The Mommy Hole (Poetry)

The Mommy Hole (Poetry)

I Started out as a tiny little seed
Not knowing there would be adults I would need.
I grew and grew as a little baby girl
Eventually having hair that she was supposed to curl.

When I was born, she gave me away
Why was it then that she chose not to stay?
That was a pain I would never forget
Hoping that she hadn’t really left.

In my soul she left a “mommy hole”
Not knowing that her decision would forever affect my soul
I looked for her left and looked for her right
But something also never felt right.
This hole was gaping, and I just couldn’t see
What I could’ve possibly done to make her leave me?
The hole would be filled with all things bad
Drugs, alcohol, razors and belts were now what I had.

My mom and dad there was nothing they could do
Because this was a struggle between only two.

My dream was to find her and to patch that awful wound.
But that wouldn’t happen anytime soon.
I tried to find her for the answers I needed.
My heart was scared, and warnings weren’t heeded.

The day finally came when we would meet face-to-face.
Please dear birth mom doesn’t do it twice
The answers were given and not what I wanted.
And now, as an adult, I would forever be haunted.

She didn’t love me like everyone said she did
How could you possibly hate you overgrown kid?
The cold blew over me and froze my beating heart
Making it difficult for anyone to soften that which had hardened.

And today I sit before you as a 43-year-old adult child
Still wanting and needing to be softened and nowhere near meek and mild.
You gave me life and that’s all you did
But you still have love waiting for you by your lost adult kid.

#thispuzzledlife

What December 4th Means To Me…..

What December 4th Means To Me…..

” Today, on her birthday, I am teary eyed about the other woman

who also remembers that today, 43 years ago, she gave life

to a child that is calling me “Momma.”

—Unknown

I must admit that my birthdays for a long time have carried with them a dark cloud. As a child, I remembered them being like most kids’ birthdays. Cake, ice cream, presents and if you were lucky a party at McDonald’s complete with a tour to the store’s freezer just to find out that it was cold. A paper birthday hat and the playground equipment that was fun only in spring or fall seasons because you didn’t dare play on it in during the humid summers of the Deep South for fear of being burned alive by the stifling hot metal. The consequences of being a child playing on metal playground equipment would remind you that next time maybe you shouldn’t.

In my teen years, birthdays usually consisted of The Petal Lady Panther Basketball Classic. Softball season would’ve ended by now and we were well into our basketball season. There were plenty of local “social parties” complete with a bonfire, alcohol and loud country music. I was also busy trying to fill an emptiness in myself that I couldn’t identify. I just knew that emotionally I hurt. I began treating that hurt with any substance or behavior that seem to soothe that pain even a little bit. Little did I know that I was already in the death grip of addiction by the time I graduated high school. The combination of both the physical and mental stress of addiction for a mere 4 years would take the dream of playing college ball of any kind away.

As a late teen and early adulthood, I wouldn’t only see the dichotomy in a person’s behavior. I would often times feel the shift in his behavior before it actually happened. It was also on some of those same scary nights that my birthday December 4th would fall. Apparently, there was an unwritten rule about what men, specifically my ex-husband, were entitled to on any day but celebrations of any kind were a guarantee.

jesus and baby

This “emptiness” was now identified as a void. And the void was the one thing that has haunted me daily since middle school….my adoption. The abusers in my life have always made sure that this particular topic’s wounding got a little deeper with their ability to hurt without touching. Each year that passes it makes this time of the year just a little bit more painful. I’ve always seemed in some way to seek out the love and acceptance of my birth mom that I’ll never receive. She, unfortunately, does not have it to give to me to satisfy that insatiable need that never seems to be filled.

In the process of searching, finding and being rejected again and years of abuse I’ve pretty much walled my heart off to most people including close friends and family. Each year it gnaws away at me until the thought of getting close to someone scares me so bad that I reach out and destroy that relationship. Now In my 40’s I walk around with such a thick and, at times, aggressive coat of armor that I run off a lot of people before they get a chance to really know me past my silly sense of humor. Several people know that my birthday is off limits in regards to contacting me. Social media is turned off and my phone is put on “Do Not Disturb” making it virtually impossible to contact me unless you’re here in person. Very grumpy I can be on this the one of the heaviest days of grieving for me all year long.

