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I came across my adoption finalization papers last night. 

“From the entry of this judgment, all relationships between the child and biological parents shall be terminated, as well as all rights, duties and obligations of any person founded upon such relationship…”

“In the matter of the application of *** and ***, husband and wife, for leave to adopt a child and to change the name of said child to ***…”

I mean, I really feel like a freaking business transaction.  Yeah, legal matters are legal matters, but the formality is sickening.  Can’t I just be me?

Nope.

I was chatting with my birthdad last night too.  The topic of children came up.  He mentioned how the girls were “planned” and, as he said it, “you were *pause* a blessing all your own.”  Maybe that’s not quite it, but something like that.  During the *pause* I was so inclined to shout OOPS BABY!  Or ACCIDENT.  Or something along those lines.  But he wouldn’t have been pleased.  And I didn’t want to start anything.

I’m not massively depressed, but I guess I am questioning things.  When I read these legal documents, it is soooo hard to fathom how any mother could allow herself to do this.  I don’t care what the reasons.  “Permanent” is written all over them.  Couldn’t she see that?

I don’t understand how she couldn’t, and for that, I feel angry all over again.  At lawyers who spend their lives aiding in this process.  At how happy my finalization papers are…as if this was a joyous new beginning.  Though no one cared to recognize their joy came from the end of something I wanted to keep alive.  I wanted to stay with my family.  I’m angry at everyone who made this possible.  I’m not thankful.

Grateful but not thankful.  There is a difference.  I’m grateful for the things and experiences I’ve been given, but I’m not thankful about what I had to lose in order to have them.  I so wish I could have had both. 

Lately, I’ve been asking God, “Why me?”  You know?  Why not another kid who wouldn’t care much?  He knows my heart.  He knew from the beginning how much pain this would bring upon me, how much confusion, how much misery.  I’m not really sure about whether or not I believe my adoption was in God’s will.  I believe in some cases it is, but I also believe that people have free choice, and people make mistakes.

Did my parents make a mistake in giving me away?

I wonder. 

She wasn’t always bound to be poor and uneducated.  She eventually would have gotten married and raised a family.  He would get his act together.  Maybe it wouldn’t have been perfect, but it would have been okay.  And yeah, maybe my childhood was pretty awesome.  I had beautiful clothes, new toys, a solid education and a doggy.  Girl Scouts.  Swim Team.  Sunday School.  Christmas Dinner at my Grandparents.  Lots of good things.

But now I’m 19.  My childhood is gone.  It was merely a portion of my life.  And here I am left to say, “Mother, where art thou?”  I’m an adult now, working my way into the real world.  Most likely leaving the nest soon, going away to school, getting a degree, getting my own place and a real job.  Finding love and starting a family of my own.  Growing up and moving on.

I can pretend that reunion is great, and there really are a lot of awesome things about it.  But it’s not the same.  We missed years that built foundations and now I’m like a bouncy ball in a tightly closed room, hitting back and forth from wall to wall.  Where do I go?

It must sound like my parents did something that made me feel like something was lacking growing up.  Well, something WAS lacking growing up.  But the truth is, it was nothing they were able to control.  It was the absence of many different things directly resulting from having been relinquished.

I’m at a loss because she couldn’t see far enough down the road to see…this.  The way this would separate all her daughters.  The way I wouldn’t be able to handle this so well.  The way we would practically manage to break each others hearts. 

And I can’t blame her for that blindness, naivety, confusion, maybe even denial that she experienced.  I don’t blame her, but even then, I know that somebody knew what this would mean for us.  And I wish they would have told her.

I wish they would have told her she had worth and could not be replaced even by a Mom who invested everything she could into me.  I wish someone would have told her she was beautiful and that her baby believed that about her too, despite the stares she was getting from strangers.  I wish they would have explained to her how attached I would become, that I would know her…and know when she was gone.

I wish she could have seen me from a distance…seen ahead in time…when I looked for her on the highways, when I snuggled in her stuffed animal presents because they smelled like her, when I was awake at 3am crying for her and needing her to hold my hand or hug me.  The list goes on forever.

But she didn’t know.  No one cared to tell her that adoption is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.

I so miss her tonight.   

I’m in the mood for a list.

1.  Well, so much for my perfect plan.  My Grandpa found out that because he lives in an active adult neighborhood, I’m not allowed to live there.  So my idea was pretty much shot to the ground.  I guess it wasn’t what God wanted, after all.

2.  So now I’m back to the “going away to college” plan.  Which is awesome.  But this thing is going to make me very, very poor.  I dread it.  And I want to avoid student loans at all costs, if possible.  I take my big test on Saturday and I have a visit with my birthdad scheduled for the afternoon.  Something to look forward to.  Just me and him.  :-)  I enjoy our one on one time.

3.  I officially produced my very first roadkill last night.  Desiree and I were on the way to the mall to visit the puppies at the pet shop.  I see this big round brown ball of animal in the road and swerve to avoid running over it, because I’m sorry but I prefer not to have dead animal guts on my tires if possible.  Well, I came back in the lane too soon, and *crack*…I must have broken some bones.  Des said it could have been the wind, but she thought it was still struggling when I ran over it, because it looked like it was still moving.  So maybe I put it out of its misery sooner than later?  Let’s hope.

4.  Leaving the mall at the end of the night means bargaining with the people at Auntie Anne’s for deals on their pretzels.  It works well.  You should try it some time.  We got Buy 2, Get 2.  Yummmm!

