What adoption cost me
By Trace A. DeMeyer,
author of One Small Sacrifice: A Memoir
Someone asked me
recently what had adoption cost me personally.
What a loaded question,
I shot back in my email. I said I needed to think about it.
Obviously I didn't ask
to be adopted!
This situation was
thrust on me by a damaged 22-year-old small-town Wisconsin girl who loved Chicago
night-clubbing and partying too much. She didn't want me after
my 28-year-old father (also a big drinker) kicked her out. He moved back to his
Illinois farm-town and found a new wife. She went to an unwed mothers home in
Minnesota and signed me away.
If my soul wanted a big
test this lifetime, this was clearly the route to take.
Finding out neither
would ever look for me? That painful discovery cost me.
What kind of man would
desert a woman carrying his child and who would tell a woman she cannot keep her
own baby? Who made them this way? Belief systems, religions, social
workers, neighbors, parents, judges, priests? Even your own family can be so
damaged, it's risky to find them. There are times now I wish I had never looked
but I had to know why I was adopted. Taking risks to find out the truth cost me
years.
Being told by my natural
mother to never contact her again? That rejection cost me.
I made all the moves,
made all the calls, did all the travel and took all the risks to find both
parents. I put myself out there to join a family who didn't even know I existed
or cared that I did. That hurt cost me.
The adoption trade in
babies was booming in the 1950s. In my opinion my adoptive parents were
not carefully screened. Despite his raging alcoholism and their marital
discord after two miscarriages, Catholic social workers still qualified them to
be my parents. Very young I was sexually molested by my adoptive dad. That
betrayal cost me.
I had to pretend for
years I was alright when really I wasn't. I tried to live up to their
expectations and be the baby they lost. That impossible situation cost me.
My adoptive parents
didn't know adopting kids won't fix a marriage and might even make it
worse! I had to suppress my shock and disappointment in them for too long.
It took me years to get therapy and counselling that worked. This
delay cost me.
My lack of trust and
being able to love someone cost me a marriage.
Many years later I was
shocked to learn my ancestry. My father, who had the Native blood, didn't
intervene to keep me. How did that make me feel? Betrayed.
I had no idea what to
think about being Tsalgi since there was no one alive to reconnect me to my
tribal culture. That cost me.
How can you measure
cultural loss when there is no dollar amount or apology that can undo what
happened? There is no way to get that back.
What did adoption cost
me? Everything.
What did adoption give
me? The strength to persevere.
Email me: tracedemeyer@yahoo.com
with questions, comments and your own experience.
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