This is not a tidy adoption story. There isn’t one — adoption begins with trauma. There isn’t a clean, lovely, clear story. The woman who gave birth to two of my children, who they call Mom, is dying. She is donating her organs tomorrow. We will be there for the honor walk.
They love her. We love her. She was complicated. She was wounded. She was theirs. I will forever love her. Michelle. I will forever love her.
While this is my story, it’s also theirs, so I’m trying to be careful. But for me, silence would feel like erasing her.
She is not erasable.
We’ve met their extended family this week. It’s been beautiful and shattering. My kids didn’t choose any of this. And we don’t get to escape it. This is their chapter one, their mannerisms, their features, their history, their DNA. Oh how beautiful, heartbreaking, and restorative these past few days have been.
I am raw with grief. Adoption begins with trauma. Poverty and lack of safety nets in our “FIRST WORLD” country sucks. Women’s health and safety in our country sucks. Mental health help sucks. Black & white issues only exist if you’re not involved by proximity.
I can not write a journal entry to myself. I will not erase Michelle or her story. She forever changed me. Is still challenging me. Thank you. Love, grief, trauma, complications — Rest easy now. Life was hard. I’m so sorry and thank you.