they were things that she had to pound into my head.

3. She did not give me excuses. I had dyslexia, but she worked with me day in day out to help me read better and get my math facts down. She taught me to walk straight. The doctors talked about braces for my feet at one point, but she instead had me place my feet on a line and walk on that line and we practiced and practiced until I could place my foot straight (I was extremely pigeon toed to the point that I literally tripped over my own feet.). She made me do eye exercises everyday until I learned to look straight on instead of up and to the side as was my propensity. I was extremely sick as a child ( she didn't know then but I had a liver condition that actually came from my biological mother's pregnancy with me), but I was still required to get up and ready for the day-- go to school if there was school-- be doing my chores or activities if there wasn't. I was never babied, though I was spoiled. Even on the issue of adoption, it was never an excuse but just a fact of life-- like having brown hair when others have blond or black. She taught me in this way to be strong.

4. She could get to me even when I least wanted her to. She could guess what stunt I was going to pull before I ever pulled it, and then would convince me not to do it. Now let me explain I am the most stubborn, bull headed, jack ass that ever lived. I mean this. I really don't mind this attribute either, but my mother had to fight me on everything. If she said go left I was damned sure to go right. If she said the sky was blue I would argue with her that it was red. So the fact that she could catch me and change my course is still amazing to me. I threw fits, would stubbornly dig my heels into the ground at the most stupid things, argue constantly, and fight everything even for no reason. I was clumsy beyond compare, messy to the point you couldn't even get into my room, and allergic to everything. She dealt with it all and more times than I can count kept me from shooting myself in the foot. I don't agree with all her methods, and we still have our issues, but I am so grateful for all the times she changed my course. By the way I've raised or am raising five kids just like me, and I've called her many times and cried “I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all I did to you!” Because I do realize what she had to deal with now and am still quite mystified by a lot of her ways.

I was an impossible child to raise. As my mom said when I was a young mom “I was attached to you from the beginning, but it was not the same with you.” She was right. I was born angry. I am sure from what I know I came out screaming. When I spoke with my biological mother, Cindy, she told me about the day her mother found out she was pregnant and punched her in the stomach. Because of this and even some darker things I never completely attached to my mom until I had children.

From medical test where my liver is concerned, I have an autoimmune problem with my liver that is caused by male cells in my liver. Since I've never been male, never been pregnant with a male child, and have had the liver condition since I was born or before it was concluded I was a twin and my twin had to have lived past the first trimester plus a little. Basically I watched my twin brother cease to exist somewhere around four months gestation. When I found this out I named my brother Joseph-- long story, don't want to explain here. To the point of this whole story-- I was born with a massive chip on my shoulder that my bio mother got blamed for and my mom had to deal with. It wasn't pretty. My grandmother and my dad became my favorite people and my mother got the short end of the stick. It wasn't fair to her, and really it probably wasn't fair to me, but now let me tell you about my bio mother, Cindy, and help you understand I am very grateful I was adopted.

At twenty-five years old I 'found' my biological mother, Cindy. It took about an hour search, and I had a last name. In the whole state of California there were only five people with that last name, and all of them related to me. The first one I talked to was my biological maternal grandfather who was the most awesome person that I never got to meet in person. He had cancer, and though we had some great conversations in the last four months of his life, he died before I could meet him in person. I am so very grateful for those conversations, they changed the way I viewed life. He knew about me, even though Cindy had never told him about me. He'd tell her 'someone is missing'. She still didn't tell him, and when I called he knew then it was me that was missing. My grandfather then proceeded to tell me all about my family, and for some reason that to this day I have not figured out handed over the spiritual leadership of this family to me. It is still not a task I think I am up to, but he seemed to think it was the thing to do. I was given the privilege of being the last person he spoke to about two weeks before his death. He literally 'woke up' for the few short moments when I called to check on him, and we had a conversation I will never forget. That was a gift from God, and so his 'gift' to me was this leadership thing, and I accept it on that basis, but do not understand it.

Cindy and I never really saw eye to eye. She was eighteen when I was born. By her own statement she had been an alcoholic from the age of eight years old, and she had wished she had aborted me rather than 'letting' me be adopted. She and I never talked about my twin brother. Though we talked a lot about the day my biological grandmother Teady found out she was pregnant. That was in September, I was born in November. She didn't even tell my biological father until July, but I've come to the conclusion that she must have thought around that times she had miscarried because the correspondences stopped fairly abruptly. When my grandmother came to her senses she immediately moved her and my mother back to Southern California (they were in Ohio at the time), and she gave birth six weeks later to me.