5.  Well, it’s 7:30 which means it’s time to call the birthmom!  We have our talks after 7:30 since she puts the babies to bed a little before then.  Nothing major on my heart tonight.  Just want to chat.  Kinda wish I could bring up the “when are you going to tell my sisters?” topic, but so not going there.  So not.

Birthmother vs. Everything Else

Ah, the great “adoption terminology” debate has come up in my comment box.  Finally.  I was waiting for that to happen.

For the record, my birthmother is my mother.  Frankly, “birthmother” is the word I grew up on.  That’s what she was referred to in our house.  And so I still call her such to clarify.  But it means nothing in regards to my feelings.  She is a mother to me, and I don’t need a word to define that or keep our relationship in a box.  She even refers to herself as my birthmother.  But that’s not all.  She’s surely not merely an incubator.  We have more than that on a spiritual, emotional and psychological level. 

So Birthmother.  Firstmother.  Natural Mother.  Biological Mother.  Or just Mother.  It’s all the same to me. 

Just for the record.     

I’ll keep you my dirty little secret. Don’t tell anyone or you’ll be just another regret…

I texted my birthmom today during my break at work.  It simply said, “I love you so much.”  Something just sorta came over me to tell her that.  Sometimes that happens to me.  I wasn’t looking for an “I love you too” or a phonecall.  I just wanted her to know.

I need to back up and say that I have tried calling her a couple times this week.  We were supposed to talk the other day during my lunch, but when I called, she didn’t answer.  And I think her night schedules have been busy with the kids having softball and what not.  It didn’t bother me.  I figure, we’ll talk when we can.  Nothing’s wrong.  She’s just busy.

Well, she actually texted me back, which is something she rarely attempts because she thinks she is stupid and slow with technology.  And her message said, “Ditto.  Sorry I missed your call.  I went to the chiropractor.  Game tonight.  We will talk soon.  Love you.” 

It was nice, but then when I really thought about it, I realized that she must think my text message was my way of saying “Thanks for not calling me!! When are you going to be there for me?!?”  And it wasn’t like that at all.  Sometimes it is, and I will admit to that when it happens.  But this time, it was an innocent “I love you” with no need whatsoever for a reply.  I wasn’t looking for the reassurance she seemed so desperate to give to me.

I wonder what I can do to help her understand that.  To understand that sometimes, I’m okay, and I just want her to know she is precious.  Now, I know I complain when she isn’t there for me, so I really don’t mean for it to look like the poor woman can’t win.  It’s not like whatever she does isn’t good enough.  I’m not getting upset over a nice text message.  Actually, it made my day.

But what is that?  Guilt?  I’m not sure.  Any thoughts?

Coco made a comment on my last post regarding the fact that my birthmom hasn’t shared our story with her six year old daughters.  Not yet.  And Coco wishes she would because the longer my birthmom waits, the harder it will be to spill the beans.

So I’ve been thinking about that issue too.  And I wonder if some of it has to do with shame and guilt.  She discussed this with me around my birthday, and told me that her reason for not sharing with them, has little to do with herself but more to do with the fact that she thinks her girls won’t be able to handle it.  They are deep and emotional, and she thinks it will be too much for them.  Something along those lines, I forget what her exact words were.

But really, it does come back to her, doesn’t it?  Because there is always a way for a child to handle information even at a young age.  She can make the explanation age appropriate if explaining was what she really wanted to do.  She’s says she’s not afraid of what they will think of her, but I would beg to differ.  Only because I really think she carries guilt over the adoption and is ashamed of herself for the situation she ended up in and the way she had to handle it. 

I almost got up major guts to ask to tag along to the girls softball event on the day of my testing.  But I didn’t.  Partially because it’s probably majorly rude to invite myself to something, and secondly, because I get this huge sense that she doesn’t want people to know of her birthmotherhood.  And I know if this is the case, it has much more to do with herself than with me.  I guess she probably feels responsible since she is the one who made the decisions for an infant who couldn’t speak up for herself.

During our visit at the mall, we ran into someone at the food court who she thought she recognized.  She talked to the lady and they both agreed that they thought they knew each other, but neither could place from where.  And there’s me…sitting at the table watching this conversation…and thinking about the secret I am.  I didn’t mention that before, but now I’ve said it.  I mean, we go places.  She could easily run into people she knows.  I guess she allows that possibility, but for me, I feel weird.  When we were walking in the mall, she also made a somewhat random comment to me about how there is a huge age gap between me and the babies, but that people must think we (birthmom and I) look alike and people must wonder what the heck is going on.  Again, can’t remember her exact words.  I just feel like she thinks people are looking.  Maybe they are.  I haven’t taken notice.

But when we go places, I feel the need to hide in order to protect her, mainly because I know she is watching to see if people are.  And when they look at us, if they do, they will look at her, not me.  Because clearly, she is young.  Clearly, she had me even younger.  And I guess we all know the horrible things people must think.  I know she feels that. 

 So thus far in our relationship, I haven’t been included in any family functions like parties or the like.  I have yet to meet her sister in law, her husband’s parents…people she speaks of all the time.  And it’d be an ever bigger leap of faith on her part to include me in an outside event, where strangers can see.  Nevermind her family, who knows the situation, but people in the community finding out could ruin her.

