My Cousin Overdosed

Published February 3, 2016 by iwishiwasadopted

help

 

I never met my cousin.  He was 37, and lived in Florida.  He was my dear Auntie’s youngest son.  He led a troubled life.

My Aunt had a terrible childhood, like my mother did.  She was sexually abused since before she could remember.  My grandmother would bring home men from the bars and pass out, leaving her young children at the mercy of predators.  And prey they did.

My Auntie was a prostitute before she knew what it was.  The men would give her candy, or a few coins, or sometimes drugs when they were finished.

Everyone who grew up in Nana’s house was damaged.  She had 7 children in all.  Three are alive, Auntie, her sister China, and Uncle Charlie, who lives in a tent.

Auntie had 2 sons, one black, from a rape when she was hitchhiking at age 16 and one white, with a simple minded neighborhood guy.  She had substance abuse issues, and struggled to hold onto her sons.  She was in family court many times, even appearing before Judge Judy, before her TV fame.

One of her social workers convinced her it would be a good idea to give up her youngest son for adoption, the white one.  The social worker adopted him.  She promised openness, but fled to another state instead.  Auntie says she was tricked out of her son.  I wasn’t around, so I don’t really know what happened, but her son was gone.

When her son, Larry was around 14, the adoptive mother placed a ad in the local paper, looking for Auntie.  Larry had become a problem child, and the social worker/adoptress needed help. She told Auntie that she adopted the wrong son. Larry was never OK.  He was in jail, involved in drugs and crime.  He had at least 3 children with different women, and now he’s dead.

My mother died in Aunties arms on Sept 1, and now this.  And Aunties girlfriend broke up with her while Mom was dying, and started a relationship with Aunties ex!  They met through Auntie.

Another dead adoptee.  My cousin, who I never got to meet.

 

 

 

 

 

So, My Mother’s Friend Wrote a Book….

Published October 27, 2015 by iwishiwasadopted

cocaine heap

My late mother’s good friend wrote a book.  He wrote a chapter about her.  He changed her name, but it’s about her.

If you follow my blog, you know that her friend bragged to me about how he knew all about my late mother’s childhood abuse, and that he put a chapter in his new book about her.  The book was released on Sept 22, 21 days after her death.

I was sick to my stomach when I read it.  I don’t doubt that the story is true, but having my late mother used as a prop for this guys amusing story sickened me.  Here is the chapter:

“That reminds me of the time my boyfriend made me drink a gallon of gin to bring on an abortion,” I heard as I served the ginger shrimp dumplings. “Well, did it work?” I asked as all my dinner guest’s mouths fell open. “How the hell should I know? It turns out I wasn’t pregnant. But at least he showed me a good time.”

Typical Christine, who has made a career out of dropping statements like this into conversation whenever she feels left out. It’s her way of reminding people she’s there… as if anyone could forget the 60 year old woman wearing a red wig and an orange sweater dress. From the first day we worked together at Radio Mexico, I “got her.” While all the other waiters hated her because she’d yell at them when they tried to eat leftover wings out of the bus bin, I welcomed her bluntness. She was realer than real, and most people 

just don’t know how to deal with that. Snobs commented on her Staten Island accent, but I found it endearing. My sisters commented on the fact that she always wore a different wig, but I found her ever-changing identity refreshing. People recoiled as she referenced childhood molestations over cocktails, but I found her openness daring. She forced you to realize life wasn’t perfect – but that was no reason to start feeling sorry for yourself or blame other people for your problems. She was the penultimate self-help guru, and always knew the right thing to say. Whenever I was lost, she shined a light at the end of the tunnel, bringing me through to the other side.

We quickly bonded over a forty bag of coke the first night we worked together. After the restaurant closed, she invited me to her favorite bar, The Kastro, on East 5th street for a drink. Within minutes of being there, I knew I was home. Richard, the bartender, made me one of his world-famous margaritas, and we waited, along with the rest of the bar, for the arrival of Valeria, the coke dealer.

