When my daughter cries at night because she misses Laura....
when she asks me why her birth father doesn't want to know her....
when she wonders what life would be like if she lived with her brother and cousins rather than here with just the dog for a pretend sibling...
when she worries that Laura and I will have a fight and she'll have to choose between us...
when she asks me if it's really OK that she says she loves Laura...
when she feels guilty because we have more money than Laura....
I wonder about this whole open adoption thing.
Wouldn't it be easier if we didn't have to deal with this? Wouldn't it be simpler if we said "we are your parents" and left it at that? Isn't this all just more confusion?
And then I remember that "not dealing with it" isn't an option. Even if we'd never reached out to Laura, even if our only connection to her was the picture from our first meeting, before Eve was born, even if we'd continued to use the agency as a go-between, Laura would still be part of our lives, and Eve would still be asking questions. She might not be asking us - she might realize we didn't want to hear. Eve is very good at figuring out what the adults want from her. She's a rule-follower. If she thought talking about Laura was against the rules, she wouldn't talk about Laura - but she'd still be asking, somewhere deep inside.
I was going to say that we set our feet on this road when we made direct contact with Laura 8 years ago, but then I realized that Eve could just as easily have asked to be in touch with her through the agency, once she was old enough to realize what we were doing and to read the letters they passed on to us.
Not dealing with it wasn't an option. We had to be open to Eve's questions, and once she started asking to see Laura, we had to respond. If we hadn't done our best to make that happen, Eve would have been deeply, abidingly furious with us.
Now, when I start to feel overwhelmed by the complexity and grief and conversations, I remember what the options really were, and I am grateful that we are not facing the onset of adolescence with a child who feels betrayed and alienated, who believes that we are denying her a piece of herself. As hard as it is to hear what she's saying, it would be much, much worse if she couldn't say it.
In the end, we had no choice. This was what we had to do for our daughter, because she is our daughter, and we are her real parents, and we will not cut the baby in half.
Friday, February 3, 2012
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Not For Everyone
~ by Jay
I am passionate about hospice care because I know it works.
One of my colleagues is speaking to our learning group.
When we knew my father was dying, we took him to my house. He was there for three weeks - in a hospital bed in our living room - and the family took turns sitting with him. In that last day, we all gathered in a circle around his bed. He'd been unresponsive for a long time, but there was one moment when he opened his eyes and looked at us - and he saw us. He knew we were there. He knew we loved him. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes again, and he died a few hours later. That's the way it should be.
The way it should be.
I don't know about that.
My father died on the driveway. He was not surrounded by his family; he was about to get into the car to go to work, as he had on thousands of other mornings. He wore a coat and tie, and his stethoscope was in his pocket. He ate breakfast, read the paper, kissed my mother, told her to have a good day, and then he went out the back door and died.
Later that day, I heard from my mother and my brother that Dad had been weaker and more tired for a while; he'd taken a week off work and spent much of it sleeping, which wasn't like him. I'd seen him last a month earlier, and some time in between, it was clear, something had happened. My internist brain tells me he probably had a heart attack and developed congestive heart failure. My daughter's heart tells me that my father knew that, and chose to ignore it, just as he knew that his legs wouldn't really hold him, and his hands were growing weaker, and everything was becoming more difficult.
My mother, the day he died, said "You know, I don't think he could have gone on any longer the way things were". I know she's right. And I also know that he could not have tolerated opening his eyes to see his entire family gathered around his bed. The closest we ever came to that was the day after Dad had surgery, two years before he died, and my brother and I were with him in the hospital room. I don't know what was harder - seeing my father weak and in pain, or listening to him apologize to us for what he'd "put us through". Dad never wanted anyone - especially his kids - to know he was suffering.
Death is part of life's journey. Those of us who work in hospice think we know what a "good death" is, and that's what my colleague was describing. For that family, it was a good death. For my father, it would have been torture. Dad had the death he needed. I am also passionate about hospice, and I know how much we can do for patients and families, but I also know that it's not for everyone.
Dad, you always wore a tie when you went to the hospital, and I know how important it was that you were well-dressed for that last journey. I miss you every day, but I'm glad you went your own way.
One of my colleagues is speaking to our learning group.
When we knew my father was dying, we took him to my house. He was there for three weeks - in a hospital bed in our living room - and the family took turns sitting with him. In that last day, we all gathered in a circle around his bed. He'd been unresponsive for a long time, but there was one moment when he opened his eyes and looked at us - and he saw us. He knew we were there. He knew we loved him. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes again, and he died a few hours later. That's the way it should be.
The way it should be.
I don't know about that.
