The dance

Reunion is hard. Searching was hard, too, but it was this vague construct, and it took place in the familiar fantasy world in which I've always lived when it came to my adopted status. At least when you're in search, you can imagine how things might be. Worst-case and best-case scenarios can stack up side-by-side for analysis, and you can work through how you might deal with this or that circumstance. It's like some giant algebraic equation. If a, then y + b. If not a, then y - b x w. If she answers and hangs up, then call her sister. If she has moved, then contact the mayor. All sorts of possibilities, all sorts of solutions.

But when it comes to the actual reunion, it's a whole new ballgame, and as far as I've been able to tell, there is no rule book. Oh, sure, there are books on reunion, on the do's and don'ts, but every reunion is completely different. There is no chapter in any book that mirrors MY experience. Perhaps that's why at least half of the adoptees in reunion I've met in the last year say they are writing a book. No one shares the same experience in reunion between biological families and children raised in other families. It's more individual even that parenting, because of all of the variables, all of the players, and all of the time lost.

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I am happy to report that I have crossed a threshold with my bio-mom, the same one I crossed with my adoptive parents many years ago.

I grew up in a family that never said, "I love you." We just didn't do it. Quick hug, peck on the cheek, a "good night," that was it for affection in my house. I have pictures of me as a young child, three or four, sitting in my adoptive mother's lap, and it looks like I can't wait to hop up and be alone. Even as a baby, I've only seen one or maybe two snapshots where I was in my a-mom or a-dad's arms looking anything but uncomfortable. My a-mom always said that it was because I was anxious to move around and get back to my toys or my drawings, but I think it was a deeper sense of not wanting to be dealt with that spurred me to be physically apart. So maybe it was my own distaste for being held that set the tone, but the tone was most definitely set in my house. I was in my early teens babysitting one day, when I watched two of my young charges give each other a big bear hug. I recall this distinct longing in my gut for that kind of affection. No one ever hugged me like that, and I was determined to change my reality. That night I went home and when it was time for bed, I leaned over, gave my a-mom a peck on the cheek, and said, "I love you." What could she do but respond in kind? I did the same with my a-dad, and he replied similarly. From that point on, we became a family that said "I love you." My relationshop with my a-dad didn't change, and would never be healthy and nurturing, but at least he and I were going through the verbal motions. My a-mom and I had always been fairly close, but I wanted her to SAY it. And from that point on, she did. Even today, when we finish a conversation, we both say "I love you," although I'm most often the first to say it.

And so it has happened with my bio-mom. When she left last Friday after what was a disconcerting and yet really satisfying visit, I hugged her and said, "I love you." And that is our new reality. It feels good, and it feels right. We spoke yesterday on the phone, and she was the first to say it! Why am I so surprised when she does? I guess I've tried to keep my expectations low so I won't be disappointed or hurt.

Yeah, like that works.

These are uncharted waters, and I get seasick easily. It's work, these relationships, made more challenging by the passing of time, the withholding of information, the lies and deceptions that go into forging the life of an adopted child and hiding the life of a relinquishing mother. But that's the price we humans pay for being in relationship.