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If you're looking for the giveaway, it's the next post down. I also wanted to say that at least one person has emailed me to tell me that Amy was able to help her find her birthmother...thank you, Amy. What you're doing is magical.
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When I read his email, I laughed, full of relief and joy and wonder. He was thrilled, understandably bursting with curiosity and sweetly unsure of himself. He had worked for thirty minutes on a short paragraph and I could tell from that initial contact that he and I were a lot alike.
The tears began when I read his questions. How have you been? How is everything for you right now?
He was concerned about me.
I replied and told him what time I would be back on to chat via the messenger and then I sat and refreshed my screen every minute for the next two hours.
During that time, I devoured the few pictures he had in his photos and I was flabbergasted. He and Devon could pass for twins with a few minor changes. Their posture, the way they don't smile in pictures, even their expressions were eerily similar.
A chat window appeared. I took a deep breath, willed my heart to slow and for the next several hours, we stumbled over each other as we filled in the gaps of our lives. It was almost instantly that I began to feel fiercely protective of this young man with so many qualities of my heart and soul and the pride that grew as we laughed and (I) cried was immense.
We both moved to a photo friendly messenger and I bombarded him with pictures. I found as many generations as I could and then gave him brief descriptions of each one and tried to preemptively answer any questions he may have about his bloodline. Some of those pictures were embarrassing ("It was 1989. Everyone wore their hair like that") and some of them were painful ("That's my big brother, Steve. You would have loved him...and he, you.") but he was delighted to see them all.
Virginia, suffering middle child syndrome, danced around me and asked questions about her mysterious big brother, excited at the prospect of a sibling who didn't respond to everything with a grunt.
He read some of my blog and admitted that parts of it were hard to read and we briefly touched on the harder topics and some of the less than ideal aspects of his lineage. I couldn't shake the feeling that he was sad in some way, that something in his life was troubling him.
After a long while, we both realized the time. He had a test early in the morning and I had to work. We agreed to talk again and before I could talk myself out of it, I typed, I'm sorry if this sounds forward, but it's true. I love you, Trent. I hit the send button and then kicked myself. Why, why did I put that kind of pressure on him?
To cover up my idiocy, I quickly began babbling about other things so he wouldn't feel obligated to respond. In the midst of my typing fury, this reply appeared. Honestly, it's not forward at all. I love you, too. I have been wanting to say that for 20 years.
And just like that, a twenty-year-old hurt was gone. One sentence, one huge leap of faith from this man who was willing to take a chance that I was an okay person, and it's gone. I knew it was there, but I didn't realize how heavy it had been until I was no longer carrying it. And he did that for me.
We are treading softly. I'm trying to give him as much space as I can and not be intrusive while also letting him know I'm available at any moment. It's a difficult balance. I don't want him to feel abandoned by me, but at the same time, I don't want him to feel like he has to talk to me everytime he logs in to his messenger. I notice the hours going by and I wonder if it's been too long since I've messaged him just to say hello or if he's just trying to process everything, and he'll find me when he's ready. I have so much to say, so much to tell him. And I worry about every little thing and whether or not it's okay for me to ask this, do this, tell him this.
Trent, twenty-one years ago, I kissed you softly on your tiny pink mouth and I told you that my only wish for you was to always be happy. I didn't know for sure if I was doing the right thing. Thank you for trusting me and giving me the incredible gift of knowing that I did.
Thursday, November 05, 2009
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
Giveaway Time. Now With More Sex.
EDIT: Okay, the winner is #124, Melissa @ dragonsdreamers@yahoo.com. Congrats, Melissa! Please email me your mailing address and I'll send the book right away!
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Ok, same rules apply. Just leave a comment and I'll randomly generate a number on Friday and voila! Free sex!
I was supposed to give this away last year and then we moved and I saw something shiny and got distracted.
