It’s my birthday! Well, close enough anyway! Ü So, it’s almost my birthday and, as I do every year, I sit here wondering where my mom is and what she is thinking of. Does she remember me? Does she know it’s my birthday? Of course she knows it’s my birthday, she is the one who gave birth to me! Does she care? Will she mourn her loss on that day? So many questions race through my head, circling in a rush of confusing waves. I’m not stupid, I know my mom loves me. What I don’t know is: does my mom think about me, does she miss me, does she have any fond memories of me, etc. There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to know the answers, but a much bigger part of me is dying to know. My mom was in a very, very dark place when I was taken away. I honestly don’t believe that my mom knew that I was taken or understood the impact of the things happening around her. I remember the day I was taken so vividly. I remember my mom arguing with the police to just let her take me to her in-laws, that I would be safe there. She looked terrified. She begged the police to allow me to just go with her, that life was fine. But she was trippin. The screaming got louder and my mom got more angry and eventually just left. I don’t know if my mom realized, that day, that she would never get me back. I’m not really sure if she really understood that I would be taken and placed in secrecy so that she wouldn’t be able to find me. She was so steadily high that life was a big fuzzy picture to her, so I wonder: did she notice? Did she care? Could she feel it? Not even six months later my mom sat, completely shut down and withdrawn, in a courtroom and watched her rights being taken away. I wasn’t there so I don’t know every detail. I didn’t get the opportunity to witness my mom’s final goodbye. I really wish I had. At first my {CASA} told me that my mom was sad, that there were lot’s of tears. However, after asking her, at a later date, and then confirming with my caseworker she told me, “there were no tears, she just sat and stared. I {my CASA} wasn’t sure if she was high or if she was just so zoned out from the pain.” Did my mom know? What were her thoughts? Did she realize the intensity of the life that she was living? Did she think about me then? Was her head clear enough to see the pain that I was in? Could she see how much I wanted her? Through every adoption, what were her thoughts? Was she happy? Was she hurt? Did she feel like I betrayed her? Did she wish that she could be the one that was there for me? I wonder what was going through her head as she fought, month after month, for the man who hurt me. As she sat in a court room time after time, what was she thinking? What did she expect? Did she hold hope? When she swore, under oath, to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, did she know she was going to lie? When she testified against me, did she feel bad? Did it tear her apart? The time she testified for was a time she can’t remember, did she believe the things she was saying? Did she, or does she, believe that she was helping? How could she sit there and be okay when I was sick? How could she be okay, knowing what she did? Did it hurt her to see me surrounded by people who loved me so much? A lot of times I wonder how a mom can have so much anger towards their child. All of the death threats, did she mean them? Was she really going to kill herself? Does she believe it’s my fault? Would she have killed me? Were those thoughts really strong? Does she still want to kill me? These thoughts wonder through my head so often. As my birthday approaches it becomes more prevalent. It’s not just the little voices, it’s the full on yelling. As my birthday approaches the questions get harder, more personal. How is it that she can, out of so many children, deny acknowledgement of my existence only? Why am I the only child she refuses to remember? I struggle to understand her logic, her reasoning. I try so hard to shy away from these thoughts. It’s as if the harder I try to remove myself from these thoughts, and move away from them, the more my brain takes astonishing leaps back to her. When I look in the mirror I see her. When I do something ditzy I feel like her. When I say something I sound like her. Every day I struggle. I fight to let my mom go, to accept that what is, is. I fight to accept that where my mom is, is her choice. I have to accept that the only thing I can do is offer an internal compassion, and distant love, to her and hope that somehow she feels it. I know that I need to accept that these questions may very well never be answered. I have to accept that she loves me as much as she can and even though I can’t comprehend it, it’s there. Though I have accepted these things before, tonight I struggle to. I struggle to accept that she is not here, not with me! That she has never really been here for me nor will she ever be.

“Acceptance in the right time is magnificent, acceptance in the wrong time is like walking backwards–unsatisfying.”


3 thoughts on “Ramifications of a Birthday

  1. Happy Birthday!! You can bet your bottom dollar that your birth mother thinks of you every single birthday. No matter how far and wide the gap is between you. She may never be with you or do the right thing by you but she does think of you. I have never known a mother not to. Birthdays can be hard, but I hope yours is soft.

    1. Thanks for the Birthday wishes and the encouraging words! It was super helpful! She’s a special woman…I can only imagine the things that go through her mind! Thanks again, I always enjoy your comments! : )

      1. My pleasure! I do hope that you have had a good birthday. I might be totally self indulgent, but it’s nice to think that I can give you some encouragement from the other side of the world. Sometimes I know that it can be just the tiniest thing that can help to get through a bad day, so my comments are my tiny things.

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