It's different this time, but then, it's not. The ache, the longing, the impatience, the hope, the despair, the excitement, and yes, the fear are all there: old friends, good and bad, that haven't changed a whit. Will it happen? What if it doesn't? What if it does? What if there are complications? I suppose every adoptive parent struggles and communes with these same emotions, be it the first or the fifteenth time. But I wonder what it is like for 'normal' people, if there is such a thing. The last time I went through this wait, I was working more than full time, suffering from a medication reaction that left me feeling like I had the flu 24/7, and was still suffering under the assumption that I had had a 'normal' childhood when in truth I was so emotionally battered from constant abuse that I couldn't even admit it to myself. Mix that in with the stress and emotional turmoil of a first time adoption and you can imagine the fun.
The adoption itself went fairly smoothly, though I thought it was a pretty rocky process at the time, but that was because of me, not so much the prevailing circumstances. I had such a longing to be a mother, the wait drove me to distraction, but I had no idea why I was so desperate, it wasn't as if I had wanted kids or a family all my life. As far as I knew, family life sucked, but thankfully there was something deeper, wiser, that knew better than my ignorant self at the time and left me open to the idea, even if I did not understand why. Now, on the downward slope of dealing with my abusive past (I hope), having experienced the joys of an actually happy family, and dispensing both with my career and physical maladies, I find myself waiting again. I am not nearly so desperate this time, having a child and family already, but the ache, the longing, and the impatience are still there.
But what I wonder is, how much of this longing is tangled up in my grisly past? How much is hope for my family's future and how much is the desire to right past wrongs? I never knew happy families existed until my own was established. I did not know how wretched was my childhood. Seeing my son's joy and wonder and excitement as he discovers each new day is enough to break my own heart (formerly rather cynical towards all such things) with sheer joy. How much of this longing for a family of my own is based not in the hope of the future but in the heartbreak of the past? What is it like to come from a 'normal' family and have relatives, particularly parents, that rejoice with you? What is it like to wait when your heart has not been broken and trampled underfoot and then pieced carefully back together yet is so fragile you fear it might break at the slightest touch? I guess I'll never know, but I am glad to have this chance to be a mother again, when my poor brain isn't fogged with the horrors of the past or the distractions of the present. A second chance at life and love and joy, something I could not even begin to imagine as a little girl, unloved and unwanted and sorely reminded of that fact on a daily basis.
No comments:
Post a Comment