There was no mistaking her when she finally stepped through the door. She was a stone-faced Puerto Rican in her early 40’ s who was dressed in a style I can only describe as “Mother of The Bride.” She wore a purple floor-length gown covered in rhinestones with matching pumps and earrings. Why someone who dealt drugs for a living would choose to be so flashy was beyond me. All anyone needed to do was tell the police to look for the brassy-haired Puerto Rican in the sequin gown if they wanted to turn her in. But that was Valeria’s M.O. I would comment on whatever she was wearing – “Valeria, I just love that gold and black pant suit” – buy a forty bag of coke, and be on my way.

Christine would relay tragic stories of her upbringing as we took turns buying rounds of margaritas. She seemed to know everyone at the Kastro, and I loved meeting these bizarre creatures of the night – some of whom changed genders depending on the weather. Mark, a painter, would sometimes show up in drag, as his alter ego, Julie. As opposed to regular drag queens, who live for the spotlight, Julie preferred to sit in an unlit corner and flirt with straight men. I guess she figured if it was dark enough, they might not realize this 6’3″ woman with an Adam’s apple was really a man.

Our Sunday night trips soon became Sunday and Wednesday night trips. When I started catching later trains back to Bellerose, Christine told me she sometimes went to an after-hours club named Brownie’s. Two hours later, I found myself stumbling there at 4:30AM.

When we got to the club, Christine told me to stay behind her as she knocked on the door. Ten seconds later, a very good-looking man opened up. It was Dominic, the bouncer. Christine said hello and introduced me. “And this is my friend Greg,” she said. “He’s good people.” “Cool, Greg, nice to meet you. I’m Dominic,” he said as he extended his hand. God, these after hours people were classy. “Quick, get in,” he said as we scooted down the steps into the dungeon that was Brownie’s.

Once inside, my eyes adjusted to the darkness and I realized I was surrounded by dirty stay-outs drinking canned beer and cocktails out of plastic cups. Although everyone was high, there was only a low hum of conversation. These after hours people really did have class! Christine and I stumbled over to the bar and lit a cigarette. “What the fuck is going on?” I asked her. “Excuse me, young man, what did you just say?” I heard from behind me. “Oops – I forgot to tell you the rules,” Christine said.

I turned around to see a portly 55 year-old black man in a cowboy hat. “Young man, I will have you know that cursing is not allowed in this establishment.” I turned to Christine, “Who the hell is this clown?” I whispered. “He’s Brownie,” she told me. “And he takes these rules seriously.” “I will not have anyone using swear words, and I take it you will follow these rules, or do I have to ask you to leave?” he continued. He was serious. “Uh, no, I had no idea – but now that I do – you won’t have any trouble with me.” He smiled. “That’s what I thought. Miss Christine doesn’t hang around trash,” he said, and kissed her on the cheek. She blushed. “Oh, Brownie, stop.”

It dawned on me that Christine and Brownie were lovers. If I wasn’t so coked up, my heart would have stopped right there. “See you later, Brownie,” Christine said, as she ushered me over to the pool table. “I just love that rule of his,” Christine said. “Since people can get so messed up when they party, the fact that you know there’s a small rule you need to adhere to keeps your subconscious mind aware that you need to stay under control. It’s a great way to keep people in line without having to be forceful, don’t you think?” “Uh… what?” I asked. She had lost me at “adhere.” But in hindsight, her theory made a lot of sense. As I sat around, snorting coke off a pool table, I knew there was something I was forbidden to do, and it kept me in check.

That was the best thing about Brownie’s – since it was an illegal club, there was no reason to take that long, unnecessary trip to the bathroom – all one needed to do was whip out your drugs in the middle of the bar. I soon learned this wasn’t the best tactic, as lowlifes would run over acting like your best friend. I had a lot to learn about all these after-hours clubs. While I tried to sort out the do’s and don’ts, I heard someone banging on the front door.

