Letting Go of the Perfect Holiday

Tags

Acceptance, adoption, Christmas, expectations, families, gifts, Nostalgia

By: Emily Shirley

We have all seen the Folgers commercial where the big brother comes home from college and starts making coffee. As the coffee smell reaches upstairs, the family comes down to greet him. They are all smiles in the perfectly decorated home with this perfect holiday moment of love all around and… well, perfection.

In other Christmas commercials, the adult children with their perfect families drive up, all smiles and carrying gifts. The food somehow magically appeared without anyone shopping for days, standing on their feet preparing for hours, and stressing over.

I have been guilty of trying to have the holiday depicted in commercials. But I have decided to be honest with myself this year. Those commercials were made up by someone, and many people are doing what I used to do, pretending to have their own version of a ‘perfect Christmas’ because others tell them this is how this season and Christmas Day is supposed to be.

It’s media like the commercials that creates an unrealistic expectation for holiday perfection, that hijacks the moments we could be having with others, or even spending the day alone. And it is this kind of emotional feed that makes us think we have fallen short if our Christmas doesn’t look like the commercials. We get upset with our adult children for not being what the commercials have told us they should be. And what about those people whose lives have changed, and they no longer fit the mold of the families in the commercials. What about the single parents, or those that have lost their spouse, or even children, due to death.

Many older parents are feeling left out of their adult children’s lives at this time of the year. Perhaps these adult children are behaving in ways the parents don’t understand. This can happen when we have certain unrealistic expectations that are not met by someone else. The more likely explanation for their not involving their parents more than they do is that they are working very hard to have their own version of a ‘perfect’ holiday.

We think of Christmas as the season dedicated to everything merry and bright. But let’s face it. Sometimes, it can also be one of the most stressful times of the year. Most of us want a little holiday magic, whether it’s conscious or unconscious. What if the magic happens in the simple moments that we often miss because of our heightened expectations causing this to be a stressful time of the year?  One of the first things we can do is admit that Christmas will never be perfect, or like any of the commercials. They never have been, and they never will be.

We can give ourselves credit for all those “almost-perfect” Christmases that we provided for our children, and others. Now, we can enjoy seeing others having whatever version of Christmas they want for themselves, while we enjoy our own version of this holiday. We can stay home, relax, and simplify things. If decorating is too much to do every year, we can even consider taking a year or two off and just decorating every three or four years, if ever. There are no Christmas police!

The real gift we have at this stage in our life is experience that allows us to step back and accept how things are. We can relax and be grateful for what we have and think about those ‘Christmases past’ that we survived. Rather than stressing over what we must do, we can be grateful for what we don’t have to do. We should all remember the real reason-for-the-season, and beyond that, this day can be focused on young children. It is nice to be able to take it easy. We can even meet up with friends and go to a nice restaurant for dinner, and walk away from the table and not have to clean up after ourselves.

Our gift to ourselves should be to get through the next few weeks without guilt for not participating in this season the same way others are. We can let go of some of the unrealistic ‘magical thinking’ of the past. It is time to adjust our expectations and embrace our own imperfect holiday. We can practice self-care through the holidays by carving out time each day to do whatever reconnects us with ourselves. This is especially important if we are alone this time of the year. 

The magic is there. We must be willing to look for it. We can do our version of this holiday season, based on the season of our lives. The part of the Folgers commercial we should consider is relaxing with a nice cup of hot coffee, Folgers or otherwise, and breathing in that coffee smell, while we munch on store-bought cookies that someone else made. 

About Today’s Guest Contributor:

World traveler and master gardener Emily Shirley is a part time resident of Louisiana and Santa Fe, New Mexico. Writing all the while, she divides her time between two homes. Past careers include Social Services Case Worker and Director and Human Resource Manager. She is currently at work on a memoir titled And Then There Were Ten.

Join Elaine on Mondays for reflections on the writing, hiking and the outdoors, Santa Fe life, and the world as seen through adoption-colored glasses. Check out her newest novel The Hand of Ganesh. Follow adoptees Clara Jordan and Dottie Benet in their  quest to find Dottie’s birthparents. Order today from Amazon or www.pocolpress.com. And thanks for reading!

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More than a Memoir

Tags

Brother, families, memoir, Sister, Tribute

Little Brother by Sallie Bingham

“Again” is even sadder than “was” — it is the saddest word of all.”

