Mother.. I know she was married and had two children with her husband when I happened. I am grateful she chose that alternative rather then one that would not have allowed me to exist. I was told when I was born she refused to look at me, I was never held. She must have had a difficult life. My father was away from home working, I was told he was married to and I was an 'accident'. It must have been lonely, hard to be away from family. I am not sure of their relationship and do not really trust much of what has been told to me over the years.
I do not remember a great deal of my first years, I was very young when it was decided that I needed a 'normal' home and people came to have me removed to a better environment. Memories are vague, I remember certain smells, having my hair brushed, stories, and his singing. There were long walks and many animals, I remember Grandfather;s hand, his patience, I remember hugs. We prayed together and he taught me to love Mother Earth, to respect all relations. He showed me the stars and how to find home, he taught me how to be with animals and ride a horse, he taught me how to recognize the smell of rain coming and how to be quiet and like it. He taught me the difference between a gift and a loan. He taught me how to love. I was safe and secure.
When I had to leave he made me an amulet and filled it with the smell of the trees, home. I slept with that for years. I remember watching him fade away from the window of a car on my way to a new home until he grew too small to see any longer. We traveled for days before i came to the new place with the new people who were my new family. the place smelled funny.
My first experience with their church nearly frightened me to death. I went with the family to a building where people go inside to pray. The singing was OK. They got up and down a lot, but then everyone went to the front of the place to 'eat the body and drink the blood of the man they worshiped! Well I was young and frankly it didn look like they had much left, I wondered who they would eat next, so I ran. I guess I didn't make a real good impression on people.
I tried to fit in. My hair was cut and permed, my clothes were changed and burned. I tried to fit in with everyone, worked hard at that. Every night after I went to be I would fight hard not to cry until the house got quiet. I would cry then and open my window, hang out as far as I could and try and make someone hear me. I would tell my Grandfather about the day and try very hard to call for my father to come and take me back home. I had this idea that if he came then I would be allowed to go home.
I tried to pray, to remember all that I knew. School was tough. I was placed on the floor int the hallway because my hands are too dark. I'm light enough to pass for white, but my hands have dark knuckles so they said that meant i was smoking. Back at home I scrubbed my hands with bleach until they bled... trying to make them lighter. Didn't work.
I tried to walk home at 6 or 7, made it 45 miles, an elderly couple found me on the road, when I accepted a ride they took me back.
Funny thing, years go by and we grow. When I was old enough I tried to go to college. I was sent for the testing, but then told to come back home before signing up for classes. I was informed that the only reason I had been allowed to take the tests was that the folks believed I'd fail. When I passed and was accepted at the university they told me 'no'. I was later told to get out when I disagreed with the family. I had two bags and twenty bucks and walked away... Later I did try and go to college on my own, worked three jobs and managed a couple semesters.
I met a man, got married, and moved to Ontario. It was not a good relationship, a lot of violence and abuse. I was alone. Whey my second son was born my husband was in the waiting room with one of his 'female' friends. Later I found a strange woman's underwear in my bedroom, saw him kissing the neighbors' daughter, at that point I gave up. My youngest son was born four months early, I was separated from my husband by then and trying to move back to the states. He lost his temper when I asked him not to drive the boys while drunk. He nearly ripped all my clothes off and threw me over the hood of the car. Later my baby and me were flown by air ambulance to London. Baby is 24now.
I never tried to go back and find my birth family until my youngest son was almost 18. It's difficult going back where you walked as a child. I get confused sometimes and unsure which direction to look. Old fears come back, old pain too. I remember like it was yesterday what if felt like to be that small person hanging out a window crying, trying to get some one to come and take me home... I did some tracing and tracking, but not enough. I am after all an orphan, still. But being there is the only time I feel some peace. I miss the hills, the land...
My adopted family have never been around much, never visited like a normal family would. I mean if I was ill or nearly dieing there was no one who would come. They did try a little with the boys. We visited her, she was very upset at the idea of me trying to find family. We made peace with each other, came to a new understanding. A year later she was hurt, and relative in that family have completely excluded me, she disappeared from the hospital... months later a nurse contacted me, she'd been moved to another state. I tried to visit her but she has lost everything she cared about and cries every time she sees me. I can't fix her life, what happened the way she wants, so I stopped.
My son desperately wants to know more of his roots so I try. I usually tel him - I don;t have roots, but I do have branches. I am not very good at connecting with people though, not even my own people.
Sometimes I ache to know more, to have the connection with family, clan, tribe. I still cry, the pain runs deep... it is the kind of tears that come from deep within, your spirit.
I do OK, mostly.
later....