Coach has the uncanny ability to get me to do  “therapeutic assignments” that can have me stomping around like a toddler who was given the wrong colored cup. I have the ability to act just like that when I think my unhealthy ideas are much better and/or more fun. This birthday would be different though. I had to be receptive to her ideas and be trusting enough in her as a person and as a professional for her guidance to be remotely acknowledged on this topic. And by the end of the day after coach stirred the fairy dust and a few of my own tears fell, for the first time in many years when the sun went down my smile didn’t. It was genuine happiness and…..well….it was different but it was nice.

I guess what made the day even more special was celebrating my birthday with our oldest son, Marshall who turned 7 years old yesterday. I never understood how my birth mom felt. I heard the painful words she said to me. But when I laid eyes on our beautiful first born, I’m glad that I don’t know what it’s like to be her. Because I have two beautiful little superhero, “man cub” children that call me Mom and I get to call them Sons.

I can still say with much assurance that the impact my adoption has had on my life has been tremendous in both good and bad ways. There are many tears left to cry on this topic. And much more emotional healing that needs to occur because coach does more than blows a whistle…..she plants seeds.

#thispuzzledlife

And Then I Saw Her…..

And Then I Saw Her….

“I instinctually began as a wee life longing for the warmth and protection of my birth mother to survive. The umbilical cord was physically severed, but the esoteric spiritual connection that bound me to my birth mother was heightened by our unnatural separation.”

—Unknown

I clicked as I randomly do on Facebook looking for my biological brothers since losing contact with them a several years ago.  Yay!!! I found two of them.  I begin looking through their pictures seeing what their lives had evolved.  We all looked older for sure.  We had mostly more gray hair, added weight and children.  I begin looking for my only full biological brother throughout the pictures and friends lists.  I finally saw a picture of him and instantly felt my heart and stomach become full of emotion.  Oh my God Dana quit being so sappy! I hear very suddenly from very close to me.  I choked it back thinking…ok that was childish.  And then I saw her……

I saw pictures of my birth mom and I froze.  My heart seemed to just stop and for a moment nothing existed not even me.  I felt a wave of hot and cold go from head to toe.  I felt nausea and  a sudden dump of bubbling acid in my stomach.  And soon the mixture of emotions began to drip faster and faster out of my eyes until now there was a continual stream of tears that followed my jaw line down to my chin before quickly dripping into my lap.  I didn’t think I felt anything but someone did and it was incredibly painful.  The children that long for her also fear her.  The fear that again rejection and subsequent separation would be felt in its entirety.

The more I looked through the pictures the more I was getting a good look at myself only 16 years my senior.  I crumbled seeing parts of my identity by way of genetic code form a picture similar to myself.  I wanted to run to her.  I wanted to reach out and say, “Mom it’s me, Dana!  Meet my family.  Love me PLEASE!”  No sooner did the thought happen that another quickly followed, “Run she’s dangerous!! No I want to stay!  Don’t take me away! I want to stay!”  My heart breaks as the little baby who’s incessant crying ceases, if only for seconds, until the pain of the separation is felt once more at full force.

My chest instantly feels with pain and I fear that I might vomit.  My brain is on complete overdrive.  I begin to panic.  I needed to physically go.  I didn’t know where. I just had to go.  My back needing another surgery and in much pain made it impossible to get up and anywhere.  Internal conversations were not exactly conversations.  They were orders being barked in order to keep everyone safe.  WHAT THE HELL IS THIS???!!!!  GET THAT BABY AND RUN! LOCK THIS SHIT DOWN NOW! GET THOSE KIDS TO SAFETY!!! Even in her rage against us all her voice began to shake.

There they were almost on cue.  The faces, the voices, the monsters had come back to say, I wouldn’t have kept you either!  No wonder she didn’t want you.  She knew you were crazy that’s why.  You’re trash and always will be.  Just think, Dana, she was the one that gave you away.  Even the angry one was for once speechless.  Tears began to slowly fall from her angry and very deeply hurt eyes as well.

The confusion of how I think I must feel versus how I actually feel has become an all out war.  There are no answers only guilt and shame.  The fear I had been feeling about something bad going to happen was now in my face.  And like a wall of water I slowly begin to drown in my own red tears.  I begin fiercely dog paddling to stay afloat as I do most times.  But this pain is unlike any other.  This colicky adult child hungers and cries for the very thing that can soothe just out of reach.  As I dry tears that run red, I also witness those of a child who can’t be comforted.  And I’m quickly reminded…Remember the last time you cried about this you were made fun of and weren’t heard.  We all got hurt.  

“A baby is born with a need to be loved—and never outgrows it.”

—Unknown

#thispuzzledlife