THE PARTY'S OVER....
I just got home yesterday. I have been in the state where my son lives, the state where I lost him, the state that I have avoided with all my might for the past 25 years (the time when my son should have been old enough to get his paperwork and find me the agency said in 1967) except for short visits of necessity. It is the state where my family, sisters and brother, and best friend lived until they recently scattered upon their retirements. My husband, who had been out of work for 7 months, took a temporary job there, and I, Gypsy-wife, followed him there. It was to be a minimum of 6 weeks and ended up being 10. We had hoped that it would last till spring, but such was not the case. So, home we came, 10 weeks of paychecks under our belts, and no worse off than we were when we left....sort of....
I had intended on spending some time with my son, going to the courthouse where his adoption was finalized, talking to some judges (the agency gave me some contacts and lines to pursue) and generally getting a lot of adoption-related things completed once and for all. I had even hoped that there was a possibility of opening the sealed records, and finding out once and for all if there was, in some dark recess of a vault somewhere, an actual document with my signature on it, relinquishing my son for adoption, a thing I have absolutely no recollection of, and that the agency, against all their policies which insist a copy be kept on file, has never been able to produce. I am almost positive the reason they cannot produce one is because none exist. Opening the records would have put that to rest for me once and forever.
My son was quite excited about my being there. We talked several times, and made arrangements to go to the courthouse together, meeting in that town, he even willing to miss a day of work to do so. He apologized for his poor behavior in the past, and explained his fear and concerns for his adoptive parents, which I could understand, even though I cannot understand that a lie of 19 years duration is less problematic than the truth, but that isn't MY concern. He was concerned about it, and that was enough. Nevertheless, he was interested in getting his file opened and the agency lady said that the two of us going there together would be a strong statement towards accomplishing that.
The night before we were to meet, the phone rang. He was not going to be able to come. He owns his own construction company, and was having problems at work. I could understand that. I could go with that. I knew that the possibility existed, and we agreed to get in contact later in the week to make other arrangements.
I called him. I got voice mail. I waited for him to call me back. I called him again, and again got voice mail. I again waited. Nothing. Finally, I tried one more time, because my husband's part of the project was complete and we were to return home earlier than we had hoped. I told him that we would be leaving the weekend after Thanksgiving, and that I wanted to see him before we left. I planned to either meet him in my hometown, or drive up where he lives. He never called again. He never responded to my calls, he never called me back.
This is the fourth time I have driven 1000 miles to see my son, and the fourth time he has been a no-show. I have allowed myself to get excited in anticipation four separate times, each time ending in disappointment, usually followed by years of silence.
I talked to my son's ex-wife, and I talked to his former girlfriend. I have talked to my granddaughter, who is expecting her first child in April, 2 days after her father's birthday. I have spoken to my grandson, the child who didn't know I existed until this trip home. I have yet to meet them, but I have spoken to them and I know the sound of their voices, and their faces from pictures. I will meet them one day. I will go up there for that.
I have been "reunited" with my son for 19 years. It has been an odd relationship. It has been largely defined by periods of intense phone calls, letters and occasional emails, followed by long periods of no contact. No contact meaning that I don't know, once again, if he is alive or dead. I have only the adopters address, so I have to send letters, cards and casual messages through an intermediary so that I can get them to him without his adopters being threatened. In the entire 19 years of our relationship, we have had one face to face, when he came through my town driving a truck. One time. That's all.
The periods of no contact last for years. The last one, the one that ended just before I came to his state, lasted for about 2 years. The one before that, 3 1/2. They are excruciating. During one pullback, he attempted suicide, all the time telling the people who were taking him to the hospital, "You don't understand; I'm adopted!" They didn't think it was an issue. Clearly, he did.
I will not go through another pullback. I am shutting things down. I no longer worry if he is alive, since he was the last time I checked. I will no longer angst over whether or not to contact him, how to do it, if it will upset him, if it will anger his adopters. I am done. I won't contact him, ever again. I don't really want to talk to him at all. I have reached the end of my rope. I can love him from afar, wish him well, and hope that he has a good life. I can finally let him go, for my own well-being.