— WILLIAM FAULKNER, The Sound and the Fury

Thus begins Sallie Bingham’s latest book, a powerful, poignant account of her younger brother Jonathan, his life and  untimely death. Part of the prestigious Louisville, Kentucky Binghams, the author depicts her family’s life, one of wealth, accomplishment and privilege. Jonathan, adored by his sister, was of a loose thread in the tapestry.

The family comprised a socialite mother, an involved-in-politics father, and five children. The children were well cared for but seemingly not as consequential as the parents’ very important lives. Jonathan was born in 1942. His father, a friend of President Franklin Roosevelt, could not be around when his third son entered the world. Writes Bingham, “The birth of a third son could not compete with the possibilities unfolding for father.” It seemed, as I read on, often moved to tears, that Jonathan became an increadingly shadowy figure, part of the family but not really.

The Binghams owned both the Louisville Courier-Journal and Louisville Times newspapers. Their modus operandi was one of high-powered achievement and forward motion. Jonathan, it seemed, couldn’t keep up. It was at Harvard, his sophomore year, that the young man’s life appeared to begin unravelling. His biographer sister describes him as becoming “destabilized.” Jonathan dropped out of Harvard. When at home, he was moody and detached. He spent hours in the basement. He had, he claimed, “invented a cure for cancer.”

Jonathan was 21 and planning a party in the barn, a Boy Scout reunion. There was no way to have lights in the barn, so he decided to do it himself, He climbed an electrical pole, grabbed the wrong wire, and was immediately electrocuted. He joined what Ms Bingham titles “the dreadful list,” close family members who’d died before reaching age fifty. The deaths, she notes, were often suicides.

Bingham gathered notes and diaries, interviewed Jonathan’s friends, and wrote Jonathan’s story as only a grief-stricken and caring relative could. She wrote it so that Jonathan’s brief time on earth would not be forgotten,

Her book Little Brother will remain with me for a long time. It is a sensitive, loving commemoration. Bingham’s story of Jonathan will resonate with any reader who has a “little brother” relative in the family, someone who is not quite connected. The memoir, in addition to being a poignant and beautifully constructed read, serves as a reminder to pay attention, to be kind, to notice.

SALLIE BINGHAM: A long and fruitful career as a writer began in 1960 with the publication of her novel, “After Such Knowledge”.  This was followed by 15 collections of short stories, novels, memoirs and a biography, as well as plays. She is an active and involved feminist, working for women’s empowerment, who founded the Kentucky Foundation for Women, which gives grants to Kentucky artists and writers who are feminists, The Sallie Bingham Archive for Women’s Papers and History at Duke University,and the Women’s Project and Productions un New York City. She lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

Join Elaine on Mondays for reflections on the writing, hiking and the outdoors, Santa Fe life, and the world as seen through adoption-colored glasses. Check out her newest novel The Hand of Ganesh. Follow adoptees Clara Jordan and Dottie Benet in their  quest to find Dottie’s birthparents. Order today from Amazon or http://www.pocolpress.com. And thanks for reading!

Oh the Places They’ll Go!

Tags

adoptee, adoption, Adoption recovery, Attitude adjustment, Dr. Seuss, families, grandchildren, independence, Online adoption community, skiing

For most of my life I pretended to be the “happy and grateful adoptee” that people wanted me to be. The tormented self-interpretation of my life abated when I published The Goodbye Baby-A Diary about Adoption. For two years, I’ve blogged about life’s challenges as viewed through “adoption colored glasses.” I’d like to announce great progress, but to be honest, the more things change, the more they stay the same. And yet, there’s a glimmer of hope…
Now that I have sons and grandchildren, relatives who are blood-connected, I look at “family” a little differently. My son, daughter-in-law and their two children recently visited me from afar, and I became re-acquainted with the children, now two and five.
The visit was rewarding, especially my granddaughter’s triumphant ski lesson, during which she rode the beginner’s chair for the first time. It was especially meaningful because her dad, my son, had learned to ski on the very same slopes and her grandmother—yours truly—taught children to ski there in the 1990s. It was a magical time. All too soon, however, the foursome packed up and left.
True to form, Edgar (the name I’ve given my nemesis), came along to taint things. Even something as good and positive as a family visit, left me with a feeling of deprivation. Enveloped in an “after the dance is over” feeling, I hated the quiet, the emptiness, the alone-ness.  Ironically, my feeling of loss threatened to obliterate the joy of the family reunion.
In the past, I might not have been able to transcend the let-down. Because of the adoption community I’ve met online, it is easier to put everything in perspective. Families, be they biologically connected or created in other ways, are life’s ultimate challenge. Much of what the grandchildren conveyed was their optimism and excitement about life. After dismissing “Edgar,” I was able to focus on the elixir of youth that those little ones embody. I was reminded of the following lines from Dr. Seuss’s childhood classic Oh the Places You’ll Go:
Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You’re off to Great Places!
You’re off and away!