I fear that her mere fear of that already has.  But this is what we go through.  And out of respect for her, despite the pain she has that I carry, I allow this to go on…this ”hush, hush, victoria’s on the dl” kind of thing. 

I can’t even say “I love you” without some kind of justification being thrown back at me.

And as of now, there’s nothing else I know to do to heal her.  Except to pray.  But that is nothing new.  I always pray for her and for us. 

How much longer will this go on?  I am so proud of her.  Other people should be too.  Even the strangers.  And for the ones who might judge her, they are to be ignored.  I wish she could see that. 

It’s okay to be who you are, dear birthmother.  When are you going to realize that?   

No Go

Well, I am doing some testing for school in about a week and a half.  And the testing center is literally like two miles from my birthmom’s house, so we had planned to get together that day.  Assuming nothing came up.  But it did.  That’s fairly predictable…I should have known.

And I feel terribly guilty, but I’m mad about it.  The girls have some kind of event going on. 

Let’s not beat around the bush…I’m second best. 

I guess it’s selfish, really, but then again, maybe justifiably so.  The world doesn’t revolve around me.  Her world doesn’t revolve around me.  But for once I wish it would.  Not even that.  But that she and I could make plans that wouldn’t be destroyed because of checkups or school parties or whatever else it is they do.  To say this always happens would be a lie, but it wouldn’t be a lie to say that it usually does.  We have tried to get together many many times, and she’ll find out at the last minute something else is going on, so no can do with our visit.

Now, I have to be fair and also say that she ditches other get togethers with her girlfriends for the same reasons.  I’m not the only one who gets put on the back burner when need be.  So it shouldn’t sting like this.  But it does.

I guess that it’s like a cycle.  When our plans get cancelled, I start thinking about why they were cancelled.  And it’s always because she is doing something with her kids.  But I’m her kid too, right?  Yes.  But I’m not entitled to the same treatment or the privilege of her constant company like they are.  And I miss that.  Just because they were the “planned ones,” born into a marriage.  And I’m wasn’t, but it’s not like I could control that.  

I would never choose this. 

You know, I was doing really well with this whole “complete forgiveness” thing I was working on.  I thought it would be permanent.  And I think the forgiveness is.  But the sadness never goes away…only temporarily…and when it does come back, it brings anger after the sadness.  I’m angry that I feel sad and I know my sadness is a result of her choices.  There’s this sense of “You did this to me!” 

And I don’t like it.  I don’t want it.  But I don’t know how to be able to walk in a peaceful relationship with her.  It’s been awhile since we’ve talked adoption and I feel as though when we go through periods of not talking about it, my heart starts to break and I get to this point of feeling out of control.  When we talk about it, I’m able to lay my cards on the table and let her know where I am in terms of processing this thing.

Now, there haven’t really been any major issues lately.  We’ve been small talking a lot and laughing over the stupid stories we tell each other.  But I need to have a talk on adoption again.  I don’t know what about adoption exactly.  I just feel like when we don’t talk about it, we forget.  We forget who we are, what we are and how we got to this place.

She is such a laid back, chill kind of person.  And I feel like because she is silly and relaxed and covers up emotional things very well, that she forgets.  And that scares me like nothing else.  I don’t want her to forget.     

But last time I wore my heart on my sleeve, she was defensive and acted as though my feelings weren’t okay.  And it’s not what she meant, but I took it that way, and everytime there is an ounce of negativity about my feelings coming from her, I shut down.  I feel unaccepted and I am afraid to open up again in the future because I am afraid she will not want to hear what I have to say.

So I can journal and blog and talk to friends.  But she is the one I’m in the relationship with.  Shouldn’t she be aware of where I stand?  I would think so.  But I can’t say anything because she’ll think I’m sending her on a guilt trip.  And even though there is a bit of feeling victimized, I really don’t want to make her feel guilty.  I just wish I could be able to say “I’m sad” without discomfort following for both of us.

So instead of getting together on that particular day, she invited me to come over one day on a weekend and swim in their pool with the kids and she and her hubby will bbq.  And I’m not complaining…I’m actually really excited to get to spend some time with the older girls.  They are six now and the last time I spent any time with them for more than 2 minutes was during my first visit last August since our falling out with my Mom.  They didn’t know me then, so they wouldn’t really talk to me.  And they still don’t know that we are sisters, and I don’t expect my birthmother to let that out anytime soon.  I feel for her because that has got to be one heck of a story to have to tell.  And I have to respect that.  But on the other hand, it makes me a little uncomfortable because I know something they don’t.  I’m a secret.  My sisterly heart just wants to hug them and kiss them and…be a sister.  But I can’t be that nice yet.  They wouldn’t take that well from a stranger.  No child would.  But this summer, I do hope to bridge the gap with them a little bit.  To start building something between us. 

As a sidenote, I wonder when they will start to realize similarities between me and their Mom.  We sound almost exactly alike…our voices are the same.  We look the same sometimes…certain expressions…and we have some of the same mannerisms.  Apparently, my birthom was checking out my photos online a couple weeks ago and one of the babies was sitting with her, and every time a picture of me would come up, she would say “Mommy.  Mommy.”  I guess she thought I was her Mom.  Oh little one, someday you will know.  I wonder if on some weird, two year old level, she already does.  Kids know things far beyond our understanding.  She looks at me in a…a, way.  I don’t even know how to explain it.  I think she knows.  I truly do. 

