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Monday, August 31, 2015

Day #243: Segment one of my birth story


#243

The sound of the water rushing down the rocks is much louder than the sound of an air conditioner.  For the first half hour I kept thinking the air conditioner doesn't work very well, does it, and then I realized I was listening to the river and there is no air conditioning here  I have a hard time writing in the heat, which means I'm going to have problems this week.  
I was thinking about posting my original mother story in this blog in chunks.  What do you all think?  Would that be interesting?  Tonight I will post the beginning of my story and give you all a taste and you can let me know if it is a good idea while the Indiegogo is happening.


Strength  to Speak 
There is an aloneness in being a birthmother. The act of relinquishing one’s child demands you severe your own emotional self from your body allowing you to walk on, maybe walk away and move forward, caught in a moment that can never be complete, never brought to fruition, but not removed or forgotten either.  You are left alone with your own moment of hell.  Approximately a third of all birthmothers commit suicide, unable to go on.  Many are self abusers, hurting their own bodies, punishing themselves for getting pregnant, giving birth and “abandoning” their own child.  Some find peace with their decisions and know they have allowed their child and a family to find love.  But society continues to give mixed messages and in not being honest, produces emotional traumas that are everlasting.
The act of intentionally relinquishing a child is courageous and usually selfless.  The act of removing or taking a baby from her mother forces her to be courageous, implanting a tragedy so large upon her life, one almost unbearable, destroying an organic connection, stopping the most normal bond in human beings.
I’ve written my story before and I believe I’ve written it well, but as I immerse myself in others’ writings and voices and submerge myself into the tank of birthmother openness, it seems important to write my own story before I begin to collect those of others’.
I am flooded with two things, the desire to have the truth known, for stereotypes and myths to be put aside so the truths can be told by the women who experienced relinquishing a baby.  I am overwhelmed with the amount of courage and desire for the personal growth, for forgiveness and health that this population of women illustrates.  I am in awe of them.  And I am aware that for me, these stories both tap and pummel at my scars. 
It is because of this need to tell my own truth that I must delve into the hurt.   I want so badly to scream out the facts of my home life and the reason I clung so hard to a boy with such ferocity, as though his existence alone kept me breathing.  The grasping and the clawing of our bodies, trying so hard to weld him to me so that he could never really leave me, dominated my teens.  But the story actually begins with my father and not with Andy.  And when I was rolled out of the Norwalk Hospital on Dec. 13th, 1972, past the nursery leaving my 10lb. 12 oz., dark-haired, baby girl behind, I snipped my heart and ended a year which removed all those loves from my life: Daddy, Andy and baby.
I was 18 on March 10, 1972.  Andy and I had gone to NYC with our friends, Rick and June.  We’d gone to the Backfence in the Village in a bright yellow Pinto and in order to forget I was riding with three drunken friends, rolling down a foggy, icy, highway early in the morning in a tin can, I pawed Andy.  We kissed long, hard, forever kisses, pawing each others’ bodies and seeking the ability to climb into one another.  We had such a tenuous relationship at this point.  We had split up in early 1970 and when I’d gone off to a free school in Vermont for eight months to start anew, we twisted ourselves back together, living separately, screwing others, yet grasping at a love that had been building and protective  for six years, since we were kids, we knew each others’ souls.    That March night we banged together over and over again hoping we would meld, but we did not.   The next day I went home to Wilton and to my new sister in law’s 21st birthday party.  The house was full of  many of her friends and her family and most of my family.  We all made a big dinner and in the middle of the party, slamming his fist on the table, my father had a stroke and died in my brother Paul’s arms.
The height of drama I ran out of the house followed by our friend, Bob.  We jumped into Paul’s car, drove a mile down the road, pulled over and the two of us broke out in sobs, holding each other.  Oh God, the world came crashing down and the man I loved so desperately with such angst was gone forever, gone from my every day sight and sound, gone from a life that I was trying so hard to build, and away from the one I was trying to climb out from under.
And when the tears were gone, Bob and I drove back to the house and began to load the dishwasher.  I was asked if I wanted to see the body before it was placed in the ambulance. I said “no,” and continued to do what was needed; make phone calls to the four siblings who were not present, make sure our guests were as comfortable as could be expected. I shared a joint in the maid’s room as the thunderstorm picked up momentum and with one final crash sent the last elm tree toppling onto the road outside the house.
I do not remember the next few days well, not until the day of the funeral.  I remember being in a trance, making the motions that were expected of me, resenting the fact that Andy was not coming to be with me.  And I wept, yes, I wept.

I tell this story as an introduction to a birth story, but it wasn’t for another 18 weeks that I was certain I was pregnant, knew that with one soul’s parting another had begun.  I had spent 18 weeks kind of knowing, but not letting myself believe it.   Several negative pregnancy tests and many fights later while watching my strong mother dissolve, I finally received a positive test.   


