In life it’s a general assumption that most families fight, love and endure a lifetime. General conception is that smaller families are close. Raised in a very small family for majority of my life always made me wonder what the love of a big family meant.
It was later in my life that the truth of my background was unrevealed. Not exactly the option my parents chose originally. I found out I was adopted at the ripe age of 17 just before I married my high school sweetheart. Apparently, he thought it would be in our best interest to get the truth on the table. Everyone always inquires, “How did he know?” It’s simple, I’m from a small community and it’s not uncommon for everyone and anyone to know everything about everybody. I can still remember the exact words he spoke gently as we rode to Florida on that afternoon. “Tracy, how would you feel if you were to find out that your family isn’t actually your family?” I can remember the brief pause as I changed the radio station and said, “do what?” He proceeded to tell me that I was adopted into my family and everyone had kept it from me over the years to protect me. I can smell the air even today as I type this and Guns N Roses, “November Rain” started to play on our FM Stereo. Up until this point, I was a very calm and quiet individual who mainly just kept to myself. In that moment, I felt like I was going to throw up. I asked if we could pull off interstate and I went into the bathroom overwhelmed with the news I had just been told. The first call I made was to my Grandma Allgood who spoke softly and with authority as she began to give me a few of the details of how my existence came to be in this family. The voice of my Grandma always seemed to sooth my soul and at this point I was terrified to call my mother to inquire the details. Grandma Allgood stated, “no matter where you came from you are an Allgood and always will be”. After hanging up the payphone, yes a payphone back then you actually needed quarters and a lot of them. I called my brother. Our relationship has never been very close, mainly because apparently we have the same father but different mothers and grew up in separate households. It was assumed growing up that I was to stay clear of him and he was advised the same. I could never understand why, but the details of our relationship are revealed later on. When I called him I am not sure what exactly I expected to gain from the conversation. I always felt close to him even though we have lives in different universes. He talked to me for about ten minutes and confirmed what my fiancé told me but wouldn’t relay any of the details.
As I climbed into the truck that day to head south to Tampa, I remember vividly the colors of the sky and the shapes of the clouds and Guns N Roses kept coming on all the stations I flipped the radio to while my fiancé drove us. It was such an empty feeling. As if someone cut my heart out. In that brief moment someone made a decision that would change the remainder of my life. My plans were to stay in Tampa a few days and prepare for our new home after we married. I drowned my heart with wine and beer the entire trip hoping to find something to relieve the pain of this newfound knowledge.
At this point, I had not spoken directly to my mother. As a young girl, my mother petrified me to no lengths and the thought of calling her scared me to no end. I’m not sure if it was because the call would confirm this news or destroy our relationship that made me so nervous. So I prolonged the issue and waited until I arrived home.
After my arrival home, the conversation didn’t go quite as I planned. My mother denied the adoption and we became quite angry at each other. I moved out for a while and lived with my fiancés mother. It was a short period of time. Thus began my issues with trusting people to tell me the truth. Everyday I would call my grandmother and cry and moan as to why my mother couldn’t just be honest with me and tell me the truth. The secret of my adoption was larger than just a white lie to protect me. A lot of people where involved and a lot of people mislead about my situation. At one time, I heard the adoption was under the table. Another time, I heard my dad was a doctor having an affair with a nurse at the Houston Medical Center, and then I heard my mom was working at a bar and it was a one-night stand. Once I heard my dad was actually my dad. That’s actually the closest story I believe considering my brother and I look very much alike. I’m pretty sure I have pinned down my mother but I can’t prove it. However, pictures don’t lie and that’s a story for another day.
A lot of friends and acquaintances have always wondered and pondered whether or not to ask me what they should do regarding the adoption of their children. The manner in which my adoption information was released was very damaging to not only myself but my family as well. I have carried it for years and I probably always will. My father died when I was very young and it was his wish that the adoption be kept private. Everyone in my family agreed to follow through with his wishes. Seems really selfish to me, but that’s my opinion. I’m one of those people who would rather you sit me down and lay out all the facts as to why things happened in a certain manner then to be left wondering. Now here I am 38, and still no answers. My adoption is like a revolving door full of secrets and mischiefs. Whether or not my birth mother ever surfaces is totally irrelevant. After all, it’s been 38 years and if she has not investigated to see how I turned out or even if I am alive isn’t very comforting. I do sometimes wonder if there is someone out there I look like or have a close resemblance to. Sometimes God answers prayers in mysterious ways and your answers come in unconfirmed ways. I do believe a mother cherishes and loves her child to no end. She raises her child to know right from wrong and even when it hurts disciplines her child in their best interest. A mother is so much more than the person who became impregnated and carried a baby to term. I have a wonderful mother and father that have cared for me through thick and thin and never bailed. They did without, so I could have and made sure that I was loved and prepared for a life full of adventures, the good, the bad and the ugly.
So my answer to anyone who is debating when to tell their child about their adoption is simple. Don’t put it off; yet don’t tell them too young. Make sure your child is ready and can comprehend what it means to be adopted, “The Chosen One” as I call us. I’m sure there are some circumstances that will prevail and allow you to obtain the answer you need to this question. Every adoption is different. I will tell you that living without understanding or even being able to get the full story will absolutely drive you crazy. It causes depression, anxiety, trust issues and can make you isolate yourself from others mainly because you are afraid. In that brief moment one September day in 1992, my life changed forever. Everything I knew to be true felt like someone erased my past and made me feel like I had lived a lie. Even today, I am scared to get close to people because I am afraid that I will wake up one day and everything I believe to be true will be gone. I’m scared to death to let new people in and when I do I am a nervous wreck. I don’t necessarily feel rejected maybe a little abandoned by the truth. So I spend my time waiting for people to leave. After all, People always leave.
I appreciate the fact that a lot of my friends ask me about adoption and how to handle their situation. My answers may not be the ones you are looking for but this is the truth from the life I have lived, all I can be is honest and tell you how this affected me over the years. Protect your little ones, love them and always be honest with them. One day they will appreciate your honesty and know you have protected them and loved them with your whole heart. After all, it’s not the bloodline you come from that makes you a part of the family. It’s LOVE. ~Tracy~
No comments:
Post a Comment
Your message has been received. Please allow 24 hours for moderation.