So yeah, I’ve vented.  And I feel a little better, but something is definitely bothering me.  I just haven’t hit the nail on the head yet.  I can’t really put it into words.

I’m just tired of being rescheduled.

Out of Left Field…But God Does That Sometimes.

I guess everyone will realize now that my plans change…often.

But I think I’m onto something here.  Well, not me, but God.

Today was one of those Sundays during which I didn’t want to go to church.  I had to go though because my college pastor had asked myself and two friends to make some phonecalls reminding THRIVE about our awesome gathering coming up tomorrow night.  And I needed to give my friend Desiree the list of people for her to call.  I had an obligation.

But I didn’t want to go with a closed heart or negativity and a lack of joy.  I hate being like that.  I hate being mediocre (sp?), complacent and blah.  But I was totally that way this morning.  My LTG got too big and we had to split and since then, all of our schedules have been wacky and I’ve been out of the word like I haven’t been for awhile.  So I’ve felt a little far from the Lord.

I prayed that God would open my heart when I went to church and that I would really want to be there.  I asked Him to put joy in my heart and make me want to spend some time with him.  I glanced at the bulletin, seeing that our church is hosting “Slime Stations” for children in the area.  Think Nickolodeon Slime.  It’s a day of games and activities for kids, and in some way, we’re able to share the gospel with them.  One was located in the town where I was born…and I was reminded that my college pastor had told me a few months ago that our church would be “church planting” in that town in the near future.

When I almost took an internship in a major city near my birthfamily, I was chatting with my Grandpa and he asked me if I wanted to live with him during the internship.  He wasn’t kidding.  But due to the rules of the program, I wouldn’t have been allowed to stay with him.  So I said no.

But it kinda all hit me…

I could do an internship at this church we’re planting.  And I could live with my Grandpa.  And be close enough to home to go back if I needed to.  I could still play hockey, and maybe even get MORE ice time than usual since there is a team in the same town as the new church.  And I could take classes from the Christian School online. 

Boom.  Boom.  Boom.

Everything I desire…and I think God’s handing me the opportunity.

I talked to my Senior Pastor after the service.  He told me that this new church currently has NO youth programs whatsoever.  But that’s awesome to me - I’d have the chance to build something from scratch, and I have a lot of ideas, creativity and a lot to offer in general, all of which God has gifted me with.

It’s such a big project that I could probably even get some sort of college credit for it, so I’m going to look into that, and I would like to take a full load of courses in the Fall through the internet to keep myself on track with my education.

(I saved a draft and came back just now to edit it.) 

I’m creeped out in such a beautiful way.  I just found out tonight, in doing more research, that the church I would be working at is LITERALLY RIGHT NEXT DOOR to the hospital where I was born.  Maybe that doesn’t seem monumental to most people, but to me it’s incredible.  It’s as though God brought me through a full circle.

Just think.

I was born to an unwed teenage mother and a father struggling with substance abuse.  I was premature and ridiculously tiny.  And I had Cerebral Palsy (though no one knew it at the time).  The odds were against my little life.  But I was born in that hospital for a man and a woman who wanted to bless me with all the ways God made them special and I basked in that blessing they passed on to me for nineteen years, over which time their faith in Christ was breathed in me, alive and growing. 

Now, I’ve commited my life to full time ministry.  And God is sending me back where I came from…literally…to do His work.  And in addition, I’m getting to live out some of the things with my birthfamily that  those nineteen years took away from me…like living in their homes, eating dinner with them every night, seeing them in the stands at my games, and venturing out with them on the weekends to family functions.

And hockey is such a minute thing it seems, but it’s important to me.  I have a year - maybe two if I push it - to play in the youth league.  Going to school where I intended would completely wipe out any opportunity hockey might have for me, and I’m not ready to let it go yet.  Living with my Grandpa would allow me to continue to play on my current team, and most likely get more practice time with one of our rivals at the rink near his house.  The church and the ice rink are six minutes apart.

And most importantly, my Grandpa.  He’s my joy, but he doesn’t know it.  I’m a sucker for old people, especially the ones in my family.  I completely adore them, and my birthdad’s Dad is pretty much one of the coolest people I’ve ever had the pleasure to know in my entire life. 

When my Grandmom (his wife) passed away last year, I drove myself crazy with guilt for not opening up to her, doing more with and for her and getting to know her better.  I swore to myself I wouldn’t let the same thing happen with my Grandpa.  I’ve been pretty good about it, but it’s been heavy on my heart lately that he won’t live forever and I need to stop wasting time.  He is a precious man to me for so many reasons and it would be such a gift to me to be able to be with him for however long I can be.  He is so lonely after losing my Grandmom and I deleted my old posts when I started blogging again, but he also lost a baby Grandson (my cousin) the day after Christmas.  The baby was only 2 months old. 

So basically his heart is fragile and broken.  And I am not the almighty healer - that’s for God, but I believe I can be used to bring some level of joy and peace to my Grandpa and I believe he can offer me a special love and friendship.  He already has and I’ve been so happy to have the relationship that I do with him. 

Lots of little things…but it’s 1AM and I have to work tomorrow.

I’ll update when I have a more definite answer.  I just really think this is the best thing to do.

God knew everything I wanted and needed before I even realized them and I praise Him for his perfect will.  

The story of the boy.

Let’s talk about love.

