It's 2:40 p.m. and...

still no calls, emails, any sort of acknowledgment from my mother.

Well I guess I shouldn't have expected it, but, oh well.

Happy birthday to me.

Adoption Sucks and I am Afraid of My Own Mother

I spent the better part of Tuesday writing, deleting, and rewriting the same damn email to my mother.

All I really want is to see her; but do you think I can bring myself to ask for that?

Hahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. Riiiiiiiigggggggght.

I am an adoptee who is afraid of her own mother. Is that not the most pathetic, moronic, idiotic thing you've read in the adoption-blog land? I think it probably has to be, for me, and I am a bit ashamed of myself for even writing it.

It is so hard for me to even send her a simple email to say, Hey Ma, what are you doing for the 4th? Are you going to be around? Can we maybe get together, do lunch, take the kids to the zoo?

For most normal people, this would be second nature, they wouldn't even put any thought into typing the words and hitting send (or picking up the phone and asking) but for me, this is an agonizing process, sometimes taking WEEKS to compose the words, figuring out how to not make them sound too needy, or demanding, or if I'm asking too much of her too soon.

I obsess over this and go through our past emails and figure out who emailed who last, and how long ago, because I don't want to do too much, I do not want to rush things this time around. I over-analyze and calculate and when all is set and ready and looking just-so, I delete it.

I am so full of self-doubt and fear that this relationship could crumble that I sit back and do nothing. I am frozen. I don't trust myself, I don't trust HER, I don't trust this relationship.

And really, why should I? She walked away from me not once, but twice. The very first birthday we had together, the original one, I was left all alone in a sterile hospital, crying for my mother.

The next birthday we had together 24 years later, she left me again, calling me on the phone to tell me she doesn't have time for me in her life.

She tells me she loves me, but I have a hard time believing it. I just don't buy it. I WANT to believe it, I WANT to feel those words and know that what she says is true, but some part of me just doubts it to my core.

I don't trust her, and I don't trust us.

Not yet.

And with birthday number 35 coming up, will the cycle continue?

I want to ask her if we can spend some time together on or around that day. But that scares me more than anything. Will she turn me down? Walk away from me again? I think just being turned down will be more painful than not doing anything and sitting here longing for her.

And, god, I am all grown up and still longing for my mother like a little kid.

How screwed up is that.

Adoption sucks, and I am afraid of my mother. Afraid of losing her, again, for the third time. Because if it happens again, there will be no more chances, of that I am sure.

I have a picture I keep on my computer here at work. Gran sent it to me,
about a year ago, it's a picture of her, her nephew, and her son. It was
one of the last pictures to be taken of my father before he died, and in it he
looked happy. Genuinely, positively, happy.

For a short while after his passing she sent me quite a few pictures. It's funny in a way, because before he died, I couldn't pry anything out of her about him...not a word, not a single photograph, not a peep. She was silent as a stone where he was concerned. I think in her grief, reaching out to me was a way to somehow connect with her lost son...I don't know. But if she only knew just how much of her boy was in his long lost daughter, she'd be amazed. It amazes me every time I find out more about him.

Your words to me just a whisper; your face is so unclear

I try to pay attention; your words just disappear

I don't really remember much about my father. The day we met, it's mostly all a blur to me now. I don't even remember the name of the place we were at. I remember the look on his face when we first walked in, I remember somehow ending up at a booth, I remember our hands being palm-to-palm and him remarking how much I look like my brother.

The rest? Like a videotape that has been erased, recorded over. I know he was unhappy. He was a man who's life held no joy; he had nothing and nobody. He was angry at my mother too. That was painfully obvious. Old resentments, old hurts, he still had plenty.

Cause it's always raining in my head;

forget all the things I should have
said

But it wasn't until after he passed away that winter that I really, truly got to know the man. As my Aunt stood up there and gave a truly wonderful memorial speech, I was amazed at just how much I am my father's daughter. From the little things he liked, to his dramatic personality, to his very snarky and blunt way of speaking, to his intolerance of stupid people and his hating being the center of attention and being around crowds of people. We both are cat lovers, he thought dogs are for idiots, I think my dog IS an idiot.

He was a very straight forward and no-b.s. individual. I am too...most of the time. Although I did inherit a very emotional streak from my mother, and a tendency to hide from my emotions, I will give her that. When it comes to my problems, I avoid, avoid, avoid.

Cause I can't take any more of this; I wanna come
apart

And dig myself a little hole inside your precious
heart

The whole point of this post?

I miss my father. I miss a man I never knew, never had a chance to know. I am mad at adoption, mad at death, mad at myself for never trying hard enough, never doing or saying the right things, just, never being GOOD enough.

My father drank himself to death. He was depressed, angry, and felt he had nothing left to live for. Could I have changed that? Could I have given him a reason to want to go on living? Possibly, I don't know, but could I have at least tried a little harder to be in his life?

Cause I talk to you like children, though I don't know how I
feel

But I know I'll do the right thing, if the right thing is
revealed

I could have. I SHOULD have. But I am a chicken, I am always afraid. I was afraid of him and afraid of my family. Afraid of looking like a fool, of being too pushy, of being to 'needy' or emotional or whatever. I doubted myself to the nth degree. And still I do, even with my mother. I am the biggest wuss you'll ever meet.

I'm so sorry, father, for not being there for you. I wish so much that I could have done something, anything, to let you know what you mean to me. Maybe you didn't know it but you were loved, you still are.

Just too bad it has to be by your inadequate daughter.