She never saw me at my birth nor heard me. She was knocked out and I was rushed from the room. Teady had arranged for me to be adopted against my mother's will. Three weeks later Cindy signed the papers. But it wasn't until I was two months old that I went to live with my parents and they only received two days notice before receiving me. The social worker told Cindy they already had a nice couple waiting to raise me. Best I can guess either that was a lie, or more likely that adoption fell through, I am not sure.

Cindy was going to name me Catherine Elizabeth. That was the name my parents gave me. My mom says when they chose my name the social worker went a little white and pasty and stumbled in her speech.

Cindy never recovered from my adoption. She spent the rest of her life as an alcoholic despite the fact she had a degree in biology and natural health, and was a 'health fanatic'. She was an organic gardener before it even had a name. She knew herbs, and kept herself alive for more than thirty years with Hep C and it was only the last three to four years that her life was extremely bad.

She basically destroyed my two younger siblings lives, and my youngest sister, if it hadn't been for her father, would have been in the same boat. My two middle sibs were raised in and out of foster care, abused, neglected, hurt, and ultimately my sister ended up being an addict. There are stories that I cannot repeat for the shear terror that they bring to me just hearing them. My sister who was an addict in particular went through complete hell of a kind that I think the real thing may have been better. I've had nightmares about the things my sister has been through.

Anyway Cindy's mothering skills lacked. She couldn't take care of herself and could not care for her kids either-- I really was blessed to be raised in another family. I still wonder if it was my adoption that made it so bad. What I do know is that it was my adoption that caused her to refuse to relinquish her rights with my siblings so they too could be adopted and for that I still feel sorrow. I know it is not my fault, but especially for my sister I feel guilty for not being there to protect her. Still I am alive today because of my mom and dad. I've been able to help my sister. She lived with me for several years, and I've helped her to recover from her addictions, and though she isn't as good as a mom as I'd like to see her be with my niece she is much better than Cindy. I hope when my niece is older she will have a better relationship with her mother than my sister had with Cindy. Being able to make a difference in my sister's life is a gift I've been given by my adoption.

In 1994 I met my mother-in-law for the first time. The thought still brings a smile to my face. She is the most gracious and unassuming person I know. She raised two children, one of whom is my husband, and she did an awesome job. I know I was not the daughter-in-law she expected. When she met me I was the mother of two little girls. She had raised a close to perfect family. I do not say this sarcastically. As far as mothering skills there is no comparison. She is soft spoken, gentle, very wise, and as giving as the day is long. She says she wouldn't have known how to deal with some of the things my husband and I have had to deal with. Personally I think if I had been as good at mothering as she is then maybe we wouldn't have had to deal with them either!

She has from day one been someone I could confide in, and trust with anything. She prays for each of us by name everyday. She can even with the most stubborn person get them to do what they need to be doing in such a way that she never raises her voice and they don't feel pressed upon. She is amazing. I will tell you, though, if I had been raised in my original family I would have never met my husband, and so never known my wonderful mother-in-law. I am grateful because she has accepted me and loved me more than my words here can tell you. About five years ago, I told her 'you are just mom. That's the way it is. You couldn't be more my mom than if I had been born to you.' I would have told her years before then but was afraid of what she would say. Instead she hugged me and had tears in her eyes.

You see adoption is not what most people think. It's not the perfect fix. I was born from a broken woman and I was a broken child. I was not a blank slate, and I did not mold to my family I was raised in. I was a square peg in a round hole if there ever was one. My mom though would never have had the chance to be a mom without me, and I would never have had as good as a life as I have had without her. Unfortunately it was not good for Cindy's life, but maybe still for my sister at least as an adult I can be there. Perhaps if not for adoption I would have been just as destroyed as my sister was. Perhaps Cindy would have still self destructed. I do know I got a mom and a dad out of the deal and a stable life that I would have never had with Cindy even if she got her life together. My life is still disjointed. Cindy died in 2012 still a broken woman. I am still dealing with things that happened back in utero. But hey what can I say? This at least gives you a picture of what adoption can look like. Sometime I'll give you the picture from my granddaughter's adoption-- but she has to be a little older. She's only three now (in a few days), and my daughter gave me the joy of raising her. At least it was a choice she made instead of having it forced upon her by her mother. I guess we've made progress!

This is a long winded Cat out. Keep reading. By now you must feel like “I don't know if I dare!” Hope you will dare!