It is, your very own brand new copy of Em & Lo's Sex: How to Do Everything. I've perused it (just for the purposes of this giveaway. Ahem.) and it's honestly a very cool book. Extremely informative and, no, it's not x-rated. It's more like a very hip Joy of Sex.
Oh! And it's gold and shiny and festive. Perfect for a holiday coffee table book.
No?
Good luck!
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Technically, It's Already Thursday
...and I'm still not finished with part 2. I'm really struggling with it because, as much as I've shared in the past few years, this borders on too intimate. Mostly because this involves every person I love and their feelings, too, and I want to make sure that I don't cross any lines or leave anything out. What's trivial to one is sometimes incredibly important to another.
And, mostly? Because he'll read it and I am more concerned about his thoughts than anyone's. I want him to love it and I keep reading it and thinking it's not good enough and I need to edit it. And I want you all to feel how wonderful this is, how much I love getting to know him and conveying this kind of emotion is so difficult.
So, I'll find a quiet place tomorrow and put it together in a way that I hope will make him smile.
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Random thought: Harmony's favorite song for the last few weeks is, "Buffalo Soldier", and she adores Bob Marley and I feel compelled to explain to people that neither Chris nor myself have ever had anything to do with the mary-ju-wanna.
Honestly.
And, mostly? Because he'll read it and I am more concerned about his thoughts than anyone's. I want him to love it and I keep reading it and thinking it's not good enough and I need to edit it. And I want you all to feel how wonderful this is, how much I love getting to know him and conveying this kind of emotion is so difficult.
So, I'll find a quiet place tomorrow and put it together in a way that I hope will make him smile.
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Random thought: Harmony's favorite song for the last few weeks is, "Buffalo Soldier", and she adores Bob Marley and I feel compelled to explain to people that neither Chris nor myself have ever had anything to do with the mary-ju-wanna.
Honestly.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Second Chance, INTERIM
There have been a barrage of emails about Amy and in addition to contacting her via her website, you can also email her at amyburt40@yahoo.com
In a bizarre twist, she emailed me last night and informed me that she has been a reader of mine for a while, but didn't put two and two together because I emailed her from my personal account. It was only when she read my post that she realized what had happened and who's son she had found.
In my post last night, I put "continued tomorrow" and by tomorrow, I mean Wednesday. Because I suck.
Seriously, I was in a meeting all day and then at the doc (my genetic gift from my dad's side is rheumatoid arthritis in my hips. At 35. YAY, GENETICS!!) until late this afternoon and then when I got home, these people want to EAT.
LIKE I DIDN'T FEED THEM LAST WEEK.
I just finished up putting the food away and my hips feel like I have broken glass in them and I cannot sit in this chair for one more second. Can you please give me an extension until tomorrow to tell you the rest of the story? I don't want to post something that's hurriedly finished, especially not this. It's one of the best moments of my life.
In a bizarre twist, she emailed me last night and informed me that she has been a reader of mine for a while, but didn't put two and two together because I emailed her from my personal account. It was only when she read my post that she realized what had happened and who's son she had found.
In my post last night, I put "continued tomorrow" and by tomorrow, I mean Wednesday. Because I suck.
Seriously, I was in a meeting all day and then at the doc (my genetic gift from my dad's side is rheumatoid arthritis in my hips. At 35. YAY, GENETICS!!) until late this afternoon and then when I got home, these people want to EAT.
LIKE I DIDN'T FEED THEM LAST WEEK.
I just finished up putting the food away and my hips feel like I have broken glass in them and I cannot sit in this chair for one more second. Can you please give me an extension until tomorrow to tell you the rest of the story? I don't want to post something that's hurriedly finished, especially not this. It's one of the best moments of my life.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Second Chances
I knew that I stalled when writing the end of The Crazy Chronicles because I couldn't find a way to close it. It was hanging. There was something missing. I looked at it almost every day and the frustration of what I wasn't able to do was overwhelming at times. I loved it, I put my soul into every word and it was incomplete. I began to convince myself that it was broken because I was and that was just the way it would have to be. I couldn't find the problem, much less the solution.