I started swimming in a disability organization at 5.  Once I learned to swim, I took to swimming like a fish and started on the competitive team soon after.  It was pretty much just a few girls my age.  One had a brother.

Yes, this is the sappy story of childhood friendship turned young love.

I thought he was cute from the first time I saw him.  And he liked me too.  It was that whole “stupid little crush” thing and the games kids play when they like each other but are too chicken to acknowledge the fact between them.  C’mon!  We were six at the time!

I would always see him at swim practice and he would come to our meets.  We would talk and hang around each other.  Finally, during the summer after 6th grade, we spent a week at a national competition in Iowa and he was there.  He wanted to “ask me out,” which in 6th grade, basically entailed the title of boyfriend and girlfriend, but dates didn’t really take place.  But his Mom said he was too young to be going out with a girl, so he never officially asked me out. 

We sort of kept in touch over the years sporadically.  Eventually, his sister switched to a team out of state and so I stopped seeing him at practice.  In 7th grade, he called my house all the time and didn’t really have a lot to talk about, but I thought it was so cute.  He had this one certain way of saying hello.  It still makes me giggle.  I can still hear it.  I remember clear as day.

I don’t know what happened after that.  We went separate ways.  I busied myself with junior high.  I took a break from swimming to pursue violin, theater, writing, student council, community service.  I mean, I was that stereotypical overachieving kid who was in every possible school club.  Well, not quite, but almost.  

We moved to the high school building in 10th grade.  (For the record, the boy and I did not go to school together.  We lived about 30 minutes apart).  I was stupid and started dating a guy who I really shouldn’t have dated.  Looking back, he was nice but we really had nothing in common.  We would have been better as friends.  But after we dated for a few months, he started changing.  Finally, he made some horrible choices that turned me away completely.  So I dumped him.  And I wasn’t heartbroken.  I was more saddened by the fact that he was ruining his life than I was that we were over.

That was in July of 2004.  I was ending my Disney Vacation with family a few days early to fly out to Arizona for Nationals.  A friend at the time said she had spoken to the boy, asked him if he “liked anyone” and his reply was ”she’s not here yet.”  So she really thought it was me he was talking about, especially considering our past. 

I’d never forgotten about the boy.  Yeah, I had dated this kid at the end of my sophomore year, but deep down I always liked the boy.  The boy.  The boy.  The boy.  And I’ve also never been a “boy crazy” kind of girl.  So really, a piece of my heart and adoration belonged to him and always did, even though I never knew whether or not anything would come of us in the future.  It didn’t matter.  I still really cared about him. 

I arrived in Arizona, put my bags in our hotel room, went for a run with my coach and came back to the hotel, sweaty with messy braided pigtails, sunburn and a red face, and probably smelling like God only knows what.  And the next thing I know, the boy is walking towards me. 

That is one of the few moments in my life, where I can still honestly say time was in slow motion.  I still can play it all back in my head.  I was all smiles.  He was all smiles.  You could tell we really wanted to impress each other, but we both kept fumbling our words.  He kept telling me how awesome I looked (and I know he meant it, even though I was clearly a mess!).  I told him how great it was to see him again after so many years. 

We were inseperable that week.  He would try to make plans with me to meet up at the hotel pool.  And the competition had social events planned.  One was a concert and we sat next to each other. 

We talked on the phone all the time after Nationals ended.  I visited his house one day at the end of August.  He had a pool, so we went swimming and sat and talked.  I think a couple of his guy friends were over so we hung out with them too.  That night, when I left, he kinda touched my back as I was getting in the car and whispered, “I’ll miss you.”  Well, we couldn’t spend much time apart.  That night, we were online chatting and he asked me out.  Leave it to a boy to ask such a monumental question over instant messaging, but looking back, I didn’t/don’t even care.  It was 1A.M and I was doing an insane dance around my computer cabinet giggling and going bananas.  My Mom just smiled.  I think she knew it would happen…that the two of us would get together. 

He and I kept a Xanga where we would write back and forth to each other.  He wrote the sweetest stuff, telling me that even though “the rest of the world sees you (me) as a handicapped girl who doesn’t walk well, I (He) don’t see you (me) that way at all.  When I look at you (me), I see the most beautiful girl in the world.”  I mean seriously, he was the best boyfriend ever.  One time, he took copper scraps from his garage and made me a rose out of it.  And let me tell you, that thing was beautiful.  It looked professional.  I would have bought it at a store if that’s where it was.  Sadly, I don’t have it now.  He showed it to his Mom and I think she thought it was for her.  He gave it to me, and she asked for it one day to display in their Living Room, so to save his butt from teasing, I gave it back to him. 

We would talk for literally four hours every night on the phone.  I love the ”Chicken Soup” books and he would let me read them to him…and he would REALLY listen.  I know, because he would say something about the stories the next day on occasion. 

We were so inseperable…I’ll never forget one night when my Dad picked me up from his house.  The boy called me even though we had just said goodbye.  I started talking to the boy and my Dad thought I was talking to him…and my Dad couldn’t believe that while he was actually trying to have a conversation with me, I was back on the phone with the boy within 2 minutes of leaving him.

But that’s just how we were.  We did everything together and we were “that couple” everybody hated in a really happy way.  We had something so real and beautiful and everyone else knew it.  He and I never fought.  Not even over stupid stuff.  I’m not sure why…we just always got along.  I think because we really WERE in love, it was always about giving to the other person, making sure the other person was happy instead of “Me, Me, Me” all the time.

