one week from today

July 31, 2013 § 8 Comments

It will be your birthday. You are getting so old! I still read about baby development and I’m sure you are doing a bit of walking by now, but you’re still a sweet little baby in lots of ways. As your birthday approaches, I have been increasingly consumed by thoughts of you. I’m sorry I don’t address my writing towards you anymore. I’m sorry I don’t talk about you and I lie about your existence. I’m sorry I banish you from my thoughts at times.

I know I shouldn’t feel bad, and you probably don’t mind since you are their baby and your parents are nice people who must shower you with attention. I just haven’t felt like writing to you because it’s so painful to love someone this much when I know that love will never be returned. The more I can disconnect, the better. Your love is for the people raising you. I’m just an abstraction. You may only guess at the love I have for you and you may never know I wish I kept you with me. The love I have can never be taken away. My life is a death without you–only death would be more welcome than this. I used to take comfort in telling myself I deserve pain and you were better off without a horrible person like me, but I’m slowly coming out of that too and it’s even more unbearable. I would rather despise myself for making a choice and repent for it every day than realize I had so little choice. I was robbed when I was most vulnerable. I put strangers above myself. I was lied to. I was used. Left with no one but myself to blame and to hate. When really I was no match for what I was up against.

I can’t disconnect from you completely and I promise I won’t. Even if I could, it would be wrong of me. I need to be emotionally available if you ever need me, as well as smart enough to realize you won’t need me for a lot and mature enough to accept that.

I’m not doing very well right now and I’m not be focused and motivated as I would have been with you here, but there have been slow improvements nonetheless and there should continue to be, as long as I don’t totally crack up. I quit smoking in March, which I always intended to do eventually. Even when I started again after having you, it was with the intention of quitting soon so I’m pleased I did that. I’m one class away from my associates degree. At age 24 that’s not something to be excited over, but it’s something. David and I are together and happy. I hope someday you want to know him, because he is so smart and interesting and funny. I got a new job in July, making more money with a company I can advance in, especially when I have my degree. There are a lot of negatives, but those are the positives. For what that’s worth.

In a week it will be your first birthday. I’m sure your parents will throw you an ostentatious party. I hope you love your new toys and your cake and the playmates that I’m sure will be there. Birthdays are so exciting as a child, even if you’re too young to know what is going on. August 7th will always be your day that is all about you, and I hope it’s really fun and that you have many more great birthdays ahead. I also fervently hope your parents won’t celebrate August 9th.

I don’t know what I will be doing on those days. I won’t have the distraction of working on either day, so that makes me nervous. First moms say how hard birthdays are and I don’t know what to expect or how I’ll feel. I predict being more depressed on the 9th, as the memories from that day are a lot worse than my memories of being in labor. I will either receive a letter and pictures from C and L, or I won’t. I don’t know which will happen or which I’d like to happen. I do know that I hate them at this point. Absolutely hate. I wouldn’t tell you that. But if you feel like whizzing straight up in the air during your next diaper change, go for it!

I hope you are doing well, sweetheart. You’re closer to my heart than anyone else is. Even right now after so much time and distance, every part of me knows what it would feel like to pick you up and snuggle you against me. I love you always.

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§ 8 Responses to one week from today

  • Elizabeth says:

    This was very heartfelt! I am so sorry to hear you are deal with so much pain from your adoption. I am a adoptee myself and being older than you I have had a lot time to think about to handle what I dealt with through the years.
    It sounds like you really care about your son and I have to imagine that at the time you probably feel that you were doing the right thing. I’d like to offer some comfort and tell you that things get easier but it’s hard for me to tell you something I am unsure about.
    My bio-Mom didn’t remember my birthday when I finally found her at the age of 18. In fact she told me she had a boy, I believe that her believing is true as she told me that back then they did things differently and they put some sort of drops in her eyes so she couldn’t see. The papers were also signed before labor and not after so who knows.
    I hope that you have a good support system and concentrate on the future. Try to enjoy you life and get through what you can knowing that you did what you had to do. Sometimes looking back is harder to get through than focusing on the good and looking towards a bright future. Someday I bet you’ll find that things unfold into a beautiful story, one that includes having a relationship with your son.