My father died on the driveway. He was not surrounded by his family; he was about to get into the car to go to work, as he had on thousands of other mornings. He wore a coat and tie, and his stethoscope was in his pocket. He ate breakfast, read the paper, kissed my mother, told her to have a good day, and then he went out the back door and died.
Later that day, I heard from my mother and my brother that Dad had been weaker and more tired for a while; he'd taken a week off work and spent much of it sleeping, which wasn't like him. I'd seen him last a month earlier, and some time in between, it was clear, something had happened. My internist brain tells me he probably had a heart attack and developed congestive heart failure. My daughter's heart tells me that my father knew that, and chose to ignore it, just as he knew that his legs wouldn't really hold him, and his hands were growing weaker, and everything was becoming more difficult.
My mother, the day he died, said "You know, I don't think he could have gone on any longer the way things were". I know she's right. And I also know that he could not have tolerated opening his eyes to see his entire family gathered around his bed. The closest we ever came to that was the day after Dad had surgery, two years before he died, and my brother and I were with him in the hospital room. I don't know what was harder - seeing my father weak and in pain, or listening to him apologize to us for what he'd "put us through". Dad never wanted anyone - especially his kids - to know he was suffering.
Death is part of life's journey. Those of us who work in hospice think we know what a "good death" is, and that's what my colleague was describing. For that family, it was a good death. For my father, it would have been torture. Dad had the death he needed. I am also passionate about hospice, and I know how much we can do for patients and families, but I also know that it's not for everyone.
Dad, you always wore a tie when you went to the hospital, and I know how important it was that you were well-dressed for that last journey. I miss you every day, but I'm glad you went your own way.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
What's Your Passion?
I found this at my friend Delaine's blog - it sounded like a nice way to spend a little time on this chilly January evening.
What puts a smile on your face?
Following what makes you truly happy is a wonderful way to figuring out what you were put on Earth for. Think about something that you do or that perhaps you used to do that brings you total happiness!
Singing in groups; being with real friends; cooking and eating good food; spending time with my daughter.
What do you find easy?
What we find easy for us to do, will be related to what we are passionate about. It’s very hard to hate something that is very easy for us!
It's easy for me to talk in front of groups, to see themes and connections in stories and conversations, to understand people's emotional states, to gather information and figure out how to use it.
What sparks your creativity?
Think about something in your life where you seem to always expand its horizon, always coming up with new, fun, and exciting ideas relating to that subject. Whatever makes you creative is something that you are passionate about.
I get creative about arranging comfortable spaces, about making new connections, both personal and intellectual, about implementing ideas that excite me, about teaching.
What would you do for free?
Think about something that you would just love to do, even if you were not getting paid. Think about something that you look forward to do, something that you wish you could do all the time.
I would write and talk about communication and medical care for free (the way I do already!). I would do my actual job for free, which is a blessing. I would teach for free. I would sing.
What do you like to talk about?
Most of the time, we aren’t aware of this. A good way to figure this out properly, is to ask your friends. Ask them what they believe you like to talk about the most, what topic makes your eyes brighten up, and changes your entire behaviour.
Communication, adoption, family, the way medicine should be practiced.
What makes you unafraid of failure?
When you do what you are passionate about, you have total confidence in your abilities. This makes you not worry about failing, because in your mind, how can you fail when you do what you love?
I can't say there's anything that makes me unafraid of failure - I'm always a little afraid - but I will risk failure to protect patients.
What would you regret not having tried?
If you were at the end of your life, what would you regret not having pursued? What would you have liked to do, that you didn’t get a chance to?
I'd like to really immerse myself in studying American culture. I've already been to college, and I loved it, but I'd like to go back and just take the courses I want to take - all of them. Without the dormitory beds or cafeteria food.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Conversations With My Daughter
~ by Jay
Nope. She's your mother and you're her daughter. That's the truth, and I'm sure it will mean a lot to her that you chose those necklaces.
Since I won't be there when she opens it, can we take a picture so she knows I have the other one?
Sure.
And it's really ok?
Honey, one thing you never have to worry about is how I feel about your relationship with Laura. I know you have two moms, and that's fine. I get to have you around all the time, and I know I'm your mother, too. It's not your job to take care of how I feel. That's my job. You take care of how you feel - and if you ever need to talk to me about that, you know I'm here.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Lists
~ by Jay
I don't like lists.
Well, that's not entirely true. Back when Sam and I lived apart, I had a little ritual. When I was going to visit him, I would write out a travel list - what would be packed in the suitcase and what would go in my carry-on. My rule was that I couldn't start the list until 48 hours before the flight. Once I put pen to paper (usually in my med-school notebook, during class), the official countdown started and I would allow myself to think about seeing Sam again.
