Protected: Help me, Ms. Feverfew

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National Adoption Awareness Month ~ Day 27: Me & the Professor…er, the Professor and I?

Dear Ms. Feverfew –

If I had my druthers, I would put my Christmas tree up in mid-October. As it is, I have to restrain myself in order to accommodate Mr. Bah-Hum-Bug-the-tree-should-not-be-put-up-until-December 1st,  AKA Mr. Amazing Man. (He really isn’t a grinch, we just differ on when to put up the tree and when it is appropriate to start playing Christmas music. He seems to think that July is not appropriate.)

My older son is of the same mindset. He will sit there on the couch with Mr. Amazing Man and roll his eyes (ever so lovingly) at me when I bust out the stockings and “Cookies for Santa” plate.  In past years, I have indulged their ill-humor and waited until the 1st of December but this year….

This year my tree was up by November 20. Ha! Victory.

And this year, I have had a partner in my Christmas criminality – the Professor. Turns out he adores Christmas as much as I do. The music, the lights, the decorations on the tree, the yummy baked goods, the Santa letters, the 30 nights of Christmas movies: we delight in these things equally.  He simply cannot understand why other people in the neighborhood don’t already have all their decorations up. (Me either son, me either!)

And so I wonder…are you more like Captain Knuckle who likes Christmas but approaches it with a more restrained pleasure, or are you like the Professor and myself, reveling in the season’s delights?

Much love,

M.

Milestones

Dear Ms. Feverfew –

Tomorrow morning you graduate from high school. I often dreamed of sneaking in to the ceremony and sitting way up top in the basketball arena at the university where it is held. But then I saw pictures of you all grown up. I knew there was no way I could make an appearance there, as clandestine as it might be, and not be recognized for who I am. Plus, I live 2220 miles away from you now and think I might have a hard time justifying a trip back home just 16 days after the birth of your sister.

We are cut from the same cloth, you and I. Right down to the high set cheekbones and the way we part our hair. We are the same height and wear the same shoe size. If we were ever in the same place at the same time, there would be absolutely no mistaking that I am your mother and you are my daughter. So much so that I recently had a friend who doesn’t know about you but lives in your same, small, provincial hometown email me to say she saw “my twin” at the library the other day.

*Deep, long, drawn out sigh.* If only she knew the truth. If she only knew.

So happy graduation, my darling Boo Bear. I can hardly believe it has been 6552 days since you were born. I won’t be there in person but I will certainly be there in spirit and heart. I hope tomorrow is as wonderful as you can possibly imagine and I pray your future brings you happiness, success, and much love.

M.

Please Tell Me: What Do You Want?

Dear Ms. Feverfew –

Your birthday is in a few short months. Your 18th birthday. I weep as I write those words.

It means you will be of legal age, an adult.

It means I have to decide: What do I do?

I wish I could read minds. I wish I knew what you wanted me to do.

Do you want me to send you a letter and let you know that I am here, always loving you, always wanting to have you in my life again? Or would a phone call be better? Or do you want me to let you make the first overtures towards rebuilding our relationship? Do you even want to rebuild a relationship with me? And how do I even explain how all of this came to be like this? Do you even want to know or are you fine in your life, knowing only what your adoptive parents have told you of me? Since you will be a legal adult, do I need to go through your adoptive parents? Or are you really an adult, independent and autonomous? Can I send letters directly to you? Friend you on Facebook? Follow you on Twitter?

Most importantly: Do you want me to?

I know what I want, but I have the feeling that this must be about what you need. After all, you were the innocent, voiceless part of this whole equation.

So my dearest Ms. Feverfew, please tell me: What do you want?

Love,

M.

Michael Blosil, Adoption, and His Mothers: I wonder…

Dear Ms. Feverfew –

I am certain you have heard that Marie Osmond’s 18 year old son committed suicide this weekend. It seems that he was “struggling” with depression and didn’t feel like he “fit in” with any one.

What a lot of the media in the U.S. is failing to report is that Michael is an adoptee.

I wonder if that has anything to do with his depression and his feelings of not fitting in. I don’t have to wonder what my adoptee friends will say – they will state unequivocally YES!!! I also know what some of my adoptive parent friends will say – Oh no, it couldn’t be adoption – but maybe.  Then there will be that group of adoptive parents that will scream “THERE IS NO WAY HIS ADOPTION HAD ANYTHING TO DO WITH HIS DEPRESSION! Show me the studies, show me the STUDIES, SHOW ME THE STUDIES that prove it does have something to do with his being adopted!!!!! Until then, I refuse to believe that it could have had any impact on him – there must have been something else wrong with him.”

I wonder if his natural mother will be told. I wonder if she will be invited to attend his funeral. I wonder if she will even be acknowledged. I wonder if Marie Osmond even knows who Michael’s natural mother is. I wonder if Michael knew.

This has always been one of my greatest fears – that I would finally start searching for you, only to find that you had passed away and I had never been told.

I wonder…would your adoptive parents tell me if something happened to you? Or would I have to find out from a newspaper headline?

Much love,

M.