Poopy Dots

(Originally posted at Wordpress on 10/22/07)

I don't really know what that post title has to do with this post other than it's one of my 3 yo dd's favorite things to say right now and I think it's funny. We've just returned from a lonnnnnnnnng weekend in northern Minnesota, where it was cold, and it rained, and it rained, and the kids ran the extremes from complete boredom (meaning fighting with each other to pass the time) and extreme silliness. But even with the cold, and the rain, and the rain, northern Minnesota is a sight to behold in October. Around every curve in the road is a lake, surrounded by shades of oranges and yellows and browns, set off by the dazzling whites of the birch trees. Not even the gray skies could take away from the beauty. (Nor could the arguing from the back seat....hmmm...)

I catch myself doing something a lot, and I wonder if it's something that just I do, or if other adoptees do it, or heck, if the general populace does it. But when I'm out and about, I find myself comparing the faces of people I see and searching for facial similarities. I love to see young mothers with their children in tow, I rather enjoy noting how their little ones look like mommy in this way and that way. I think it's because I have been deprived of seeing that similiarity in anyone in my close family my entire life, I don't know; but it's something that I've always found fun and interesting.

But then again, it's also something that especially lately, has been causing a great deal of hurt within me. Especially when I see older mother-daughter pairs...people about my my age with their mothers who are about my mother's age, out having lunch together, or shopping together, or just having some nice, happy, quality time together.

It's really quite triggering for me to see.

The unfairness of it all strikes me hard, like a direct kick to the gut. An entire lifetime have I lost with her. All of it. So that even these simple things...like enjoying a liesurely chocolate milkshake on a Saturday afternoon with my own mother is something I will never, ever get to do.

I will never, ever be able to have a telephone conversation with her...to be able to call her up, tell her about some random event in my day...like dd's new saying, "poopy dots", and we'd have a nice laugh and I'd ask her for her pumpkin bars recipe and she'd remind me about Aunt Carol's birthday next month.

Simple, normal, every-day stuff, the things we all take for granted. All gone. I don't get them. All I have is this computer, and my imagination, and wishing things could be normal, and boring, and I could complain that my mother worries about me too much and treats me like I'm still a little kid.

I only wish, dude, I only WISH.

No, not for this adoptee, not even reunion could bring some semblance of normalcy, adoption did its own little number on my mother, she's about as messed up with all of this as I am.

I forgive her, I understand her to the best of my ability, I am practicing patience. See for all my whining and complaining, believe it or not, I love my mother with every fiber of my being.

If I didn't love her so damn much, then this wouldn't hurt so bad, and I wouldn't get so angry and frustrated.

So ok, I'll lay it out here, I'm just in a vulnerable place tonight, I love my mother and I miss her, the silence she gives me is inexplicably painful, some days I can barely find the strength to get out of bed. I hide it well, don't I?

And if you do find this blog, P, I'm sorry for the "bad" posts, but you know, I've never said these things to you out of fear of hurting you and jeopardizing any shred of hope there may be for us.

Ah fuck, enough of this already.