About eighteen months ago, I sent a letter to my firstborn son, Trent, via the agency that was now supposed to facilitate all correspondence since the original adopting agency had shut down some years ago. It was an update of sorts, one that I tried to send at least once every two years. I had dutifully informed the agencies of every move, every phone number change, and in return, they were supposed to maintain the tenuous thread that held my son and I together, two people connected by blood and bound by God. We had never actually exchanged information, my child and I, but instead shared our information via his adoptive parents who did more than keep me updated...they also made sure I had video of all his first milestones and worked to keep me included in his life, for as much as a birth mother can be without detriment to an impressionable child.
Time has gone by and I never received any sort of response to my letter. I began to worry. What if something had happened to him? What is some tragedy befell his parents and the letter was going unanswered because there was no one to open it? What if he terminated communication because he hated me for giving him up?
I thought long and hard about what choices I had available to me and with limited information, I began to seek him out on Facebook and MySpace. I figured, hey, I found my first grade boyfriend that way, why not this? Unfortunately, Facebook and MySpace are not stalker friendly, and without his last name or location, I was literally swimming through a sea of Trents, none of whom had my dark hair or unruly eyebrows.
A couple of months ago, after searching again and trying to narrow it down, I began to resign myself to never knowing what had become of him, at least until a time that he might try to seek me out. I had never really planned to make contact with him, even if I found him. I felt that would be an unwanted intrusion into his life and at twenty-one years old, life is already hard enough without some foul-mouthed, emotionally raw woman landing on your head and asking to pinch your cheeks.
So, for the time being, I gave up. Almost.
Last Tuesday, while perusing an adoptee reunion site, I noticed a post by a woman who claimed she was able to help birth mothers find children, even with limited information. I casually emailed her, not expecting any miracles and within twenty minutes, I saw a reply in my email. I braced myself for what might be in that text. A polite refusal? An offer to help, if I'd only send her a payment of $999.95? A notification that my email had bounced back because she didn't exist? Instead, she asked me for what bits of information I had and when I provided that, she answered almost immediately that she would have his name and contact information within 24 hours. I was dubious.
That was at 9:47 in the evening. At 10:17 p.m., an email from her arrived with his name and a link to his Facebook and MySpace page.
Amy Burt did this for no other reason than her desire to help others and a hope to heal her broken soul. Her birth mother refused contact with her, she wanted no part of this amazing woman she had given life to. Amy now runs a website dedicated to helping birth parents and adopted children and she does so for the love of these people who are searching, not knowing where this road will lead them or why their life feels stalled. She does so in spite of the crushing disappointment she endured and the bitter rejection she swallowed.
I was stunned and terrified. I asked her advice, as an adopted child and her advice was simple and profound: make contact. Not necessarily through an email, just send the friend request and give him the choice. So, I did just that. And then I waited and tried to breathe.
The following morning, I sat down at my computer and opened my Facebook account. I noticed that I had one more email than I had the night before and my heart lurched. I accessed my mail and there it was. An email from Trent. Contact directly from the baby I had placed in another woman's arms almost twenty-one years ago.
My mind drifted back in time to that day and the ache and loss I felt when I walked away from that room as the adoptive family stood together, holding that soft, new baby boy and praying together for the first time. I walked out alone, an invisible tether holding me to the child I had left inside, stretching ever farther as I moved closer to my mom's car and onto a life that didn't include me being a mommy.
That connection never broke. It changed and it moved with me. Had it been the same for him? Or had it always been severed?
I held my breath and opened the email. God, even if he despises me, please don't let him have suffered pain because of the choices I made.
