Happy Mother's Day? Hmm. Well, not for some of us.

Lorraine

Here it comes again, Mother's Day, impossible to delete from the calendar or ignore totally because of the incessant ads that pop up everywhere, from the internet to the newspaper to the super bargains on the Today show that are just "perfect for mom." I got my hair cut today and as I was paying the bill, I heard the receptionist say to the woman ahead of me--Happy Mother's Day. I happen to know the woman for years, and know she is the nicest person. But the woman ahead of me said, I never had children. Neither, it turned out, did the receptionist, she just thought it was a nice thing to say. When I paid my bill, I said, You know, Mother's Day is a painful day for all women who gave up a child. I hope you will stop saying that to everyone who comes in. I rather surprised myself because in years past I probably would just have let it go, but she had three more days to remind, once more, other first mothers that this godawful holiday was upon us. 


But hear or not hear it, all if it reminds us of our own fractured motherhood. I've been through the gamut of emotions about Mother's Day, beginning when I did not know where my daughter was (call it a nightmare), and my own mother did not even know my daughter existed (no one to share the blues with), to those years after reunion when I tried to ignore the hoopla the week preceding the big day hoping she would remember me in some small way, but alas, she often did not. (A good day to dig in the garden.)

A photo of the card Jane
sent one year. Sweet. 

While I was feeling sorry for myself, I always imagined a big celebration going on with her adoptive mother--card, flowers, dinner, what-have-you. My daughter had siblings, one adopted, two not, and the patriarch was not likely to let any of them forget about Mother's Day. I never knew if the day went off as I imagined because I never asked. Though I tried to remind myself that the day was a made-up holiday, designed to help Hallmark and florists and restaurants, that never really worked. Everyone else was celebrating Mother's Day--hell, I was too as long as my own mother was alive. After I left Michigan, I sent flowers, I called, I remembered. 

I image that Mother's Day for women who have had other children is different than it is for me, one of the approximately one third who never had another child after relinquishing. First of all, just as co-blogger Jane, they have the children they kept to be honored and celebrated by. Many of those children--no matter their age--will not know about the missing child, but the mother will, and it is likely she cannot help but think about her/him at some point during the day--if not several times--wondering who she/he is and what mother he/she is honoring. So it will be a day of bittersweet happiness, as well as a reckoning how this day fits into their lives. 

SPEAKING UP TRUTHFULLY
But that was not my fate. I was without another child and so you just suck it up and wait for the damn day to be over. When my daughter was older and married, she did a whole lot better remembering--especially after I told her that her ignoring me on the day--bothered me. Bothered me a whole lot, in fact. Once I got a wonderful handmade card that said: To my Other Mother. Inside it says: "I couldn't find a card that defined our relationship, but then all truly matters is that is that I let you know, I Love You. Happy Mothers day LORRAINE, love Jane." It must have come with a present, because there is a note on the back about using whatever she sent to "relax after a long hard day." 

Lorraine on a good day with her daughter Jane, and her 
daughter, now out of college and an art teacher in Michigan 

Now my daughter is gone--she died more than a decade ago--as well as my mother, and I realize the day is ours to deal with as we choose. I could mope all day. Or not. It is a given that throughout the day I will let thoughts of my mother, and my daughter, flit pleasantly by with a kind of sweet sadness. My mother died two decades ago. We'd fought a lot when I was growing up, but she was the rock I leaned on to go to college against some odds, and later, when I began writing and championing unsealing birth certificates, and became known for that, she encouraged me, and was proud of what I was doing. "Everyone must want to know where they came from," she said to me the day I told her everything. She held her head up among the people in the senior living apartments in our home town she lived in, and I loved her courage for that, for I know there must have been a lot of gossip, and most of it not nice. 

I had a daughter, gave her up, found her, had a 26-year relationship, and then lost her again. As a friend of mine said, We've all got something. He'd  been caring for his wife with advanced Alzheimer's for several years at home, and trust me, that is not a simple thing. Because of his devoted care, she lived more than a decade with Alzheimer's. She died last summer. Now their house is for sale because he wants to move to a new place, where every room is not a reminder of her. Yes, we've all got something.

We've all got something. But I will admit that since my daughter's passing, the way I handle the day is different from when she was alive. For dealing with her death was a matter of mourning, of accepting and accommodating grief, but also knowing that she was at last at peace. The grief wasn't trapped in some damn limbo of closed adoption that leaves you wondering if your child is dead or alive, and you are supposed to just stuff it down, pretend that you are not dying inside. That kind of grief is insanely consuming, and never changes. You can stomp it down--otherwise you will go crazy--but it's still there like a sore that will not heal to the scar phase. When she died, I could grieve publicly, I did not have to pretend that I was "okay" within days or weeks of her dying. 

DON'T JUST STAND THERE AND WEEP...

While I can't put myself into the head of an adopted person, I imagine that if you are longing to at least know your original mother, or have a relationship with her, you also endure Mother's Day rather than celebrate. For both mothers and adoptees, the day is bound to be fraught. One can be honoring one's adoptive mother, but how can you not be thinking at least a little bit about that other mother? Does she ever think of you? Is she thinking of you on this day? Without answers, with birth records that stay sealed beyond human compassion, the questions remain, peace is impossible. 

So for those mothers without children who will be a part of your life on Sunday, and children whose original mothers fill their thoughts, make a plan: Call a friend or someone else who might otherwise be alone. Do something else besides go to lunch in a crowded restaurant. Go to the movies--a funny movie! no weepers!--go shopping, go to a museum, pursue your hobby, go for a a long run or workout at the gym, splurge and have a spa day with all the trimmings for once, or--work with me here--clean out your closets. If that last one sounds like a chore, it is, but remember that the rewards of feng shui are so energizing. Tidied closets end up feeling like a metaphor for your life. Tidied up. Cleaning out the old leaves space in your life for the new to come in. Cleaning closets is highly underrated. 

And remember, come Monday it will not be Mother's Day for another blessed 364 days!--lorraine

PS: I began writing an addendum about the noxious idea of "Birth Mother's Day," which is the Saturday before Mother's Day, but I was just getting annoyed about such a ridiculous day, designed to normalize giving up a child, that I quit. Supposedly it was started by a first mother herself, and when Googled her, it led to Amazon where you can buy a "Birth Mother's Day Planner.' Which also made me gag. However, there was no picture or anything, and it, blessedly, is not available. Here's what I found in some dumb article in Minneapolis:

"With the growth of open adoption, birth families and adoptive families tend to stay in contact for the benefit of a child. Placing a child for adoption has come to be considered an act of love. (Emphasis added) But many birth mothers felt they continued to be ignored. In 1990, a group of Seattle birth mothers sought to change that by creating a day of their own....

______________________
To READ

Hole In My Heart: memoir and report from the fault lines of adoption

Richard H. Hill

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Hole in My Heart is many things. First of all, it’s the captivating, first person story of the author’s journey from unwed mother to revered spokesperson for adoption reform. Along the way she reunites with the child she gave up for adoption. Through decades of up and down relationships with her daughter and the girl’s adoptive family, Dusky helps readers understand the challenges and trauma of adoption from all sides.

Along the way, the author pauses her personal story to inform us about the world of adoption through Facts and Commentary chapters. A longtime advocate of adoptee rights, Dusky gives us the insider’s scoop on everything from shady adoption practices to the latest research on adoption issues.

An adoptee and writer myself, I thought I knew a lot about adoption. But I discovered some surprising facts between the covers of this book. With nearly a hundred footnotes, Hole in My Heart is a great starting point for anyone wishing to explore this subject.