About Cheerio

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In general I am a cheery and energetic person. But I am enshrouded in a cloak of iron. That cloak is the weight of greiving my son, whom I've lost to adoption.

Saturday, November 24, 2012

the Wishbone

The Wishbone

For me Thanksgiving has not been a happy holiday for a very long time.  How could I be happy?  It is only a month after my son’s birthday and everyone in the country is talking about family traditions, family recipes, family this, and family that.  My heart just hurts for the family I gave away – and how much I miss him.

This year I keep thinking about that tradition of breaking the wishbone. 

If a turkey was on your Thanksgiving table perhaps you kept the wishbone aside.

Do you remember the ‘rules?’
First is to not break the wishbone while carving the turkey.
After removing the wishbone from the bird clean it and sit it aside to dry.
You can’t really break it until the bone has dried, so you wait.

Finally the day comes when you each hold an end of the wishbone and pull. 
Whoever gets the larger end wins – and they get to make a wish! 

I remember a few times as a kid breaking the wishbone with my older sister.

This year I was pondering this whole practice, and thinking about how unlucky it is from the wishbone’s point of view. Something in my little head snapped as I realized that adoptees are usually the wishbone in the whole mess of adoption.

I kept thinking of my son and how I hope to hear from him, allthewhile realizing all the reasons of why I probably won’t.

I can’t imagine how ‘pulled’ he may be feeling right now
– pulled by the wishes of his adoptive family
– pulled by the hopes from his original family

I don’t want to hurt him,
So I passively? Fearfully? Hopefully? Almost patiently? wait

If/when he reaches out and there is a chance for reunion,
I don’t want to be party to him being torn, or splintered
–as if it is competition between me and his aparents 

Yes, I understand that the very fact he is adopted and has two sets of parents
He may already feel like he has to choose
But I don’t want it to be a pressure that comes from me,
I would not want it to become a lucky wishbone pull with him in the middle
If his aparents feel that way, I would have to let go of ‘my end’ of the wishbone,
I just don’t want to hurt him like that.


Thursday, November 15, 2012

poem: Through the window

Through the window


I watch two mourning doves
sit in the tree far apart
'tis the cold of winter
it nearly breaks my heart

Would it be too hard for them
to sit upon the same branch
and keep each other warm
perhaps reduce  the draft

My son, not far away
won't turn to look at me
even though we are  perched
both here in this same tree

Hawk circles overhead
as shadow of its wings
pass over the two of us
alone and solitary

The shrill of her call pierces
through the cold and silent air
of her presence and danger
we are well aware

 Must we stay so far apart
as we sit up in this tree?
Which of us will be her prey
My son? No, let it be me.