I could go on and on with the cute stories of our relationship.  But as I’m sure you’ve all predicted by now, like most high school relationships, a break-up loomed in the future.  It was just the last kind of breakup I would have thought would happen to us, considering how special our relationship was.  It wasn’t about “Me.”  It wasn’t about showing off or impressing.  It wasn’t about sex - He NEVER pushed that on me and he told me many times that he was proud to be with a girl who wasn’t into that.  He called it “Honorable.”  Read his 10th grade English journal…80% of it is about me/us.  The “Honorable”-ness (Yes, he even wrote about THAT even when the Teacher reviewed the journals!).  The love he had for me.  The time we spent together.  That’s just the kind of boy he was…he was Sweet.  And he really didn’t care what other people thought.  He just loved me and that’s all there was to it. 

But I’m getting off topic…

It was a December 27, 2005.  I was on vacation with my Mom, brother and sister.  The boy was skiing in the mountains as he does every weekend during the winter months.  (It’s his second love…or, it was at the time.)  He usually didn’t get reception up there, so he never called me much, but on this day, I woke up to a voicemail from him.  So, not expecting to hear from him, I was a very happy girl and did another little dance. 

So I get into my voicemail and he sounds a little weird and so I listen and he says something along the lines of “I’ve been thinking about this year and how great it’s been and it’s been awesome.  But I just really don’t want to be in a relationship anymore.  Please don’t be upset, okay?  I love you.”

PLEASE DON’T BE UPSET, I LOVE YOU?!?!??!?!?!?!?!?

That’s boy language…anybody care to translate?

Four days before, we spent the night together, celebrating Christmas.  He gave me a beautiful green sweater which I STILL wear and a Sonicflood CD.  As always, he looked me straight in the eye and in a “for sure” way told me he loved and me and that he was going to marry me someday.  And none of it was out of the ordinary.  He always told me stuff like that, and being a head over heels in love fifteen year old, I believed him without a doubt in my mind.

So I’m in our room at the resort, and I start screaming bloody murder.  I mean, it was an ugly scene.  My face had become purple in a matter of 3 seconds flat and I’m in my Mom’s room ramming myself into the bed and punching pillows as she stares at me with this look of sad disbelief on her face when I told her what had happened.  I don’t remember breathing for the next couple of days.

I called the boy, but he was on the mountain all day and therefore not available until about 4:30.  When we did talk, he couldn’t give me much of an explanation for what he did.  He said that it wasn’t me, but he just didn’t want to be in a relationship with anyone.  I couldn’t touch his sweatshirt anymore.  I would cry myself to sleep listening to “If You’re Not The One” by Daniel Bedingfield for nights upon end.  (Warning: Don’t listen to that after a breakup.  That makes it 50 million times worse!!)  I think for the first few days I ate a total of one apple…and it was very forced.  My joy was gone.  The boy was gone.

We did continue to talk on the phone.  He called me seven times on my birthday to say Happy Birthday.  (My birthday is January 7th.)  He had great timing with this breakup…(2 days after Christmas, 2 days before our 16 month anniversary and a week before my birthday!  1 AM on a Voicemail while I was on vacation.)  That is by far the stupidest/not like him thing he has ever done.  This is the only time the boy even came close to treating me the wrong way or being a butthead.  But he was.  And yet, months after breaking up with me, HE would call ME in TEARS saying “I LOVE YOU.”

Um, then why aren’t we together!?!

I think it’s something I’ll never know.  I haven’t spoken to him since July of 2006.  On occasion, I will write to him through email or Myspace.  I know he reads my Myspace messages, but he never writes back.  I’ve moved on, but I still think about him every single day.  I wonder why he even reads my letters if he’s not interested and not going to respond. 

I don’t know him anymore and he doesn’t know me.  This breaks my heart, but what breaks my heart even more is not even that it’s over.  I’m scared he’ll never fully realize how much I love him.  I say love in the present tense because I do still love him.  I always will.  And I know this is true, because strangely, I don’t have an ounce of anger over what he did to me or the way he treated me at the end.  I guess that’s what love does to you…It’s unconditional even when you’re kicked to the ground and stepped on.  You still love that person.  I still love the boy.

I could go on with a novel regarding my feelings on him.  I think our parents thought we were going to get married.  Our friends sure did.  I dated a guy for a few months at the end of 2007.  I don’t know what I saw in him…it was basically pointless because we had nothing in common.  And no relationships since.  And I’m okay with that.  I’ve been praying for God to bring along a nice Christian boy in His timing.

And so I’m going to leave it at this:  Another childhood friend/crush, who I met at Vacation Bible School, asked me if I wanted to go see a movie sometime.  This was on facebook since he no longer has my phone number.  I guess he means a date…it’s a movie.  Isn’t a movie usually a date??  Clearly, I’m terrible at discerning boy language.  I wrote back to him…we’ll see what happens.

I’m not really looking for anything right now.  Especially since I am going away to school next Fall.  But if God wants something to happen, it will.  I’m not going to push anything, but I won’t run and hide either.  I feel like I’m in a better place to be in a serious relationship, and I want it to be with a Christian guy.  I guess we’ll see.  I really am a little excited to maybe be going on a date again after such a long time…to get dressed up and prettifyed…to catch up with this guy since it’s been soooo long…to see what God has done in our lives since the good old days of VBS.

