Six months

I feel as though I need to start this entry with an apology to anyone who reads here regularly. I have clearly been inconsistent as a blogger for a while now and I realize how unfair that is to readers. But, as all of you probably well know, life gets crazy sometimes and before you know it, a few months have passed. So, I apologize. I thought about discontinuing this blog, but a little bit of my old fire is slowly warming up again and I don’t think it’s quite yet time for me to leave this. One day. Today, however, is not that day.

Last time I wrote here, I was feeling down and hurt about my birth mother. Today? Well, today I’m not sure that much has changed on that front. I’ve been battling all manner of issues recently, leaving me to again put my (what I perceive to be) failed birth search on the back burner. And then yesterday, out of absolutely nowhere, I ended up bawling about it on the phone to my mom. I can still say with complete conviction that I do not regret initiating the search. I am bound and determined to reach the other side of this hurt to find a wiser, stronger me. It just hasn’t happened yet. I’m still caught up in the hurt and grieving. How long will I be in this place? It feels so frustrating. So unproductive. I was hoping that half a year later I’d be farther along than I am and I really need to work on being kinder to myself about that. It’s okay to not feel okay. It doesn’t make me a weak person or an inferior person. It makes me human. Just have to keep reminding myself of that.

I just realized that I used the term ‘grieving’ in that last paragraph which I had never articulated before. This is grieving. My omoni’s refusal to have contact with me feels like losing her again. It is an ambiguous loss, to feel hurt and rejected by someone I don’t even know. The social worker me understands how so many factors could have contributed to my omoni’s decision. Factors that do not necessarily have anything to do with my own inadequacy, but with the greater society’s view of a woman having a child out of wedlock. My omoni is married with a child. Her reaching out to me could disrupt that life. If her husband does not know about me, his finding out might hurt their relationship. For her to reach out to me could potentially come at a great cost to her family and her reputation. I don’t want to cause her hurt in any of this.

And yet, a selfish part of me wants her to make the leap and take that risk. To be the rebel. To flip the bird to society and shout out loud that I am hers. I’m asking a lot. Maybe too much. I’m asking her to make the harder choice to choose me. She gave birth to me. I am and always will be her daughter, whether or not she acknowledges it. If she made contact with me, even just once, it would show me that she somehow determined rebelling was worth it. That I was worth it. I may never receive that affirmation from her and I really need to figure out how the heck to live with that.

For Dorothy

It’s times like these that I just have to take a step back from any critical thinking regarding adoption and let myself feel. My lovely grandma passed away this week. She was 96 years old. The last time I saw her was about two weeks ago. So much of her mind had grown dark from Alzheimer’s. She could not articulate names or how we were connected, but there was still the dimmest light of recognition. I knew this because when I leaned in close to talk to her, she said, “Hello darling”. She has always reserved the word ‘darling’ for me, her only granddaughter. Her passing did not come as a shock because her decline was so rapid over the last month. In a situation that would be stressful for anyone, our family has handled everything with incredible grace. As much as it saddens us to not have her here with us anymore, we knew we couldn’t hold on forever. Her condition worsened so that eating and breathing would no longer come easily. The most loving thing we could do was let her go and be at peace.

In this moment, I can only think about my love for her and the tremendous relationship we shared. At 25, I know there are many out there who did not get to keep their grandmas as long or who never had them in their lives in the first place. It is for those reasons that I am grateful. When my parents first shared that they would be adopting a Korean baby, my grandma was not thrilled. Or, at the very least, a little confused. But if you ever saw us together, you would never know that. I have felt nothing but pure love and affection from her for as long as I can remember. In retrospect, one thing that touches me most is how she used to sleep over every Christmas Eve at my house with my mom and I. She could have stayed with her daughter, but she always stayed with us, her son’s wife and child. Somehow, as all grandmas know, she knew we needed her. She was a mother to my mom and the ultimate grandparent to me as all the others had passed long before. She could share in the loss of my father in a way that no one else could truly share. She was our protector who kept us close to her heart always.

Sometimes people like to ask if I “regret” being adopted. Well, regret might just be the wrong sentiment. I am sad that I’ve never had a relationship with my Korean family. I am sad that my connections to my Korean heritage have been tenuous most of my life. I am sad for the missed opportunities. But I am not sad to be a part of my American family. They are my world and they have brought me so much joy and love. I’ve realized how much I despise the notion of birth and adoptive families somehow being pitted against one another. I do not wish for one over the other. Even though I don’t know my birth family, at the end of the day, I cannot hate them. I cannot call them inferior. Who am I to even make those judgments? If I were to have any regret at all, it would be over the fact that I have been unable to have both families in my life. If I had the power to choose, I would choose both.

Adoptees haven’t had the power to choose in many ways and I lament that. But, right now, I can also say that having the privilege of being my grandma’s darling was one of the greatest choices I never got to make.

Death and abandonment issues

Do adoptees potentially experience the death of their adoptive parents differently because of their adoption? This is the latest question rolling around in my head. We've all got baggage and adoptees in particular get strapped with 'abandonment issues'. Not every adoptee will identify as feeling abandoned. For most of my life, I did not. But somewhere in the recesses of my mind this thread lingers. Does the death of adoptive parents represent, in its own way, a second abandonment to adoptees?

The first time this thought occurred to me was after watching the documentary Adopted. Jennifer Fero, an adult Korean adoptee featured, was dealing not only with issues related to being transracially adopted, but also the scary situation of her mother being diagnosed with terminal brain cancer. Towards the end of the documentary, it was revealed that her father had a late stage form of cancer as well. I wish I could remember if Jennifer had said anything specifically about losing both of her parents. I can't remember now, but I wondered what was going through her head being so young (only in her thirties I think) with the prospect of both parents leaving her. The whole situation was haunting to me.

There are two times in my life that there was a distinct possibility my mom could die. And both times were hell. The nightmares of my life. My dad died unexpectedly when I was one and I'm an only child. The thought of losing my mom was too much to bear. How could I possibly afford to lose another set of parents? What was so incredibly wrong with the universe that my fate was to be left alone again? Abandoned again? There is no worse feeling. The dominant culture says that we all need a permanent, loving, immediate family. They're your world, your lens through which you learn and navigate life. What becomes of you when you lose that context?

I think the death of a parent for anyone can be unspeakably painful. It's a tremendous loss. It changes your world. And if you're an adoptee, it may compound on top of an existing loss of your first family and first culture. I'm not sure what it all means, but it's a fascinating albeit heavy topic to think about. I've tried to look up articles, books, anything on adoptees and the death of adoptive parents, but I haven't come up with much at all. If anyone reading this knows of any resources, please let me know. And thanks for sticking with me through a morbid subject. I know that talking about death makes many if not most people uncomfortable. I recently found out that a fellow KAD's parent is terminally ill with possibly only weeks left to live. What a heartbreaking experience. It's something I've had just a small taste of, but, wow, is it ever hard to get that taste out of your mouth.