  • amy says:

    (((Ariel))) I don’t have any words to make the up-coming days better, or even more bearable for you. Just ride them out…there is a relief that comes after the birthday/then relinquishment day passes. Hang on tight and know you’ll get through it. You’re one year closer to knowing your son. He *will* return your love one day. You are his mother…the one person who did what no other could…you put him on this earth. NO ONE, I repeat, NO ONE can make that claim or will ever have that connection to him that you do.

    I can only say that I know the raw, gut-wrenching pain you’re feeling now having been there myself 28 years ago. But look at me! I’m STILL here! You will survive this…I think I’ve told you that before.

    Maybe a private ritual to celebrate your son’s birth would help? Buy a cupcake, put one candle in it, and make a wish for your baby. Then go out to a nice dinner or something. Recognize the day…don’t try to deny it. You couldn’t if you tried. It’s OK to cry and it’s OK to grieve extra hard that day. It’s a loss that needs acknowledgment. Then pick yourself up, and dust yourself off and continue on. Be kind to yourself, Ariel.

    I will be thinking of you.

  • freebairn says:

    You don’t have to be concerned about feeling disconnected at times. Sometimes it’s all we have left as a means of survival. It doesn’t last. You can never truly be disconnected from your son. It’s just not possible. It might be easier if it were, but I’m not sure I would want it to be possible even if it were. When it comes back, it hurts like hell, but at least you know you’re still alive…I wasn’t sure, like, for years, actually.

  • monk-monk says:

    I know a million hugs aren’t enough, but I’m sending them your way.

  • lisaanne119 says:

    Reach out to other mothers of loss during those bad days. Because no one can understand the complexity of relinquishment loss and how anniversary dates throw you to the bottom of a grief pit. I sobbed without words for days. And sobbing without words is OK too. Like others have said, you will live through. But some days just don’t seem like they can be lived through.

    Today that sweet one year old has no conscious idea who you are, but we know that someday that will not be true. While today you might feel disconnected hopefully one day the connection will be great, and the love abounding.

    (((HUGS)))

  • Sally says:

    Ariel,
    Nothing I say will change anything that really matters. I’m sorry. And I agree with amy: “You are his mother…the one person who did what no other could…you put him on this earth. NO ONE, I repeat, NO ONE can make that claim or will ever have that connection to him that you do.” I truly pray that he is able to know you.

  • Renee says:

    I’m an adoptee. My birthday is August 7, oddly enough.

    I know that some adoptees claim to be at peace with their circumstances, but I never was. I always loved my mother. I always longed for her. Even when I was a very small child, I would pack my little pink suitcase, crawl out my bedroom window, and take off “to find my mother.” She was never an abstraction to me.

    It took me 50 years to find her, but find her I did. I never realized how comfortable it would be to hug her. After all those decades. She felt like–smelled like–sounded like home. I love her. She loves me. She’s my mother.

    I can’t speak for any adoptee but me, but please don’t automatically dismiss your importance. He spent nine months wih you. Your egg contained thousands of years of ancestry, identity, heritage. It belongs to him just as much as it belongs to you.

    You’re his mother.

    • Hi Renee. I read this comment over and over but somehow forgot to reply to it. I wanted to tell you how touched I am and how much your lovely words mean. I’ve started trying lately to be gentler and not shortchange myself, but it’s hard not to worry. It really sucks knowing now that he will, however briefly, feel unwanted and abandoned and alone, and I can’t be there for him. It sucks that he might blame and hate me or simply feel indifferent. It sucks that we’ve lost a life spent together, and i will always realize his absence and miss him.

      Congratulations on being successfully reunited. That’s terrible that it took so long, but your mom sounds wonderful.

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