FYI: This post was inspired by National Adoption Month!
- I am thankful for folks who choose adoption, especially my grandma and grandpa, who adopted my Mom.
- I am thankful for my foster parents who didn’t adopt me legally, but who still call me their middle daughter, 20 years after they invited me to join their family.
- I am thankful for my cousins (via my mother’s adoption). My cousins “adopted” my son and I; they love us, just as my grandmother loved me.
When I was in my graduate school program for Creative Arts Therapy (2004/05-ish), I was given an assignment to create a family genogram. I knew my family history, but I really didn’t know the “entire” story. To explore a genogram, is to look for patterns and make connections about all the different generations.
In April 2011, I wrote a poem (see below) about my family’s patterns of connection and disconnection. One of the connections that strengthens my spirit, is the fact that a woman, my grandmother (my mother’s adoptive mother) adopted my mother when my mom was four years old. My mother gave me up twice, both when I was a toddler and then again, when I was an adolescent. Prior to my son’s birth, several folks asked me if I was going to give up my son for adoption; I respect those women who make that choice, but for me ( I was 33) , I knew that I wanted my son and I decided to be a single parent. My son and I are connected to our larger family, which ranges from biological to foster to adoptive; the definition of family is most transparent through my son’s eyes; my son doesn’t understand the difference between foster, biological and adoptive, he just loves our family as our “family.”
Tonight, I asked my son what he wanted for his birthday this month; he didn’t ask for toys, he joyfully said, “MY COUSINS!” He said them all by name (biological, foster and adoptive). This makes my heart smile; he teaches me that “love is blind, except, blind can see hope.” I am so thankful that he will teach future generations about my grandmother’s legacy of love!
COLANDER GIRLS
We are born with bowls-
not hearts- in our chest,
naturally,
we are able to receive and contain love,
enough to overflow
and fill our souls
until life’s consequences
or pure selfishness forms holes,
one at a time,
pressing pain
like pins and needles
through what was meant to protect us
from aching.
These bowls are passed down
from one generation to another,
from one mother to her daughter,
to another daughter,
and another.
My family bowl
has seemingly
been empty and repaired for years
the strongest women
have learned how to patch up the holes
placed there by my ancestors-
if the truth be known,
during the great depression
my great grandmother
gave birth to many children
she became a widow,
she was rescued by a man’s proposal
he gave her one condition,
she could only bring one child into the marriage.
This is how the story began,
with loss and more loss,
afterwards,
however,
my great-grandmother
had two more children,
one in 1925, my grandmother,
a beautiful girl.
She grew up
and patched her colander,
finally married,
but couldn’t bear children,
found it within her heart to love a child,
not born under her heart,
but in it.
She adopted my mother,
a beautiful girl in 1960
My mom inherited a patched up colander,
but love poured through her
as if she couldn’t feel anything at all-
her own biological mother
was addicted to drugs,
abandoned all of her children.
it’s a fact,
life’s consequences or pure selfishness forms holes,
one at a time,
pressing pain like pins
and needles
through what was meant to protect us
from aching.
In 1977,
my mother’s colander
was passed down to me,
a beautiful girl,
who was physically, verbally and sexually abused
by the men my mother invited into our lives;
she relinquished
her rights to me,
her only daughter;
so my mom’s own existence
could only be validated by
a marriage to a criminal;
I was abandoned,
but I was patched up
by the embrace
of a foster family-
I was invited to become
their middle daughter;
To be welcomed-
Meant not being lost anymore-
While discovering
My identity,
I learned to be more open than closed
It didn’t happen all at once-
to consciously break the cycle,
I attempted to prove failure
wasn’t an option;
for many years,
I successfully pushed away
every opportunity
to be intimately connected
with another,
I built up a resilient shield,
until I stopped caring and
allowed one man after another
into my life
who didn’t deserve
to be there at all.
It’s a fact,
life’s consequences or pure selfishness forms holes,
one at a time,
pressing pain
like pins and needles
through what was meant to protect us
from aching.
In November of 2011,
I became a single mother
and my son was born-
I will gave him
my patched up colander
pressing my love
as a permanent patch
of healing
to protect my child
from aching,
to prevent a 100 year cycle
from being interconnected
to further victimization
and ache;
through the written word,
hope will patch and restore
our family’s colander
for more purposeful beginnings,
to receive and contain love,
enough to overflow to future generations.
FYI: Learn more about National Adoption Month at http://www.davethomasfoundation.org/.
Kimberly C. Rhyan 