Everyone froze and looked at Dominic. A hush came over the room as he went to investigate. He came back and told everyone to head to the other side of the room in silence. Like cattle, we shuffled over to the side of the club, awaiting more instructions

against a dank wall. Since I was totally out of my mind, I was convinced there were mobsters with machine guns on the other side of that door, trying to get in so they could mow us down. In reality, it was probably just the cops responding to a noise complaint. I whispered to Christine, “Has this ever happened before?” “No,” she said. “Not in all the years I’ve come here.” So the gangsters had chosen the night I came to gun people down! Seconds felt like minutes felt like hours! And still no word from Dominic!

When the thuds died down a few minutes later, he told us we couldn’t leave for at least an hour. Great. So now I was trapped in a literal dungeon at 6 in the morning with no hope of getting out. “Baby, it’s gonna be okay. This reminds me of the time my foster father locked me in the basement for two days when I lived in Michigan.” “What happened? How did you get out?” I asked. “Well, I finally crawled out the window above the washing machine and went to my case worker and told her what happened. She placed me in a new home and that guy didn’t molest me like the first one, so it all worked out fine. You see, there’s always a window open for you, waiting for you to find it, even in the darkest of places.”

I was in no mood for her New Age nonsense. “So where’s that window now?” I asked. “How the hell should I know? This place is a rat trap. If there was a fire, we’d all be dead.” Thankfully, that window did present itself two minutes later, when Brownie told Christine he was “getting out of dodge” and heading back to Brooklyn.

Once at the door, Dominic checked to make sure East 9th Street was clear. He opened it up to admit us into the blazing sunlight. Normally, I would have been completely depressed to greet the day in this condition, but after what I had been through, I was thrilled.

Two hours later, as I was lying in bed trying to fall asleep, I ran parts of the night through my head. What kept coming back to me was Christine’s comment about how she was happy about getting a new foster father after being molested. It suddenly hit me and I realized why I had no problem listening to this woman’s agonizing stories. Although they were horrifying, she had a way of looking at them that made me laugh. Comedy was her way of dealing with the tragedies in her life; something I related to ever since that fat bitch who lived above Bellini’s Pizzeria called me “Gaygory” when I was five. But even though Christine and I were able to find humor in the abuses she experienced as a child, my friends didn’t. In fact, they were often traumatized whenever she shared one of her tales.

Years later, after the Kastro and Brownie’s had come to pass like so many gems of NYC, I invited Christine over for a New Year’s Eve dinner party. During dessert, she shared a story about how she spent her weekends as a child on Staten Island. “Every Friday night, I sat at the dining room table with my mother and helped her melt paraffin wax so she could fill in the missing teeth in her mouth before she went to the bar. A few hours later, she would stumble back home with a strange man, wake me up and said, ‘This is your real father.’ Then she’d go have sex with him on the pullout couch.”

While I howled with laughter, the fondue forks fell out of my dinner guests’ hands. “So how did you feel about that?” I asked. Without missing a beat, she replied, “How the hell should I know? But I sure did love making them fake teeth. Every night was like Halloween.”

Scarnici, Greg (2015-09-22). I Hope My Mother Doesn’t Read This: A Collection of Humorous Essays (Kindle Locations 1235-1239). Thought Catalog Books. Kindle Edition.

Charming stuff, huh?  This is my late mother, the woman so traumatized by abuse that she gave her own newborn daughter away to strangers.  The one who cut me out of her life after I found her.  The woman who died from liver disease, after a lifetime of drinking and drug abuse.  This asshole uses her, to tell his shitty stories.  Not funny to me, at all.

I don’t even know where my mother’s ashes are.  I guess she was cremated.  I did not go to the memorial service.  This guy, Greg, spoke at the service, crying over the friend he lost, my late mother, his drinking and coke buddy.

My Mother Has Died

Published September 6, 2015 by iwishiwasadopted

She is gone.  The woman who gave me life is no more.  We will never see each other again.

The non-adopted can never understand the way I feel.  It’s not just loss, I lost her already, so many times.

She died the day after I was kicked out of hospice.  I don’t care about that anymore.

I never got to say goodbye.  When I left the room for the last time, I thought I’d be going back again.  It didn’t work out that way.  She was asleep anyway, but I still wish I had more time with her.  At least her sister was with her at the end.