I am a BSE mother. I am no longer a young woman, much as it surprises me when I catch a casual glimpse of myself. It is startling to me to be that silver haired lady looking back. I now wish to simplify my life, to purge my surroundings of non-essentials. The things that remain must bring me pleasure, bring me comfort, and increase my life, not diminish it.
I had intended on spending some time with my son, going to the courthouse where his adoption was finalized, talking to some judges (the agency gave me some contacts and lines to pursue) and generally getting a lot of adoption-related things completed once and for all. I had even hoped that there was a possibility of opening the sealed records, and finding out once and for all if there was, in some dark recess of a vault somewhere, an actual document with my signature on it, relinquishing my son for adoption, a thing I have absolutely no recollection of, and that the agency, against all their policies which insist a copy be kept on file, has never been able to produce. I am almost positive the reason they cannot produce one is because none exist. Opening the records would have put that to rest for me once and forever.
My son was quite excited about my being there. We talked several times, and made arrangements to go to the courthouse together, meeting in that town, he even willing to miss a day of work to do so. He apologized for his poor behavior in the past, and explained his fear and concerns for his adoptive parents, which I could understand, even though I cannot understand that a lie of 19 years duration is less problematic than the truth, but that isn't MY concern. He was concerned about it, and that was enough. Nevertheless, he was interested in getting his file opened and the agency lady said that the two of us going there together would be a strong statement towards accomplishing that.
The night before we were to meet, the phone rang. He was not going to be able to come. He owns his own construction company, and was having problems at work. I could understand that. I could go with that. I knew that the possibility existed, and we agreed to get in contact later in the week to make other arrangements.
I called him. I got voice mail. I waited for him to call me back. I called him again, and again got voice mail. I again waited. Nothing. Finally, I tried one more time, because my husband's part of the project was complete and we were to return home earlier than we had hoped. I told him that we would be leaving the weekend after Thanksgiving, and that I wanted to see him before we left. I planned to either meet him in my hometown, or drive up where he lives. He never called again. He never responded to my calls, he never called me back.
This is the fourth time I have driven 1000 miles to see my son, and the fourth time he has been a no-show. I have allowed myself to get excited in anticipation four separate times, each time ending in disappointment, usually followed by years of silence.
I talked to my son's ex-wife, and I talked to his former girlfriend. I have talked to my granddaughter, who is expecting her first child in April, 2 days after her father's birthday. I have spoken to my grandson, the child who didn't know I existed until this trip home. I have yet to meet them, but I have spoken to them and I know the sound of their voices, and their faces from pictures. I will meet them one day. I will go up there for that.
I have been "reunited" with my son for 19 years. It has been an odd relationship. It has been largely defined by periods of intense phone calls, letters and occasional emails, followed by long periods of no contact. No contact meaning that I don't know, once again, if he is alive or dead. I have only the adopters address, so I have to send letters, cards and casual messages through an intermediary so that I can get them to him without his adopters being threatened. In the entire 19 years of our relationship, we have had one face to face, when he came through my town driving a truck. One time. That's all.
The periods of no contact last for years. The last one, the one that ended just before I came to his state, lasted for about 2 years. The one before that, 3 1/2. They are excruciating. During one pullback, he attempted suicide, all the time telling the people who were taking him to the hospital, "You don't understand; I'm adopted!" They didn't think it was an issue. Clearly, he did.
I will not go through another pullback. I am shutting things down. I no longer worry if he is alive, since he was the last time I checked. I will no longer angst over whether or not to contact him, how to do it, if it will upset him, if it will anger his adopters. I am done. I won't contact him, ever again. I don't really want to talk to him at all. I have reached the end of my rope. I can love him from afar, wish him well, and hope that he has a good life. I can finally let him go, for my own well-being.
I am a BSE mother. I am no longer a young woman, much as it surprises me when I catch a casual glimpse of myself. It is startling to me to be that silver haired lady looking back. I now wish to simplify my life, to purge my surroundings of non-essentials. The things that remain must bring me pleasure, bring me comfort, and increase my life, not diminish it.