We also have a shopping list on the fridge, like so many other people. I buy magnetic memo pads at Target and we all add to the list when we use something up. My mother used to keep such a list, also on the fridge. That's the only list I remember from childhood.
My mother-in-law, on the other hand, is the Queen of the Lists. She keeps a shopping list on the fridge, too, along with the menus for the week (lunch and dinner), and another list with the contents of the freezer. When Sam was a child, his mother maintained a Master List for each kind of trip the family took: 3, 5 and 7-day backpacking trips; weekend canoe trips; long car-camping trips. We helped them move once, about 20 years ago, and I commiserated with her about how frustrating it can be to cook meals when you've depleted your supplies and don't want to buy more. Oh, no, she said, it was fine. "I've made a list of everything remaining in the pantry and in the freezer, and I've written out menus for the next two weeks. I organized them so I know what utensils and pots I'll need for each meal, and when I've used each piece for the last time, I'll pack it". O-kay, then.
So, of course, they all had Christmas lists. Kids and parents alike. Now, in my family we didn't do Christmas, and we didn't write out Chanukah lists. I tried giving my parents a birthday wish list once and my father said "presents aren't any fun if they're not surprises". My childhood Chanukahs and birthdays were full of surprises, and more often than not, my mother got it right. By the time I was 12 or 13, I realized how much fun it was to figure out just the right gift, and watch someone open a present they really loved - and it was more fun when it was a surprise.
The first year I went home with Sam for Christmas, there were a few "Santa" presents that were surprises - funny socks or paperback books - but everything else was something from their lists. I hadn't submitted mine, but Sam had clued them in and I liked my gifts, especially the Chinese cookbook I still use. We suspended "big gifts" to the adults when Eve and her cousins came along, but for the intervening 15 years I struggled to come up with a list. I'm an grown-up. I earn a very good salary. When I want something, I mostly go out and buy it - unless it's really expensive, and then it's too expensive to ask my in-laws to buy me for Christmas or Chanukah. When I finally got my ears pierced at age 30, that made it easier - everyone could give me earrings - but the whole thing drove me nuts. I wanted to ask them to just think creatively a little bit. I wanted a surprise.
Now I have an 11-year-old daughter who spends weeks writing out a carefully researched Holiday Wish List, neatly annotated with little stars to point out the favorite items, and including a helpful guide to her current clothing and shoe sizes on the back. Yesterday I received an Email from one of our nieces telling me that she'd love a gift card to a local equestrian supply shop (and never mind that everyone assumes that I'm the one who does all the present-shopping, even for Sam's relatives). My mother-in-law called over the weekend to ask me to send her Eve's list via Email; she plans to divide it up with Sam's sister so there aren't any duplications. That's not a wish list, it's a shopping list - or an order sheet. It's bad enough that we're stuck with this orgy of materialism. If we take the surprise out of it, we can't even have the joy of giving to fall back on.
And yes, I know that if you don't give people a list, you might end up with a present you don't like. You know what? I don't care. How hard is it to smile and appreciate the thought and effort - and then either return it, or give it to someone who will enjoy it (and who is a stranger to the person who gave it to you)? It's not such a bad thing to get some practice at appreciating what you are given, and valuing the relationship over the object.
My mother-in-law offered to call my mother and make sure they don't buy the same items off Eve's list. I politely declined. My mother hasn't seen Eve's list. I've talked with her a few times and she's already wrapped four or five things she picked out especially for her beloved granddaughter - and won't Eve be surprised.
Well, that's not entirely true. Back when Sam and I lived apart, I had a little ritual. When I was going to visit him, I would write out a travel list - what would be packed in the suitcase and what would go in my carry-on. My rule was that I couldn't start the list until 48 hours before the flight. Once I put pen to paper (usually in my med-school notebook, during class), the official countdown started and I would allow myself to think about seeing Sam again.
We also have a shopping list on the fridge, like so many other people. I buy magnetic memo pads at Target and we all add to the list when we use something up. My mother used to keep such a list, also on the fridge. That's the only list I remember from childhood.
My mother-in-law, on the other hand, is the Queen of the Lists. She keeps a shopping list on the fridge, too, along with the menus for the week (lunch and dinner), and another list with the contents of the freezer. When Sam was a child, his mother maintained a Master List for each kind of trip the family took: 3, 5 and 7-day backpacking trips; weekend canoe trips; long car-camping trips. We helped them move once, about 20 years ago, and I commiserated with her about how frustrating it can be to cook meals when you've depleted your supplies and don't want to buy more. Oh, no, she said, it was fine. "I've made a list of everything remaining in the pantry and in the freezer, and I've written out menus for the next two weeks. I organized them so I know what utensils and pots I'll need for each meal, and when I've used each piece for the last time, I'll pack it". O-kay, then.