Sunday, August 30, 2015

Day #242: Learning to ask for help

#242

Indiegogo is going up, it is launching.  It is also tied to this blog so once again I want to state that I started this blog to keep balance in my life while I wrote this book.  I am posting pictures daily, one in particular is always numbered for the day.  I am adding poems and reflections about life and beauty.  Every once in awhile I have reviewed a book.  Sometimes I refer my readers to other writers' work on adoption.  The idea is to balance the hardness of attending to the stories of original mothers with some beauty.  The intentional act keeps me sane.



So for the next 30 days I will be connected to an attempt to raise the funds I need to complete this project.  I am hoping more people come and read my blog.  I hope more of you share my blog and share my funding request.  I want to be able to complete the book by June.  Please pass the information on to people you believe will be interested in supporting my work.



 For those of you who are interested in the break down, here it is.

 I am looking for $15,500. to finish the process of creating/writing this book.  This sum will enable me to finish without interruption. 
1) Salaries       author $8,600 for 4 months expenses
                        editor = $2,100.
2) Travel - $4,000.
3) Conference fees and costs - $500
4) equipment and materials - $300
·       It will provide me with the funds to pay a professional editor.  All good writers need good editors.
·       There is a need for some extra equipment including extra memory card and back up batteries, an off camera flash and a small point and shoot for more informal photos, to be less intimidating while collecting photographs on the road.
·       It will allow me to attend CUB conference. Concerned United Birthparents is the national association focused on resources and support for original parents.  Attending    $500 Oct. 23=25
And it will cover my living expenses at a minimum so that I can continue to dedicate myself to the project


Saturday, August 29, 2015

Day #241: August Moon

#241


I made up to the moon tonight.  Really, really beautiful.. thank you, moon.  

Skeleton Moon
by Felicia Moon

Even the fullest,
Roundest,
Brightest moon
Is just a breath of a sliver of a thought 
A skeleton
When the light shifts







Friday, August 28, 2015

Day #240: Silence

#240

This is looking up at Poet's Seat where I usually take photographs of the sunset.  I went down to the field below to take the moon rising behind the tower, but the mosquitoes chased me away before I could try.  I did take some moon shots, but from the car and not with a tripod.  They are boring.  But the moon is not.  She's beautiful tonight.  






Silence
as the humidity returns
as the sun sets
as the birds stay still.
People bend their heads
a silent prayer
to quiet endings
to slow starts
to hopeful resolutions
People bend their heads

Golden light spreads over green
turns silver a potter's touch;
A porcelain night
smooth and calm.
My eyes deceived in evening glow.
They wait for moon light
to ease the strain
to end the day
to pray
porcelain becomes an orange glow
the final cry until tomorrow.




Thursday, August 27, 2015

Day #239: More 365 Day photos


#239

http://pammcrae.blogspot.com

The link above belongs to Pam McRae who is one of the women in my book.  It links to her blog and I found today's posting eye opening, a glimpse of the important issues involved in my book.  Give it a read.  Pam has seen the issues in adoption from many sides now.



It's coming you all.  If not later tonight, in the morning.  Please share it.  I will post the funding proposal on this blog, facebook, google+, twitter and you can feel free to post where ever you can and as often as you can.  




Wednesday, August 26, 2015

Day #238: Peaches and a Poem

#238

OK, the Indiegogo is ready to post.  It is complete, I believe.  So I will post it tomorrow.  Wow, long time coming.  The post will tell you more about the book and the collection of voices.  I am excited by the possibility of funding the last major step in the process.


Today I helped a friend's daughter enroll in a dual enrollment program.  She is the perfect candidate for this program and I hope she is accepted.  And it was amazing how much has changed in three years, and how much has stayed the same.  There are few such transitional programs for people at the moment, but this one is good and the guy who is running it was running it when I left and he has it down.   I miss interacting with students, but I don't miss the work, I don't miss the bureaucracy at all. 


My beautiful maple was removed today.  It changes the entire house.  It is probably really good for the house, but it destroys my hiding place.

The photographs of today

Are flying around the internet
At a speed I cannot
receive.

Are not of me,
they are of children who
run through my life.

Are of flowers
Purple bursts, red flashes
a yellow honey cone

stacked high on a green stalk.
A resting place
for butterfly, some bugs
my eye.

Salt and fresh water
surrounded by trees or
forever,  pushing away.

Are of family
gone grey, gone flabby
Eyes still full of
wondering ideals but tame
And I keep snapping the camera.
I keep recording what’s now
As the past comes up to me
Like slides on that old screen

where we watched in
the living room on Signal Hill
or Overridge Lane or Chestnut Hill
all gathered around the projector

displaying beauty
apple trees
glaciers
buildings in Spain.