I found out some terrible things, the morning after my mother died.

My mother’s good friend,(I’ll call him Prissy) posted a memorial to my mother on Facebook.  My family and I were left out.  I was devastated when I read it, because I knew the man who wrote it.  I had been to his house, with my mother.  We spent the day there in June 2013.  It was a tense visit, and I think I may have drank too much.  I often drank too much with my mother.  It was easy to do.

I answered his post on Facebook, asking why we were excluded.  I asked what my family did to deserve this.  This is the reply I got from the Prissy’s partner (I’ll call him Gross)

horror

I don’t know what this guy is talking about.  This is not the first time I’ve been accused of hurting my mother.  I felt guilty, because I said some things to my mother that were not that nice.  I did hurt her, but I never did it on purpose.  I was hurt and angry that I never got a chance to know the wonderful woman that my mother was.  I lost out on a lifetime with her.

Years ago, when our reunion was new, I found out that my parents had faked my death.  It was something that my adoptive mother told me.  She heard it from the agency, but I never knew if it was true.  Many things my adoptive mother was told were not true.  This was.

When I found out the dead baby story was true, my blood ran cold in my veins.  It haunted me, night and day.  I was angry that no one buried my body, that no one did anything for the dead baby that I was.  I wanted to know what happened to stillborn babies, and I looked on the internet.

I found out that unclaimed babies, and adults in my city are buried on Hart Island, in potter’s field.  https://www.hartisland.net/.

This was horrifying to me.  I told my mother and father.  It wasn’t nice, I know, but that’s what I did.  I wish I could take it back, but I can’t.  I know now that it upset my mother more than I could ever imagine.  I also told her that I wished I had been aborted, like her first pregnancy.  I still feel that way.  Living without her in my life was torture.  I would rather have never been born.

I could not breathe.  I felt that I was being attacked by this man, and this was the morning after my my mother died.  It was a terrible blow.  I private messaged him

