So, sometimes this adoption stuff is a kick in the heart, not only a kick in the gut There is such beauty and gift and joy. But make no mistake, there is such heart-ache….and breath-take. Attachment is a lifelong gig, I think. Attachment and the navigation of those depths and shallows of the heart is an ongoing diving expedition. It has it’s own phases {weeks, months, days, hours} and tides that ebb and flow.
My Little Man has been working through some stuff lately. One of the things that doesn’t get mentioned much in the blog-o-verse, or even too much in the literature and the reference books on adoption is that birthdays can be a mine-field. Of course, right? Well, yeah, duh. But, too often, that’s easy to forget. Too often, it’s easy to overlook that part of it, the loaded moment, the undercurrents. Because the kid is excited, amped, hyper, for their birthday. It’s all about the presents and the party, right? And the parents and family, ideally, they are also so bonded in that it’s just another happy day, another kiddy birthday party.
But, it’s not just that; maybe not ever, I don’t know. As my kids get older we have moved into different waters in the adoption issues. I have posts rattling in my head and am not sure how to get them out or if I should. Heck, even this post was supposed to be a short mention. But it’s almost impossible to snip this stuff down to a sound bite or a visual blip.
But for this post, we are talking about the heart of a birthday. Specifically, the backseat voice of my son’s heart on this birthday.
We were driving to basketball practice, again…the night before his birthday. It was dark in the car, kind of quiet, he had the sniffles and it was drizzly out, we were a touch late. A standard night.
Then he said, “Mom, I remember when I was a baby and I first met you.”
I said, “You do?” {He was three months old}.
He said, “Yes. Do you remember?”
I said, “Yes. I sure do.”
He continued, “I remember you cried and you said, ‘Oh, I love him so much!’ Didn’t you?”
“I did, honey. That’s right.” I paused, kind of holding my breath, waiting to hear if he had more to ask or say.
He did. “I also remember the last time I saw my birth mom.”
“Do you?” {He was weeks old}.
“Yes, she was crying. Do you think she cried then?”
“I know she did honey.”
“Well, I remember. I remember her kissing me and saying ‘I love you. Blessing, blessing over him. I love him so much.'”
I was blinking now, trying to drive in the drizzly dark with my sweet tender son in the back seat.
“Mom?”
I had to gulp, “Yup, buddy?”
“Do you think she said that? I remember?”
“You know, honey, I think she did. I just bet she did.”
“Yeah,” he said “that’s what I remember.”
Just like that we were at the gym and he was clambering out of the car, running into practice. Just like it was any night.
I guess, it was. But I just had to take a minute behind him, to gather up the pieces of my heart that had just broke again a little bit for my boy.
Adoption is an event. But it is also a thread of attachment that continues to tug. With echoing voices from the deep….from the deep jagged shoals in both of our hearts. Just like that.
Another Espresso, Please 