But the truth is, reliving so much through writing this post has broken my heart all over again.  I don’t know how to explain that I really do feel I’ve moved on.  But I guess a piece of my heart and some of my love will always be with the boy.  Even if he doesn’t want it and even if he doesn’t know it, I do.  And that’s enough because it has to be.  That year and a half was a blessing.  It’s just sad that an entire childhood of friendship has been destroyed because we fell in love.  But I don’t regret anything.  It is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.  I’m finally starting to believe that.

Yep!

Well, I’ve made a decision. 

I’m transferring in the Fall to the 4 year University I had my heart set on.

As for internships, I’m going to wait one more year and reflect at that point to see if I feel ready to tackle something like that.  Right now, I think I just want some time in the classroom to get a little more education under my belt before I go out in the real world.  I know that in another year, the Lord will have me even closer to him and I’ll be better prepared to serve.

I was about to go crazy with so many options being thrown at me.  I was just praying constantly that God would show me some kind of obvious answer, and I’m not exactly sure how I got to the one I’ve made, but the important part is that I did and I have peace about it.

I sat down with my parents this morning.  We talked about finances and how I am going to make this work.  A Private Christian College Education is expensive and way beyond my bank account.  I’ve accepted the fact that I may have to take out a small student loan, but strangely, I’m okay with that.  I think I’ll be able to get a lot of scholarship money to cut costs, and the summer job that I have now will help me if I don’t waste my money this summer.  It should help pay for food and car expenses once the semester starts.  I am going to rack up as much overtime as I possibly can and cut back on eating out and going out with friends at night and on weekends.  I’m going to try to clean the house up and put it together so people can come over.  It would be just as much fun to sit in the family room and play Apples to Apples as it would be to go out somewhere.  College is all about making the most of every resource.  I’ve finally been thrust into that, but I’m content.  I’ll probably be living on Ramen Noodles in the Fall (half kidding), but it’s okay!

I can’t officially apply and be accepted until my standardized test is taken (currently scheduled for June 14th) and I’ll have to find some time to scholarship hunt and fill out gobs of paperwork.  But I know I’m making the right decision.  I could go to a state school and save much more money, but a Christian education is important to me.  The environment I will be in is totally different from what I would find at a public school.  I went to public school for most of my time as a student, and for the most part, I hated it.  Now that I am older, the lifestyle lived by people my age is…crazy, for lack of a better word.  And I just don’t want to be a part of it.  I am not a better person because of that, rather I am only aware of what goes on and am trying to keep myself going in a direction that honors Christ.  I feel a Christian school best serves that purpose.

“Finally brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable — if anything is excellent or praiseworthy — think about such things.” 

Phillipians 4:8

I’m ready and excited.  And Blessed.