Conversation started Wednesday
Michele
9/2, 8:24am
Michele
Hi, please tell me what you’re talking about? I really need to understand.
Greg
9/2, 8:26am
Greg
First off, I am so sorry for you loss and my knee-jerk reaction this morning. Paul and I are style very emotional over here, as I’m sure you are.
Now is the time to grieve and remember Sandra, and not attack one another.
I apologize for that.
Michele
9/2, 8:27am
Michele
It’s OK. I never understood what happened between us.
If you know, please tell me,
Greg
9/2, 8:27am
Greg
I’m sure there were years of pain built up before meeting that made things difficult for nothing you.
Both of you.
Big thumbs. Lol
Just try to rest up and take care of yourself right now and we can talk about this in the future if you’d like.
This has got to be s difficult time for you.
Michele
I never tried to hurt her. I’m sorry I made her last years so bad.
I amde her whole life bad, by being born
Greg
Not at all. She loved you. Like the mother she was.
She was sooooo happy to reconnect with you.
It put her mind at ease about so much pain she held inside about it all. Was very hard for her to do what she had to do.
I remember when you first found her at Christmas time. She called it a Christmas miracle.
Michele
9/2,
I really want to know what I did to her. What sick cards are you talking about? It’s important to me. You knew her better than I ever could.
Please, don’t hold bak. I’ve always wanted to know
Greg
9/2, 8:34am
Greg
The one with the dead babies in Potter’s field, saying you wish you weren’t born. frown emoticon
Michele
9/2, 8:34am
Michele
Did you see that card?
Greg
9/2, 8:34am
Greg
Yes.
Michele
9/2, 8:34am
Michele KS
Because I don’t remember it!
Greg
9/2, 8:35am
Greg
There were a lot of cards and gifts sent to her that we referred to as booby traps. She’d get them, thinking they were presents or cards, and inside would be something sick and twisted that made her heart ache.
Michele
9/2, 8:36am
Michele
Like what?
I really thought I was sending her nice gifts.
Greg
9/2, 8:36am
Greg
Paul has a better recollection than I do. They talked about it more.
Michele
9/2, 8:36am
Michele
Am I really crazy?
Greg
9/2, 8:36am
Greg
Lol. We all are!
Michele
9/2, 8:36am
Michele
Yeah but sending thigs I don’t remember…
I never intended anything i sent to be booby traps!
Greg
9/2, 8:37am
Greg
And to be honest it was probably subconscious hatred you had towards her. Maybe you sent them after a few drinks?
Michele
9/2, 8:37am
Michele
Are you really sure about this?
Greg
9/2, 8:38a
Greg
Yes.
Michele
9/2, 8:38am
Michele
ok. I wish I could see the stuff, maybe when John goes through her things he’ll find it.
Greg
9/2, 8:39am
Greg
But let’s not dwell on this. Let’s get through the next few days and remember your mother, who we both already miss so much.
Michele
9/2, 8:39am
Michele
I just remeber trying to get her thigs that would make her love me.
Greg
9/2, 8:39am
Greg
We can talk about this later. I have to get dressed and get to work. Missed yesterday! I’m open to talking whenever. XO
Michele
9/2, 8:40am
Michele
OK, don’t hold back!
Greg
9/2, 8:40am
Greg
XO
Michele
9/2, 9:08am
Michele
Are you sure my mother wasn’t suffering from projection? Can you have Paul contact me? I’m reeling from all this. I truly had no idea.
Thank you for your honesty. I really appreciate it.
If what you’re saying is true, I really have problems I never knew about.
Wednesday
Michele
9/2, 12:39pm
Michele
I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut.
Michele
9/2, 1:41pm
Michele
And my children deserve to be left out of her obituary because of the things she claims I sent to her?
Greg
9/2, 2:02pm
Greg
I have nothing to do with what Paul wrote and there is no “claiming” anything. She brought everything to our house you sent her to show us. We’ve seen it all and they were real.
Let’s move on an concentrate on her right now. She deserves that. This isn’t about us. It’s about her.
Michele
9/2, 3:07pm
Michele
But please, Greg, what things are you talking about?
I’m really freaking out about this. Do you know my daughter saw what you wrote about me? She’s away at college, all alone and just heard her grandmother died.
Can paul call me? XXXXX or email me,XXXXXXX
Greg, I really don’t know what I did. I am not lying, and am not prone to amnesia.
I did everything I could for my mother. I paid for Sharon’s bus ticket, because I knew my mother needed her.