So, of course, they all had Christmas lists. Kids and parents alike. Now, in my family we didn't do Christmas, and we didn't write out Chanukah lists. I tried giving my parents a birthday wish list once and my father said "presents aren't any fun if they're not surprises". My childhood Chanukahs and birthdays were full of surprises, and more often than not, my mother got it right. By the time I was 12 or 13, I realized how much fun it was to figure out just the right gift, and watch someone open a present they really loved - and it was more fun when it was a surprise.
The first year I went home with Sam for Christmas, there were a few "Santa" presents that were surprises - funny socks or paperback books - but everything else was something from their lists. I hadn't submitted mine, but Sam had clued them in and I liked my gifts, especially the Chinese cookbook I still use. We suspended "big gifts" to the adults when Eve and her cousins came along, but for the intervening 15 years I struggled to come up with a list. I'm an grown-up. I earn a very good salary. When I want something, I mostly go out and buy it - unless it's really expensive, and then it's too expensive to ask my in-laws to buy me for Christmas or Chanukah. When I finally got my ears pierced at age 30, that made it easier - everyone could give me earrings - but the whole thing drove me nuts. I wanted to ask them to just think creatively a little bit. I wanted a surprise.
Now I have an 11-year-old daughter who spends weeks writing out a carefully researched Holiday Wish List, neatly annotated with little stars to point out the favorite items, and including a helpful guide to her current clothing and shoe sizes on the back. Yesterday I received an Email from one of our nieces telling me that she'd love a gift card to a local equestrian supply shop (and never mind that everyone assumes that I'm the one who does all the present-shopping, even for Sam's relatives). My mother-in-law called over the weekend to ask me to send her Eve's list via Email; she plans to divide it up with Sam's sister so there aren't any duplications. That's not a wish list, it's a shopping list - or an order sheet. It's bad enough that we're stuck with this orgy of materialism. If we take the surprise out of it, we can't even have the joy of giving to fall back on.
And yes, I know that if you don't give people a list, you might end up with a present you don't like. You know what? I don't care. How hard is it to smile and appreciate the thought and effort - and then either return it, or give it to someone who will enjoy it (and who is a stranger to the person who gave it to you)? It's not such a bad thing to get some practice at appreciating what you are given, and valuing the relationship over the object.
My mother-in-law offered to call my mother and make sure they don't buy the same items off Eve's list. I politely declined. My mother hasn't seen Eve's list. I've talked with her a few times and she's already wrapped four or five things she picked out especially for her beloved granddaughter - and won't Eve be surprised.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Conversations With My Daughter
~ by Jay
Was Daddy mad when you got married and didn't change your name?
Nope. He considered changing his, since his last name is so common, but decided to just leave it be.
You could have combined them.
I know, but I don't like the way they sound together. We thought about that when you were born - we thought about giving you my last name, or combining them in some way, but we decided to do what people would expect so that you didn't have to explain it.
I like that my first name comes from Laura's family and my middle name is from your family and my last name is from Daddy's family. Something from everywhere.
Yup.
When I get married, I'm going to change my name. I want to have the same name as my husband.
Well, maybe he'll change his.
Or maybe we'll make up a new one. But I want to feel like part of his family.
Nope. He considered changing his, since his last name is so common, but decided to just leave it be.
You could have combined them.
I know, but I don't like the way they sound together. We thought about that when you were born - we thought about giving you my last name, or combining them in some way, but we decided to do what people would expect so that you didn't have to explain it.
I like that my first name comes from Laura's family and my middle name is from your family and my last name is from Daddy's family. Something from everywhere.
Yup.
When I get married, I'm going to change my name. I want to have the same name as my husband.
Well, maybe he'll change his.
Or maybe we'll make up a new one. But I want to feel like part of his family.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Thanksgiving
~ by Jay
I didn't do gratitude posting this year, and I didn't participate in NaBloPoMo. I considered both, but then I blinked and it was November 15th.
I am grateful for those of you who still read the occasional posts I still write, and for the amazing, remarkable gift of being off-call the entire holiday weekend. Whether you're doing the US turkey-day thing or not, I hope this has been a day of peace for you and yours.
I am grateful for those of you who still read the occasional posts I still write, and for the amazing, remarkable gift of being off-call the entire holiday weekend. Whether you're doing the US turkey-day thing or not, I hope this has been a day of peace for you and yours.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