Picking My Battles

Alright, there’s a lot to catch up on, but I guess I’ll finish the stories of my visit with my birthmom.
Friday’s weather was horrible in my/her area. I was traveling major highways in huge amounts of rain and wind, but I managed to get there and come home in one piece.
We went to the mall right after I got there. She had given me this really cute necklace for my birthday. It was on a sporty black cord chain and had a wooden heart inside of a larger metallic one. I loved it to pieces. But it broke into pieces sometime in the last couple weeks. So our mission was to find another one, but she bought it at one of those mall kiosks, which has disappeared since January when she bought it. So no luck.
We went into a few stores - American Eagle (one of my favorites!), Pac Sun, Macy’s and Gap. I found a really cute gray hoodie at Macy’s for $4.99. At American Eagle, she got me a really nice leather bracelet that says “LOVE” on it, except the V is the American Eagle logo. And she let me choose a purse from PacSun which was really funny because I am very indecisive and she refused to pick for me when I asked her to.
We didn’t spend too much time shopping. I had some money from textbook buyback, but I am very careful in the way I spend it. We tried on a few things at Macy’s and it was funny because we kinda figured out how opposite we are with clothing and fashion. I go for the slightly-dressed up, fancy, patterned stuff. She likes the plain, one colored, basic kinda thing. (Not always, but for the most part.) We couldn’t agree on much in the shopping department.
The babies came with us. They had their hair in pigtails, which was adorable. They behaved well in the stroller, but the we kept them occupied with dum dum lollipops. I know it’s not the healthiest, but at least they were good for us, so we could actually get some time together.
Her hubby met up with us for lunch. The three of us got Saladworks and it was my first time eating there. I liked it. I forget what I got - lol - but it was good. It was awesome to get the chance to visit with him. He was asking me about school and different things I’m up to. Everything that was talked about was small talk, but it was enjoyed.
He gave me a hug when he left and the same to his wife - and he kissed her too, which was cute.
I can’t put into words what an awesome guy her husband is. I mean, from the beginning, he’s just been so supportive of our relationship. I feel terrible because sometimes I think he gets and feels left out of things between me and my birthmom, and understandably so since he is working a lot and just plain busy.
I am hoping I can get to know him better. We’ve talked before, but haven’t had a lot in depth conversations. We really have a whole lifetime ahead of us to build something. I get slightly uncomfortable sometimes though because I feel like an intruder. He has built a home and a life with her and their children, and I feel like I’m overstepping boundaries by coming into that when I do. And really I shouldn’t because I am no different than a family friend, and I know they both care about me. It’s one of those things in adoption that I have to let myself feel but not think too much about, because I’ll never get anywhere with it. It just is. But I can remember how awesome he is and be thankful that she has a husband who is willing to do whatever he can to help her and help out a child who isn’t even his. I guess it’s almost like step - parenting. Hah. But not. Adoption is so weird sometimes.
As for the name issue, I did end up talking to my Mom about it. I asked her if she knew that I had a name before she named me, and she said yes, though neither of us actually came out with the word “Brittany.” I was in the hospital for 3 weeks before my parents took me home. She said “they had to call me something other than Baby.” Um, that’s nice???
I can feel myself getting all worked up about her response. Again.
I didn’t acknowledge my frustration in front of her because I know it would have resulted in a huge argument with no satisfying solution. She changed my name. That’s it. I’m forever what she chose and there’s no going back and being the other person.
That stinks though.
She tried to tell me that my name wasn’t really my name because it wasn’t “legal.” Well, I think it was more legal than the name she started calling me THREE ENTIRE WEEKS after I was already SOMETHING ELSE. I do have an original birth certificate out there somewhere which I’m sure has that first name on it. I pointed this out to her and once again, she shoved in my face that the original birth certificate is “not legally binding.”
*Hail All - Powerful Adoptive Mother*
And she didn’t really “shove it in my face.” She just said it. But it feels like it’s being shoved in my face. And maybe I’ll turn into one of the adoption bloggers who is hated for raising controversial topics, but I refuse to sugarcoat anything.
This is another example of how adoption is all about them and not about me. Don’t get me wrong. I do believe my parents love me and I also believe they wanted to give me a good life. Obviously, because they have. But it could also be looked at as “they wanted to be parents.” I speak mainly in terms of my Mom since I haven’t had enough of a serious conversation with my Dad about wanting to adopt me. So I can’t say anything either way about him.
I can’t really say anything at all, actually.
Maybe my opinions are mostly unfounded, but I have this horrible adoptee rage in me as of lately. This second rate, not good enough, something’s wrong with me mindset. (And once again, everone but me has power over me. My say is worth nothing.) For the most part, I don’t believe it, but then I realized with all of this that it’s even too much to ask to keep my own name and call that my own. So I can’t stay with my parents. That’s really like the worst form of torture in the world of an infant. Read the books if you disagree. But on top of it, you can’t even let me keep my name?
It’s infuriating.
As is the fact that my Birthmom couldn’t even manage to correctly tell me what she named me.
But you know what?
In adoption reunion, at least for me, I’ve got to pick my battles.
The way I see it, I love her in a ridiculously strong way. It’s almost like “first love.” Clearly not - it’s a different kind of love. But in some ways it is the same.
Her laugh. It’s like sunshine or something. And when we laugh together (which I usually do once she starts laughing), it’s like that cool splash of water on a summer day when the sun is too strong. Going back to finding the balance. It’s beautiful.
When I am with her, I “take her in” constantly. I watch her. I listen to her. I make sure our goodbye hugs aren’t .2 seconds long. That I’ve hugged her enough to last until next time. (They don’t really, but we try…)
I guess I get scared that someday, these oh - so - lovely visits will be no more. And there is reason for that because it happened before. But it scares me to think that I might never get more time with her, so I make the most of what I do get. And really, that’s true of all life. Nobody is promised another day, but I guess I am more honest with myself about that in regards to my birthmother.
Time is precious. But back to picking my battles…
I feel as though I do a pretty good job of letting her know that I love her, but I also feel that every time I express negativity to her, it sets her back from realizing the genuine enormity (is that a word? I think so…) of this love I have for her.
So I’m making the conscious choice NOT to discuss anything along the lines of “How could you NOT know what you named me?!?” with her. I can think that and work through it on my own through writing, prayer and time.
But I know that in the past, I have judged her and she has felt that. And I know I’ve hurt her precious heart which is something I can’t even consider with myself most of the time.
We’ve been through a lot. We’ve come pretty far.
And I’m finding true forgiveness, because the level of anger I expected to come from her failure this time, is much less and extremely minimal. For the first time in awhile, I’ve thought and fully believed that “It doesn’t matter what she does to me or how she messes up or how she isn’t giving me what I need right now. I’m going to love her anyway.” And I’ve been true to that. I love her so.
Anger is just a problematic monster. It could destroy us and it could take away all the love I’ve given her and have yet to give her.
That’s just not a risk I am willing to take.
<3

Work makes me tired.

Yes, I am still alive. I’ve just been completely exhausted after work every night. Monday and Tuesday night I did make some social plans, but other than that, I’ve been falling asleep at 7 or 8 and sleeping through the night.

My summer job is going well. I mean, data entry is not rocket science, so I’ve picked up most things pretty quickly. I have my own little cubicle with my name on it which I plan to decorate in the near future. I am in the corner by myself, but there are two girls behind me, one of which I graduated from high school with but never met until this week. She is pretty cool. I really like the company and what it does. I’m hoping that if I can stay with them for awhile, I might be able to climb the ladder a little more and find a way I can help them out with something a little less repetitive. I don’t hate my job, for sure, but by the end of the day, my eyes are sore and tired from staring at the computer for eight hours. Maybe it’s something I’ll adjust to if I do it for a little while longer.

My room is a mess and there is laundry to be done. I have tons to update on, and many blogs to catch up with. I have glanced at some, but feel out of the loop. Will be back to write sometime this weekend.

Hope everyone is well in blogland!