I never knew why everyone was hostile to me.
I feel like I’m trapped in a nightmare.
Michele
9/2, 3:25pm
Michele
I can’t move on until I know what you’re talking about.
Greg
9/2, 3:31pm
Greg
Paul does not wish to speak to you. And I find it bizarre that you have no recollection of your hostile relationship with your mother…? I was witness to it on Fire Island. And to be honest, you brought this on yourself by asking, “What have I done to deserve this?” in your comment – turning Paul’s beautiful tribute to his best friend into something that was about you. Which you’re doing now again. Let us grieve Sandra and we can revisit this at a later time. I’m trying to be patient with you, but you keep bringing this up…once again, this is about Sandra, and the pain we are all feeling due to her loss.
Michele
9/2, 3:32pm
Michele
What happened in Fire Island?
My mother told me that the gift I sent her on mother’s day was the ugliest thing she had ever seen, and I was heartbroken. I chose the gift with my daughter, with nothing but love. Please if you’re going to accuse me, at least tell me what I did.
What did I do to Paul?
I was very upset that day, it’s true
I don’t remember hurting anyone
It was about me and my children, because we were omitted. How would you feel if it happened to you?
Greg
9/2, 3:37pm
Greg
Paul doesn’t know your family or your children. Why do you think he would? Write your own beautiful tribute to her and include them!!!!
Michele
9/2, 3:37pm
Michele
He knows we exist
Greg
9/2, 3:38pm
Greg
He doesn’t know the names of your kids!!! And he doesn’t like you!
Michele
9/2, 3:39pm
Michele
Greg, I don’t understand what’s going on. I’ll leave you alone, but please try and tell me what these things are and what I did to hurt everyone so much.
Greg
9/2, 3:39pm
Greg
Just hurting her hurt us…
Michele
9/2, 3:39pm
Michele
But how did I hurt her?
Greg
9/2, 3:40pm
Greg
we’re going in circles…
Michele
9/2, 3:40pm
Michele
I can’t defend myself if I don’t know what I did.
And no one will tell me
Paul doesn’t have to like me, just email me what I did
Greg
9/2, 3:41pm
Greg
I’ve told you already. Sending her cards saying you wish you were a dead fetus in potter’s field that was aborted for Mother’s Day…how’s that for a start?
Michele
9/2, 3:41pm
Michele
I never did that.
Greg
9/2, 3:42pm
Greg
I saw the card.
Michele
9/2, 3:42pm
Michele
Absolutely never
how do you know it was really sent by me?
Greg
9/2, 3:42pm
Greg
…and the envelope it came in…addressed to her.
Do you think someone else sent it?
Michele
9/2, 3:42pm
Michele
No, I sent my mother cards, but I never, ever wote anythng like that!
Greg
9/2, 3:42pm
Greg
…pretending to be you?
This is so bizarre then!
Michele
9/2, 3:43pm
Michele
I was so careful to choose cards that would not offend her.
Greg
9/2, 3:43pm
Greg
Eek. Then either someone was trying to sabotage your relationship or you have an alter ego that comes out…?
Michele
9/2, 3:44pm
Michele
Oh Greg, my mother was severely abused as a child.
Greg
9/2, 3:44pm
Greg
I know all about it.
Michele
9/2, 3:44pm
Michele
I have no explaination
Greg
9/2, 3:44pm
Greg
We had lots of discussions about it over the years.
I even wrote a story about her in a book that’s coming out in a few weeks..
Michele
9/2, 3:44pm
Michele
But I did not ever, ever send anything like that to my mother. I had no idea this was going on
Greg
9/2, 3:45pm
Greg
Oh wow! There were lots of cards like that…
This is crazy.
But that’s where we’re all coming from…so you know.
Now I have to get back to work. I have a meeting at 4 I have to get stuff ready for….
Michele
9/2, 3:45pm
Michele
I’m sorry. I know you don’t believe me. This is heartbreaking.
Greg
9/2, 3:46pm
Greg
I can believe anything. It’s a crazy world!
Michele
9/2, 3:46pm
Michele
All of you?
Greg
9/2, 3:46pm
Greg
well Paul and I..
Michele
9/2, 3:46p
Michele
OMG
Michele
9/2, 5:52pm
Michele
Greg, one last thing, I promise. You did me a big favor today. I had no idea that this was happening and could not understand why I was being treated so badly. Now the pieces are falling into place. I have no idea what John and Jeanmarie think of me, and what they think I did to my mother. I loved her, but she was a damaged person. i really didn’t know how badly until now. All you know about me is what my mother told you. I understand your hatred now. Thanks again, and thank you for being such a good friend to my mother.
Greg
9/2, 6:30pm
Greg
Of course. XO

