Firework Duds and Clearing the Smoke

Post holiday letdown for me. I am so glad that the 4th is over. I like the "ordinary" time the best. The month of May is a deluge of Mother's Day and birthdays and then comes July with the 4th and two more birthdays. Holidays and birthdays are always a sharp combination of joy and sorrow for me. It doesn't mean that I am not grateful for each of my children. I am grateful for the simple fact that each exists as a unique soul; an irreplaceable being with their own strengths and weaknesses. I am grateful to hear the resonance of their voices, the opportunities to be with them and to see the light in their eyes which reflect back to me the light of the Creator.

However, that rendering of my being at relinquishiment and the distortion of my own nature by adoption loss; the severing slashes at the warp of my family's foundation and the continuous fraying of the weave of my family by the "forever" realities of adoption are most apparent to me at holidays and birthdays.

Yup. I have my hand up again. This time as a NOT happy "b****" mom. Definitely am not one. As a happy b**** mom, I have become a failure. For years I was a pretty darn good one; Silently behaving "as if my child was NOT born to me".

Now, I just hate the whole stinking sulphurous mess. It's like a whole bunch of duddy firecrackers that cracked open with a slow hissing and have raised up banks of billous puke green clouds and darkened the sky. Makes it really hard to see the festive sparklers and chandlier fireworks ( my favorite) shimmering beside the stars.

And as each holiday and birthday rolls through and it becomes so painfully apparent that my first born is not present at the festivities, I have to remind myself it is the relationship that he and I create that is fundamental to our reunion. Most certainly on the spiritual plane he is of us; and if ever he is able to or wishes to claim his own place within our family on the physical plane, it will be to me like having a fantasitc fireworks display as part of an already wonderous celebration. If ever he and my other children begin to form real friendships, those sibling relationships will be simply bonuses to the reunion and to our family.

For now, post holiday, I need to again, firmly focus on the incredulous opportunity that my oldest child and I have to know one another. We ARE getting the chance to simply be alive together; to spend time together in seeing and listening to one another; even though most often these are not at traditionally celebratory times as noted by the calendar. Our "ordinary" time together is always cause for celebration for me. We are beginning to strengthen and reinforce with time, patience and perseverence our distorted and frayed, but never completely destroyed relationship.

The weaving of our relationship has hundreds of holes in it. Years and decades spent apart have left so many open spaces. Reunion is allowing us to tie together some of the threads and begin our own new weaving. We will never be able to fill in the first part of the weaving; and this new section of our weaving will also have open spaces as he is now an adult; but it can be beautiful still with lacey spaces for light to shine through and infuse our relationship.

Sometimes, I ask myself, given the reality of his adoption and the fact that he does have two mothers, would I rather be the mother who adopted him? Would I rather have seen all of his birthdays, Christmases, 4th of Julys, his tears and early smiles; been to all the doctors visits, school conferences, done all that laundry; had all of these very great privileges of motherhood? Would I rather be the the mother to whose home he travels as an adult for holidays and family reunions?

....Or would I rather be who I am to him; the mother to whom he was born?

And whenever I ask myself which mother I would rather be, I have the same answer. Given the presently unchangeable circumstances created by his adoption decades ago, given that there is no going back; I always decide that I would rather be the mother I am to him. I am the mother who is no longer any good at pretending as if my son was not born to me.