I applaud Annette Baran and Reuben Pannor for realizing they had made a mistake in their counselings in those earlier times. The first time I heard Annette Baran say that it was a mistake I had the first real peace. My inability to understand this in 1963 can be explained by a compliant, keeping the peace girl. Not thinking about what really was happening. Not wondering what the next hour, day, week, year, decade would be like without my son or for my son. Where were those questions? No one was there to field those questions. The numbness, the fear, the trauma, the overwhelm, all kept the door to those questions closed. Intuition, my deepest knowing as a mother were locked within those closed doors.
I wish I could say that it is all easier to comprehend as a 66 year old mother. It is not. I can take in all the information, process it and even understand the cognitive implications, but my heart is still too raw to move past the everlasting grief that will be part of my journey always.
from The Gift Wrapped in Sorrow...
I can never undo our past. It is etched forever in the annals of sorrow.
The past contains many bitter lessons… .
Dear M.,
Your silence says so much. I'm deeply in tune with your pain. My response has duality. I respond from a place of great understanding, yet anguish as a mother who cannot rescue her child. I move between these two responses and sometimes I feel pushed to the edge of my emotions.
I'm appalled at my decision to surrender you. As I listen to conversation about adoption and observe the complexities, I feel myself moving to that place of what I now call "the silent scream." The strange part of this is that there is some peace, some comfort about traveling to that place. It is completely solitary. I must go alone. It is there that I find myself and I find you. As I attempt to share about these feelings, I become lost in the impossibility of stating my truth. I become lost in the place of a home for unwed mothers, lost in the hospital delivery room, lost in the knowledge that I did not hold you and comfort you in the first hours and days of your life. I'll spend the rest of my life trying to understand that I allowed this. I'll spend the rest of my life searching for ways to forgive myself.
Your silence shouts out your hurt. I'm told with great certainty that I have inflicted a great wound. I know this intuitively and I know this through the teachings of Nancy Verrier and others who have delved into the emotional and psychological aspects of abandonment. In The Primal Wound, Ms. Verrier tells about the everlasting nature of the wound of separating from one's first mother. She brings to light how the adopted person has stored the memory of abandonment and separation. She even tells about the trauma and drama of birthdays, as this is a time that stirs the early pain of separation and sadness. I don't know how life has been, for you. But one fact of Ms. Verrier catches my attention. The best replacement mother in the world cannot erase these memories.
This information is shocking to me as a first mother, in the sense that I have caused such trauma. As I tune into myself, as your mother, I know all this to be true. And as a professional, a doctor, a teacher, a student of prenatal and perinatal psychology, I clearly understand Ms.. Verrier's premise. How can I comfort you? What could I do now to foster healing for you?
I've had chest pain throughout the day. Several times during the day I noticed these sharp and stabbing sensations. I felt certain this was not a cause for concern. But it did occur to me that I am vulnerable to death. That I could die before seeing you. These past few days were spent with a friend who cared for me during my recent health crisis. We talked about this episode and how critical it had been. During that time I was too ill, too weak to acknowledge personal concerns. As I regained strength and health, I realized that you were not going to call or write even though you were aware of my serious health condition. Your silence says so much. I have been truly disappointed that you haven't called. I know that my call to you last October was not welcomed. I had hoped that my call, to wish you a happy birthday, could have paved the way for further contact. I had hoped you would feel the breaking of ice and want to share another call. Instead, it seems that you are even further away.
I have been disappointed by this and also by T.' distance as well. He has not answered my email messages for the past several months. I feel T. has closed the door to our sharing and to keeping the lines of reunion open. This has been a great loss. I have not spoken to T. for about eight months. I regret this silence. Talking with T. brought hope, information that has been truly cherished and a feeling of joy for the possibility of our meeting.
I realize that you are determined not to let me in. At least not now. I believe that you are relating to me on a mental rather than an emotional level. This precludes connecting with me. This prevents the sweetest of moments to happen. This keeps you locked within that space of pain and abandonment that Ms. Verrier, Reuben Pannor and so many other professional clearly describe. I wish you would not choose to remain there. I wish you would allow even a small space for possibility. Even as I share my wishes, I also feel a true understanding for your distance. As one of your mothers, I want your life to proceed as you wish. So although I stand close-by, vigilant, prayerful, your choices and your decisions are held with great respect.
I can never undo our past. It is etched forever in the annals of sorrow. The past contains many bitter lessons; those of a young girl following the dictates of parents and disallowing the magnanimity of the maternal bond. My awareness came too late.
There are many levels to this experience. I understand this with great clarity. There is the level of my sorrow, my anguish, my inconsolable regret. And there is the level of acceptance and absolution. In the space of intuition, of my higher self, there is peace. I wish you could join me in this place of profound realization. Throughout time, elders have paved the way for growth and knowing for their children. As one of your parents I could share with you. All you have to do is ask. I would do anything for you. My offer, three decades later, is earnest.
It has almost one year since I have known about you. Next Wednesday will be the actual anniversary day. I'm thinking about some special way to honor and observe the day. Tomorrow I'll purchase some yellow ribbons. I'll place them in my home and place of work. Throughout history, they have symbolized the unshakable faith in and trust for the safe return of a loved one. I'll keep my vigil with the utmost trust. Each time I see these ribbons I'll whisper a prayer for your safety and your return.
With Love,
Jane
No comments:
Post a Comment