Its been 4 year since I started writing and within the last two months I have done more to help myself process than in the previous 27 years. I started out writing, reading and trying to expose myself to others’ stories. When I began I just needed to know I wasn’t along asn an adoptee. […]Read More 4 years
I wonder if my parents ever think of me. I wonder if they love each other. I wonder if they ever loved each other. I wonder if my dad has patchy facial hair. I wonder if my mom’s eyelashes are dark and beautiful. I wonder if they are my parents. I wonder if they walk […]Read More I wonder…
One of the adoption agencies that worked with my parents to help them identify a child was called Illien Adoption International. I’ll admit I have not done a lot of research about the organization and thus have not really formulated an opinion about whether or not I feel they are helping or hurting the cause, […]Read More Do You Remember Me?
People ask where I’m from, a lot. They mean all sorts of things when they ask that question. I can’t really be angry with their curiosity, but I do get fed up with it once in a while. I mean I don’t go around gawking at white people trying to figure out why the hell […]Read More Guess
When someone dies there are a lot of things to wonder about. Where did they go? Were they happy when they died? Did I adequately show them how much I loved them? Will we ever meet again?…etc….etc. But the most nagging of those wonders is the wonderful Why? It’s probably true that there aren’t answers […]Read More Certainty In Death, No Certainty In Why
There are a lot of negative adoption stories and experiences “out there”. I have been privileged in many many ways and that privilege carries over into my experiences with adoption. Although it hasn’t all been good, I can confidently say that I am glad I was adopted. I can’t really say I would prefer it […]Read More Difference Doesn’t Always Mean Separate
[This is a continuation of My File Part II: Bites Away] A few days after graduating from college and returning to my childhood home I found myself in our dirty cobwebbed basement rummaging through Tupperware boxes. These boxes were filled with contents from my childhood. Most of the contents of the hulking green metal desk […]Read More My File Part III: Mouse Free
[This is a continuation from My File Part I: A Baby’s Biography] Sitting on my hardwood bedroom floor I pulled back the manila cover. An old typwritten piece of white stained paper sat in front of me. The top of the page read “Congregation of the Sisters of The Cross of Chavanod” below in bold […]Read More My File Part II: Bites Away