(continued tomorrow)
About eighteen months ago, I sent a letter to my firstborn son, Trent, via the agency that was now supposed to facilitate all correspondence since the original adopting agency had shut down some years ago. It was an update of sorts, one that I tried to send at least once every two years. I had dutifully informed the agencies of every move, every phone number change, and in return, they were supposed to maintain the tenuous thread that held my son and I together, two people connected by blood and bound by God. We had never actually exchanged information, my child and I, but instead shared our information via his adoptive parents who did more than keep me updated...they also made sure I had video of all his first milestones and worked to keep me included in his life, for as much as a birth mother can be without detriment to an impressionable child.
Time has gone by and I never received any sort of response to my letter. I began to worry. What if something had happened to him? What is some tragedy befell his parents and the letter was going unanswered because there was no one to open it? What if he terminated communication because he hated me for giving him up?
I thought long and hard about what choices I had available to me and with limited information, I began to seek him out on Facebook and MySpace. I figured, hey, I found my first grade boyfriend that way, why not this? Unfortunately, Facebook and MySpace are not stalker friendly, and without his last name or location, I was literally swimming through a sea of Trents, none of whom had my dark hair or unruly eyebrows.
A couple of months ago, after searching again and trying to narrow it down, I began to resign myself to never knowing what had become of him, at least until a time that he might try to seek me out. I had never really planned to make contact with him, even if I found him. I felt that would be an unwanted intrusion into his life and at twenty-one years old, life is already hard enough without some foul-mouthed, emotionally raw woman landing on your head and asking to pinch your cheeks.
So, for the time being, I gave up. Almost.
Last Tuesday, while perusing an adoptee reunion site, I noticed a post by a woman who claimed she was able to help birth mothers find children, even with limited information. I casually emailed her, not expecting any miracles and within twenty minutes, I saw a reply in my email. I braced myself for what might be in that text. A polite refusal? An offer to help, if I'd only send her a payment of $999.95? A notification that my email had bounced back because she didn't exist? Instead, she asked me for what bits of information I had and when I provided that, she answered almost immediately that she would have his name and contact information within 24 hours. I was dubious.
That was at 9:47 in the evening. At 10:17 p.m., an email from her arrived with his name and a link to his Facebook and MySpace page.
Amy Burt did this for no other reason than her desire to help others and a hope to heal her broken soul. Her birth mother refused contact with her, she wanted no part of this amazing woman she had given life to. Amy now runs a website dedicated to helping birth parents and adopted children and she does so for the love of these people who are searching, not knowing where this road will lead them or why their life feels stalled. She does so in spite of the crushing disappointment she endured and the bitter rejection she swallowed.
I was stunned and terrified. I asked her advice, as an adopted child and her advice was simple and profound: make contact. Not necessarily through an email, just send the friend request and give him the choice. So, I did just that. And then I waited and tried to breathe.
The following morning, I sat down at my computer and opened my Facebook account. I noticed that I had one more email than I had the night before and my heart lurched. I accessed my mail and there it was. An email from Trent. Contact directly from the baby I had placed in another woman's arms almost twenty-one years ago.
My mind drifted back in time to that day and the ache and loss I felt when I walked away from that room as the adoptive family stood together, holding that soft, new baby boy and praying together for the first time. I walked out alone, an invisible tether holding me to the child I had left inside, stretching ever farther as I moved closer to my mom's car and onto a life that didn't include me being a mommy.
That connection never broke. It changed and it moved with me. Had it been the same for him? Or had it always been severed?
I held my breath and opened the email. God, even if he despises me, please don't let him have suffered pain because of the choices I made.
(continued tomorrow)
Questions That I Really Don't Want To Know The Answer To
Why are there glow sticks in my underwear drawer?
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I had the most incredible, miraculous thing happen this week and that's been the primary reason for my absence. I am still in disbelief and awe. I'm almost finished with the telling of it, but it's 1 a.m. and my boobs need sleep. I'll post it tomorrow. Thanks for your patience with me, as always.
And, no, Random house didn't call and offer me a trillion dollars. Nor did Nora Ephron call me up and say she'd love to make my movie. It's so much better than that.
