I can’t believe it’s almost 7 years since I found my family. It hurts so much to know that you are all out there, and I am so alone.
It’s been over 2 years since my mother died, and I haven’t heard a word from my family. I don’t think anyone can imagine how bad that feels. It’s a terrible curse to have a family, but not be part of it.
The last family member I heard from was my cousin W. She told me that the entire family decided that it was best not to have any contact with me. Best for who? I asked, but there was no answer. It’s not best for me, so I guess it must be best for the rest of you.
It was best to give me away as a newborn, and best to shun me as an adult. But, never, ever best for me. Best for me would have been to live and grow up with my family, and best for me would have my family accept and love me as I am. I will never get that. What’s best for me is not very important to my family.
I still live with the pain of being cast out. It does not get better.
I did not attend my mother’s memorial. My brother kicked me out of hospice on her last day. He asked when he got to be alone with his mother. I guess his whole life was not enough for him.
My mother and her friends hated me, so I thought it best to stay away from the memorial. I never saw my brother, John after he kicked me out of hospice.
You are the one with the mystery illness, but my mother was the one who died. Life’s funny like that.
Anyway, just wanted to let you know how much being abandoned, and shunned hurts. I’m pretty sure you don’t care, since you always do what’s best for you. And never, ever what’s best for me.
I was not there. My auntie was, I made sure Mom was not alone. I gave her her sister. Aunt Ginny was in jail when I told her Mom was sick. She was in a bad way. I bought her a bus ticket, from Michigan to NYC, so she could be with my mother. I couldn’t do it, because I was a stranger to my own mother.
Mom was not comfortable with me. I guess it was because she gave me away, and because she was mentally ill.
I don’t understand mental illness. I never had experience with it, before I found my mother. I did not know how cruel mental illness was. It allows a person to do terrible things. They don’t want to do those things, but their mind bends in a way that makes them think what they are doing in OK.
I still have a lot to learn. I’m still so angry, at my mother, at the world. At whoever made me what I am.
I never got to know my mother. Oh God, why did you do this to me? Are you to blame?
My co worker’s mother died a few days ago. Some of us from work went to the wake. Jill’s mother looked beautiful, laid out in the casket, in a smart red suit. Her beloved Jelly beans and a deck of cards were tucked in beside her.
Jill’s mother was 95 when she died, in Jill’s house, where they had been living together for years. Jill was by her side when she passed. Jill’s daughter was there too. It was a “good death”, if such a thing can be good.
Of course, seeing Jill and her mother brought back a lot of feelings about my own mother’s death.
I was there near the end, with Mom, but not at the end. Mom was in hospice. I was not really a welcome visitor in my mother’s room. I did not go to Mom’s memorial service. I did not view her body. She was cremated immediately. I longed for one last look, but it was not to be.
I had no choices regarding Mom’s care, her service or her remains. I am her firstborn, and natural next of kin, but adoption erased all that. I was merely an unwelcome stranger.
Someday I may bury my adoptive mother. I’ll be the next of kin. As an only child, I’ll make all the decisions. But, she is not my mother. My mother is dead.
The world is a wonderful place. I’m glad that I’m here. My husband and children bring me great joy and happiness.
We just returned from a road trip, from New York to Orlando, Florida. 6 of us in my 10-year-old minivan. She preformed like a champion! Smooth, no breakdowns or problems at all. We rented a house, and toured the theme parks. 6 adults. I was tired, but happy.
I’m still adopted, of course. That hurts all the time, but travelling helps. As long as I keep moving, I don’t think about things so much. Now that I’m back, so are the thoughts.
Being with my children is so great. I cannot imagine not wanting to know them. I can’t understand my father’s thinking. How can you have a child, and grandchildren out there in the world, and not want to see them, ever? It makes no sense to me.
How can you decide some of your children are worth knowing, but one is not? I wish someone could explain it to me. My father will not. Are there any readers out there who have done this to one of their children, and can explain the reasoning behind it?
Why the whole family shunning me? I understand it’s to support my father, but don’t I deserve love and support as well? Am I some sort of sub-human, because of my adoption? Please, explain, if you can. I would love to understand, but the ones who’ve done this will not talk to me.