I think my mother altered the cards that I sent her, then showed them to these men.  I still don’t know what they mean by booby traps.  I sent my mother “The Primal Wound” and a CD of The Foundling, by Mary Gautier, but I don’t think those things qualify as “booby traps” or “sick and twisted”.

I think my mother was throwing me under the bus, framing me!  Or, maybe one of her alters did it, and she really thought it was me.  Either way, it’s pretty bad.  I had no idea.

She has sent me some pretty scary things over the years.  These were from back in 2012.  We never saw each other much after I got this package.

brown bagbrownbag3

My mother handed this envelope to me the day after I picked her up from the hospital after she had a hernia operation.  My dear Auntie took care of her then too.  These things upset me so much, I read them and burned them out in the yard.  I took these pictures just to prove, to myself that I wasn’t nuts.

I never told anyone outside of my immediate family about this.  It’s too painful.  I can’t imagine a woman, a mother showing friends things like this.

I can’t go to the memorial service for my mother.  My brother didn’t invite me anyway.  I guess she was cremated by now, but I don’t know that either.

I NEVER WANT TO SEE THESE HATEFUL MEN AGAIN.  I can just picture them all sitting around, talking trash about me and how terrible I am.

I don’t know what to think about my mother.  I still want to love her memory, but it’s hard right now.

The worst thing, so far

Published August 31, 2015 by iwishiwasadopted

My mother is in Hospice care.  Her days are numbered.

All I want to do is be near her, for this last time in her life.  I got cheated out of so much, but I am not even allowed this last bit.

My mother kept her last child, a son, born 4 years after me.  She had one abortion, one adoption and finally she got it right, she kept him.  She appealed to his father’s family, and they helped her.  She told me she has never gone more than 4 days without speaking to him.  He is 48.

I was going to work today, woke up early and got dressed, but I hadn’t slept much the night before, and I really wanted to see my mother.  She was moved to the hospice floor last night, after I left the hospital.  I left when kept son came.  I don’t like to be around him.  I do not like him at all.  Part is jealousy, and part is the way he treats me.

My sweet husband drove me to the hospital, about 1 hour, by car from where I live.  I got there at 9 am, and found my dear Auntie lying in the empty bed in the peaceful, orderly room.  Mom was in the other bed.  She is emaciated, her bones sharp in her still beautiful face.  Her nose is mine, her chin and face, all so strange, yet so like my own!

I sat in the comfortable chair, and looked at my mother, marveling at this stranger who brought me into this world, and was so soon going to leave me again.  I sat with Mom while Auntie got a cup of coffee and smoked a cigarette.  I was glad to be with her, even though mom is not conscious.  She seems to be sleeping, snoring with a slight gasping sound.  It’s heartbreaking, but since it’s all I have left, I cherish it.

Then Auntie got a text, kept son was on his way!  Soon his face was at the door.  He began crying loudly.  We went out to get some air, and leave them alone for awhile.   Auntie wanted to get mom something pretty to wear.  Mom was very fashionable, and made a lot of her own outfits.  She studied fashion, and was an accomplished seamstress.  We went to the gift shop and picked up a pretty bed jacket.  Mom was wearing the fuzzy socks I had given her yesterday.

We went back into the room, and Auntie asked kept son to leave, so she could put the bed jacket on Mom.  He disappeared.  He then texted Auntie, asking when he could have time alone with his mother.

So we waited for him to come back, and we left.  Auntie had been at the hospital for 2 days, and had not showered or changed her clothes.  She headed back to her place and I headed back to mine. We rode the bus together for awhile, then she got off.  I stayed on until I reached the train station, where i caught a train home.  I had been planning to stay all day, and my husband was going to pick me up after work.

That’s not how it works when you’re given up for adoption.  He is her son, I am nobody and nothing. He kicks me out, and I get on the bus.  He is the alpha and the omega.

This was my parents choice.  they did this to me.  There is nothing for me to do but accept it.  Kept son can kick me out of my mother’s last days at any time.

I am nobody and nothing

I am nobody and nothing

Wasn’t a lifetime with her enough?  Why can’t I have this, too?

My Mother is Gravely Ill

Published August 13, 2015 by iwishiwasadopted

My mother, the one who gave me life is in the hospital, fighting for her life.

She had a large part of her liver removed.  I didn’t find out until 3 weeks later.  My half brother, the one she kept didn’t Tell me, because my mother said not to tell anyone.  This is another reason she should have kept me.  I am smart.  Smarter than my brother.  I would never not tell someone that their mother is having life threatening surgery!!!  There is NO excuse for that.  I am her child.

As soon as I found out, i went to the hospital.  Took off from work, got my ass on a train and a crosstown bus and went to see my mother. I haven’t seen her in over a year.  We have issues. She’s so happy to see me, and tells me I’m an angel who appeared out of nowhere.   She’s a mess.  Still bedridden, not really eating.

I called the hospital a few days later, and they tell me she was released!  I have no idea where she is.  I beg the one she kept, and he tells me shes in a nursing home, near his home.

