Ties that bind us
All you readers who googled ‘tied up’ and came here expecting smut can just back up. I think porn is on the next blog over. This is about something entirely different, but just as naked, maybe.
I think I’ve always looked young for my age. Used to anyway. There comes a time when you need to start telling people you’re ten years older than you really are just so you can see that look of amazement in their eyes. The good amazement. This is bad amazement: ‘You’re only forty five?’
And the worst part of growing older for me is that I am beginning to see more of my crazy mom in the mirror. Or in a glimpse of my hands when they are busy doing something frivolous. Or in a haircut styled a certain way. Note to hairstylist - please don’t make me look like my mom and I’ll leave you a big tip.
Years ago, a co-worker and I decided to attend our office Halloween breakfast dressed as my grandparents, Rufus and Uldene. Don’t ask me how or why we came up with that idea, but we were smitten with it. We really got into the spirit of playing dress up and that morning before I left my house, hubunit went to kiss me goodbye and stopped dead in his tracks. No kiss for me that morning. Nuh uh. Crazy mom’s spitten image was in da house and he couldn’t put his lips on it
It’s frighening to think I am only one polyester pantsuit and a lace blouse away from being my mom. Oh and one big, crazy, Dear God, Dear Jesus prayer stuck up my ass.
I think there was a point to this and it wasn’t about me. It’s about my kids. Who both deal with adoption from different ends of the spectrum. As do I, since I am birth mom to my older son and now adoptive mom to my younger son. Life has such a funny way of coming full circle doesn’t it? Let me hear an Amen.
Since my oldest son was raised by his paternal grandparents and we didn’t reconnect until he was twenty one, I found it haunting how we both spent much of our first visits together looking for, and finding, similarities. Not just in features, but in mannerisms, preferences, habits. It’s pretty amazing how many times he said ‘So that’s why I – do/say/like/eat/read/feel - that.” To properly explain some of that, I had to break it to him that we are, in fact, a REDNECK family over here at Casa Lindaloohoo’s past. Most of our closest relatives own doublewides. Thank god we were sitting in my LEXUS when I broke that news to him.
Just a quick note - writing this brought back the feeling I had when he called me MOM for the first time. Wowie kazzowie. Fly me to the moon. What did I ever do to deserve all this? It’s like emotional FLUFF. Straight from the jar, on the worlds biggest spoon.
I think about monkey and how we are going to deal with the times in his future when he will wonder about his own birth parents. I know every child deals with it differently and I am terrified that I won’t handle it the right way for him. I want to protect him from that hurt and there is no way to do so. There is no way to unring that bell and the echo is part of the fabric of his being, just as it was for my older son. The enormity of that washes over me sometimes and takes my breath away.
I think about his birth mom often. I feel such a connection to her and know that I have shared the pain she lives with every day.
I find I need to send this out into the universe and hope this message reaches her: Your son is precious and he is beautiful and he is loved. And I will make very sure he always knows that you love him. Every day. There is no forgetting that tie. And I won’t let it fade into the background for him. He has room enough in his heart for both of us and deserves that right, without guilt and without shame. I hope we meet you some day and you too can know the joy of having him call you MOM. Or MAMMI. My spanish isn’t very good. Sorry for that. (Universe, you don’t have to send that last part.)
Can I hear an Amen?