I read about adoptees who aren’t angry. They don’t blame their parents for the decisions they made, they are at peace. I wish I were one of them.
Instead I boil inside. I lie awake, next to my husband, tossing and turning. The loss bubbles up and consumes me. I cannot rest!
The images flash through my head, my father’s family at a wedding, laughing and dancing. My mother kissing her grandson, my father cleaning the pool for his teenage children to swim in. I’m not in any of these pictures, and I never will be.
In my mind, I’m part of their family. In their mind it’s not the case. They gave me away, and they meant it. They can’t understand why I can’t just accept it, and be happy with what I have.
I don’t know why I can’t either. What is the secret of those happy adoptees? When i ask, no one can tell me. They just choose to be happy. Does that mean I choose to be hurt?
Four years post reunion. Still an outcast.