Tuesday, August 25, 2015

Day #237: Chasing Rainbows

237
I wrote a poem tonight, but I don't like it enough to post it.  But it was about chasing a rainbow.  I feel like the act of writing this book is kind of chasing a rainbow.  So far I have been ok, but I've still got a little more to go to complete the project.  Is it chasing rainbows?  

Tonight I went to a meeting at an alternative school in the community.  I sat down next to a woman and started talking about why we were there and that led into a little conversation about what we were doing now.  I have stopped being uptight about answering that question and I am no longer at all worried about naming myself as an original mother.  Her life partner was an original mother, too, and they have an adopted son.  She was very interested and positive.  It almost felt like a normal conversation.



 a

I still feel as though I'm chasing rainbows.  I chased one today and I caught it.


The movie we saw tonight was called Classed Dismissed by Jeremy Stuart.  My experience of it was quite different than others sitting in that room as parents of children they were about to support going into this new school.  Mine was of an educator who has held those beliefs since 1970 when she first read John Holt; as an educator who has taught theory of education and developed a really nice college course on participatory research.  And of a godmother who knows her goddaughter is exceptional and feels a little incapable of helping her navigate this teen age stuff.  Anyway, if you are at all interested in home schooling or alternative education, give it a viewing.  It is worth watching.  It's a little too long for 14 year olds who aren't quite sure why they should be interested, but it does try to address some interesting issues that impact a parents decision.  


Monday, August 24, 2015

Day # 236: Summer begins to slide away

#236


From Wellfleet to Greenfield, I wish I could describe the differences.  Massachusetts is one of the smallest states in the country, yet from east to west borders the changes are big.  It's not that you wouldn't see this remarkable caterpillar in Western Mass, nor that you wouldn't see lavender growing on the Cape, but the height and density of the trees is so very different.  The soil is very different.  We live in the valley of lush green.  I find it amazing. 




I saw the light arrive this morning.  I heard the birds and insects and saw it become lighter outside the open door of the bedroom I was sleeping in.  I then went back to sleep for a few hours.  Tonight we saw the sun set.  This wall of clouds above the sunset made for a beautiful sky.  By the time I drove home that wall of clouds looked like an upside down volcano.  It was not as blue and pink by then, rather it was yellow and brown and opposite it was a moon.  Yes, we traveled a lot and saw a lot of end of summer beauty.  School starts next week.  The parade is coming and the fair and we enter a new season.  It all is going way too fast.


photo by Emma

Sunday, August 23, 2015

Day # 235: Peaceful Sunday

#235



Damp cool air
soaks into every
small pore in the trunk
of a small upright pine
the bark of a crooked cedar
causing lichen to pop out
a sage green upon a reddish grey

The sun did not win today
clouds have stayed low
upon the tops of the trees
closing in on us
a womblike shell of
grays and greens
still - not even the
chickadee awake.

Where have they all gone?
that chipmunk
crows and fawn.
Bumble bees cling to
pink blossoms swaying
in a slow breeze

Peaceful rainy Sunday afternoon.







Saturday, August 22, 2015

Day # 234: A quiet day on the Cape

#234


that is the soft green my mother wanted me to paint my bedroom.  It is the green of late August sea grass. It is the green of the side of  the dune  nearest the bay.  Even the rain is gentle tonight.  The sound of a clam shell tapping on wind chimes and the drops touching the leaves, together they sing a lullaby and I am drifting off to sleep. 
I wish to swim in the soft water of the kettle pond tomorrow.  Be held, caressed, stroked softly by water that is purifying.  I wish to look out over the blue ocean tomorrow and watch the birds play, but tonight I will sneak off to lie in a bed and listen to the sounds of evening rain in August when summer is beginning to die with a final shot of heat, when summer begins to express itself with tropical storm tails.



 We wouldn't let her name her, but she did thank her for our supper.  David and Emma went out and foraged most of our dinner, lobster was the second course.  We had oysters, muscles, mushrooms, turkey sausage.... they didn't catch the turkey.



Friday, August 21, 2015

Day #233:It was about color

# 233



Welcome to Wellfleet and welcome to a day of wonderful color.  Watermelon for breakfast and an amazing orange tomato for lunch and barbecue chicken and zucchini for supper.


We are at this little piece of earth, gentle condensed piece of property shaded by the small scrub pine and cedar.  In Pt. Reyes these trees are gigantic: sequoia, doug fur and redwood, but back here it is contained,  miniature, doable.

I do feel my mother here, today, almost at the dunes of Ptown.  There are no bird sounds, just a few insects, quiet and still.  Her spirit is contemplative, watching me respond to my life.

 My body seems more buoyant in the kettle ponds of the Cape and Islands.  It feels like I could swim and float forever in that water.  It is like the water itself is plumper than the water of the Green River.
It holds me, caresses me; it is taking care of me.


That hand took this picture 5 years ago.  We had just all returned from Mom's funeral.  It had been a long and emotional day.  


8/21/2010 photo by David S.