I drive 2 hours with my 18 year old daughter, and go to the city where i was born.  The one who she kept’s wife is there.  She wisely hightails it out of there when she sees me.  If looks could kill.  There she is sitting with MY MOTHER and this woman didn’t even have the common decency to tell me she was ill, or that she was moved?  I feel the trauma of loss all over again.

We have a nice visit, but Mom still doesn’t look good.  A few days later, I wake up early, with a bad feeling in my heart.  I go downstairs and wait until 7am to call the nursing home.  They tell me she was released!!  There was no way this woman was going home.  She is bedridden.  They tell me she went back to the hospital.  I have no idea what has happened, but assume the worst.

The nursing home won’t tell me where she went, but the do tell me she went back to the hospital.  They transfer me to the head nurse, who asks me who I am.  I say her daughter, and they tell me I’m not the informant.  I have to ask the one who she kept if i want any info.  My husband calls him,  I wake him up, screaming, “my mother’s dying, and they won’t tell me where she is!’.  The poor man.  The one she kept didn’t answer his phone.  I beg the nursing home to tell me what city my mother’s in.  The head nurse finally blurts out the name of the hospital.

Mom had an infection and is back in ICU.  I go visit.

I realize the one she kept is not going to share information about my mother with me.  I call the hospital everyday, to check on her condition.

Life, Adopted

Published May 8, 2015 by iwishiwasadopted

graduation-clipart

Life has been puttering along, as it usually does.

I count the months since i last saw my mother. The last time was April 21, 2014.  The last email was in May of that year.  Soon I’ll be measuring the time in years.  I last saw my half brother in November 2013.  Same with his young son, my only nephew.

I don’t miss my brother.  I never felt anything for him.  It wasn’t what i imagined having a brother would feel like.

I do miss my mother.  There is nothing else like her.  No one else fills that mother shaped hole in my heart.  No matter how cruel she is, something inside me wants to see her anyway.  But the things she said echo in my mind.  It’s something of a relief not to hear them anymore.

I try and stop hoping things will be different, but i can’t.

I bought a bunch of Valium from an online pharmacy.  They work pretty good.  They let me sleep.  They make me calmer.  I’m afraid I’ll get addicted, so I make sure I take a few days off from taking them, but I think about taking them the whole time.

Lots of good things happening this month.  My oldest daughter is coming to visit from California.  I miss her terribly and can’t wait to see her.  My middle daughter is graduating from college, and my youngest from High School.

I wish my mother could share these moments with me.  Not having her there ruins them for me.

My daughter’s college is not far from where my father lives with his other children, but we won’t be visiting him either.  I haven’t seen him since December 2012.  Same with his son, who didn’t feel like a brother either.  I’ve never met my father’s daughter, who is only a few months younger than my oldest.  I probably never will.

Why can’t my parents love me like they love their other children?  Why can’t I get over it?  I’m middle aged, for Christ sake, why do I wallow in this shit?

I’m supposed to pull myself up by my bootstraps and get on with life.  Live for now, count my blessings.  Don’t let the past pull me down.  I’ve not had a lot of luck with that, hence the new Valium habit.

Goodnight all.

Still Angry, After All These Years

Published February 21, 2015 by iwishiwasadopted

I read about adoptees who aren’t angry.  They don’t blame their parents for the decisions they made, they are at peace.  I wish I were one of them.

Instead I boil inside.  I lie awake, next to my husband, tossing and turning.  The loss bubbles up and consumes me.  I cannot rest!

The images flash through my head, my father’s family at a wedding, laughing and dancing.  My mother kissing her grandson, my father cleaning the pool for his teenage children to swim in.  I’m not in any of these pictures, and I never will be.

In my mind, I’m part of their family.  In their mind it’s not the case.  They gave me away, and they meant it.  They can’t understand why I can’t just accept it, and be happy with what I have.

I don’t know why I can’t either.  What is the secret of those happy adoptees?  When i ask, no one can tell me.  They just choose to be happy.  Does that mean I choose to be hurt?

Four years post reunion.  Still an outcast.

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