20 July 2010

The little things do matter

Two mornings ago I woke having dreamed intensively all night. The last dream was the one that really stuck with me and I can still recall it now as I sit down to type this.

I have been very close with all three of my children; and each one of them has shown from birth how unique they are, right from the beginning.

This dream was more of a flash back than anything but as it involved scenes I was not present for, I can only assume I was in some state of sleep otherwise I would not have felt like it was a dream.

It started with a memory of A and I together, in the days after she had been discharged from the hospital. We slept in the same room, and had done so the moment I was allowed to take her out of the nursery in hospital. She had this peculiar little noise she would make; a little like snuffling but not really that either. It was a noise that indicated she was not settled and it is was rather loud. I loved it. Absolutely loved it because it was my cue to scoop her up out of her crib and lay her in my arms close to my chest and I would nuzzle her head as we would fall asleep. Miraculously, whenever I did this, the noises would cease and we would sleep like that, in silence, until she woke hungry, or as happened a few times, we would wake drenched in my milk! Still, after we were dry or after she was fed, we would resume this sleeping pattern and all would be quiet.

My dream took me on to my other two children where we had similar patterns. Noodle (my next daughter), never had the noise but she was happiest sleeping next to me in her crib, or later as she got older, in my arms. She didn't sleep in her own bed until she was four years old and moved in there of her own accord... once she was ready.

Then came our little Dude and his favourite place was on my left hand side, just above my breast where he could hear my heart beat. I discovered this shortly after his birth when the nurses and midwives had left us to try and attempt sleep (as it was after midnight when he was born) and he started making the same noises his biggest sister had made. Again, I scooped him out of his plastic hospital box, undid my night shirt and lay him on my bare shoulder. We fell into a blissful slumber.

From this point of my dream, I went into scenes not part of my memory bank and I only know this occurred because of what I was told by my daughter's adopters.

Not long after she was taken out of my arms, in fact within a day or two, her noises so precious to me and a sign of what she needed became too much for them to cope with... and so she was placed in a room, a strange, cold room, all alone. No rhythmic breathing to signal I was there. No sweet smell of milk to let her know comfort was on hand. Before I woke with a tear drenched face, I could hear her in that room, all alone and it tore at me in a way I could never explain. I wish I could have walked into that room right then, gather her up and fled that house. Instead, I got to wake up.

When I woke, it hurt to breathe. Guilt overwhelmed me in waves. My little girl so happy and secure with me one moment only to be taken by strange arms with strange smells and foreign voices the next. I shudder at the thought of how her little mind coped with it.

Now it is still there, this sense of closeness. She doesn't even understand it herself. She melts into me whenever she touches me; it really shows how the small things in life really do matter. All this from a noise... and a bond that no man and no woman should ever, ever have interfered with.

03 July 2010

Authenticity - my lack of

I am a fraud. My life is based on fraud. And I can't do it anymore.

We have another visit tomorrow and all I want to do is tell A the truth and that I can no longer play this game of lies and pretend. It has been going on for 8 years. 8 years I have played this game and I cannot do it.

Part of me waking up and wanting to live again means I want to be authentic and with the existence of this situation, there is no way I can be authentic. I feel as though I betray myself and my beliefs every time I have a visit. Every time I sit there pretending everything is just fine. But in reality, it isn't. It never has been and it can never be.

I don't want anymore visits. I want her in my life but in a way that is free and honest. To spend time without all the chains wrapped around us, ensnaring and trapping us in a game of make believe. I don't want to sit with THEM, the perpetrators of the crime, the liars, those who stole, yes, LITERALLY stole my child with the aid of money and a crooked judge. Haven't I played this game long enough?

And then there is her. My girl. Stuck in the middle of this. She didn't ask for it anymore than I did and her voice was never heard and is still drowned out. How can I walk away from her knowing she will not be allowed to see me without them tagging along? Yet, I know for the sake of my family that are here and now, I need to let her go. I need to do what I have never been able to do and accept she is no longer my girl. That is all gone. She never can be mine again because of the nature of adoption. It severs everything in all possible ways. Its poison kills off any chances. I see no hope, no chances and so why should I continue with this farcical game? How can any of this help her when we don't even talk? Even with reunions I have read about and see, I see only more pain ahead, no hope of anything being real. I will always be just her birther, her womb-for-rent, her abandoner. Which means I am nothing to her.

Today is a dark, dark day. I cannot see the sun through the clouds, cannot see the light at the end of the tunnel. I want to withdraw into a cave and never come out. Pain hovers too closely and I lack the strength to continually hold it off. Why did anyone think adoption could be a thing of beauty when all I have ever seen it do is cause more anguish than anything else...