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I had the most incredible, miraculous thing happen this week and that's been the primary reason for my absence. I am still in disbelief and awe. I'm almost finished with the telling of it, but it's 1 a.m. and my boobs need sleep. I'll post it tomorrow. Thanks for your patience with me, as always.
And, no, Random house didn't call and offer me a trillion dollars. Nor did Nora Ephron call me up and say she'd love to make my movie. It's so much better than that.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Optimistic
Harmony still drinks a cup of warm milk before bed. (and I can hear some of you screeching, "Milk mouth!" But, really, we live in Northern Mississippi, so if you have all your teeth, you're just showing off)
Tonight, Chris distracted her while it was warming. "Harmony, do you know where milk comes from?"
She smiled from under her blankets and said, "Nooooo."
"It comes from cows."
"No, it doesn't, Daddy." And the she let loose one of those giggles, the kind that will be replaced by eye-rolling and body piercing when she's a teenager. You are so full of shit.
"No, really. Cows."
She ignored him and picked at her baby doll's bow.
"Ok," he tried. "Where do you think milk comes from?"
And with all the hope of an innocent, she pointed one chubby finger and answered, "Youuuuuu."
Tonight, Chris distracted her while it was warming. "Harmony, do you know where milk comes from?"
She smiled from under her blankets and said, "Nooooo."
"It comes from cows."
"No, it doesn't, Daddy." And the she let loose one of those giggles, the kind that will be replaced by eye-rolling and body piercing when she's a teenager. You are so full of shit.
"No, really. Cows."
She ignored him and picked at her baby doll's bow.
"Ok," he tried. "Where do you think milk comes from?"
And with all the hope of an innocent, she pointed one chubby finger and answered, "Youuuuuu."
He's The Blonde In Our Relationship
"The side effects are crazy," I told Chris. "I mean, this shit is harmful. There are class action lawsuits against the makers, Wyeth, because they have no literature about how destructive it is. And the effects on newborns is disturbing."
"Why would they give it to newborns?"
After I stared at him in silence for a few seconds, the answer to that question began to dawn on him. But, I couldn't help myself. "Because they're cranky little shits?"
"Shut up."
"Why would they give it to newborns?"
After I stared at him in silence for a few seconds, the answer to that question began to dawn on him. But, I couldn't help myself. "Because they're cranky little shits?"
"Shut up."
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Sunny days seem to hurt the most
I wear the pain like a heavy coat
I feel you everywhere I go
see your smile, I see your face
I hear you laughing in the rain
Still can't believe you're gone- "Who You'd Be Today" by Kenny Chesney
Virginia loves animals. She loves them so much that anything an animal endures, any bird on the road, any squirrel turned into mush reduces her to tears and questions. I never know how to answer her.
For months, she has been asking me to take her to the shelter so she can volunteer to pick up poop or scratch behind ears that have forgotten the touch.
I finally took her there and it was awful. While she stood and begged me to take every animal home, tears coursing down her cheeks, I cried for different reasons. I needed to save them all. I needed to know that not one more thing would die, not while it was in my control.
I don't want to belong to this group of people. I don't want to know what this is like. If my sweet brother can die, anyone can. My children can die. How do I live with the fear that cripples me now every time I think about how much I love these people I have given my heart to?
Virginia loves animals. She loves them so much that anything an animal endures, any bird on the road, any squirrel turned into mush reduces her to tears and questions. I never know how to answer her.
For months, she has been asking me to take her to the shelter so she can volunteer to pick up poop or scratch behind ears that have forgotten the touch.
I finally took her there and it was awful. While she stood and begged me to take every animal home, tears coursing down her cheeks, I cried for different reasons. I needed to save them all. I needed to know that not one more thing would die, not while it was in my control.
I don't want to belong to this group of people. I don't want to know what this is like. If my sweet brother can die, anyone can. My children can die. How do I live with the fear that cripples me now every time I think about how much I love these people I have given my heart to?
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