You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes
You can steer yourself
any direction you choose.
You’re on your own.  And you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy who’ll decide where to go.
Dr. Seuss had it right.  Using our brains, our feet, and our “steerage” capabilities, WE are the ones who’ll decide where to go!

The world awaits them!

.

Part IV “Somewhere out there…

Tags

adoption, Adoptive Family, Birth Mother, Birthdays, families, reunion, Siblings

Part IV – “Somewhere Out There…”
I think back to the time I was living a year in LA on an academic leave. I kept driving

Birthmother/daughter reconnected. It took 32 years for mother and daughter meet again, but now they have bonded — forever.

by the exits to Burbank. It became such an obsession I finally just turned off and drove through the town. I headed up an Arts Program in Illinois and frequently did “dog and pony shows” promoting the program. I was haunted by the song from a Disney movie, the lyrics starting with “Somewhere out there…” Linda has just moved to Burbank the same year I moved to LA. She was a flutist and had her own company at the time. I was part of a panel at Northern Illinois University for our Arts Plan. Linda was playing flute in the group which played before were I was introduced. I found out she loved that song as much as I did.
I have a place I “hang out in” and have what 
I refer to as my adoptive family.

I always celebrate my birthday there. They know never to come singing “Happy Birthday” or anything like that, but each of the singers will sing my favorite song that night. A friend and I were there this one year and it was such a lovely night. As they do regularly for birthdays, there were glittery things all over the table; they sang my favorite songs, gave me a free dessert. It was all wonderful. Then here comes Richard, a very large man, saying ,”Well Pat, here’s another song for you. We just got a call for this from your daughter.” I’m thinking, my daughter doesn’t even know I’m here or anything about my so called adoptive family. I start asking questions and Richard’s reply was, “Hey, all I know is we just got this phone call; it was your daughter she she asked if we knew this song. I said yes, and she said please sing it for my Mother’s birthday. And so they did. “Somewhere out there…..

Friday:Pat’s blog marathon concludes. Of course, as adoptees and their families (both adopted and original) know, the story never really ends.

Part II – “Are you my Mother?”

Tags

adoption, adoptive parents, Birth Mother, families, reunion, Siblings

Pat’s story (con’t.) – She and Linda were apart for 32 years.
“Did you give birth to a daughter in St. Francis Hospital in Peoria, IL in March of 1959?…

Birthmother/daughter reunion – Pat knew the day would come, and it did!

Are you my Mother?” Pause, while I sit there paralyzed. She goes on. “Because if you are, I want to thank you because I’ve had a wonderful life.”
I felt I had no choice. We talked on and on and I felt like this most certainly was my child. At one point I told her I would be in California in the fall because I was part of a group that met in Ojai several times a year. She responded. “ I’ll do you one better. My Dad will be coming to St.Louis for business. I will come with him, and we can meet. It’s in two weeks.”
Oh my God…two weeks!!!!! I was teaching. My daughter and her two sons were just moving into a condo with me so she could go back to college. I decided I would do what I had to do but telling my family then would not be an option.
The appointed day I thought I would have a heart attack. My heart kept pounding like never before. What would she look like? I gave her up at birth and never ever saw her even as a new baby. What would happen? I got to the motel and knocked. She opened the door and I said, “You are beautiful”. We hugged. She explained that her parents and a nephew both came and went to St.Louis so she and I could do this reunion alone. Shortly after that another knock came. It was one of our local florists who was late in getting there. Linda had ordered a bouquet for me. We were to meet with her parents later in the day for dinner.
I took her to my office at the college; introduced her to colleagues. I remember being so excited and happy. We picked up my other daughter and dropped her off to pick up her boys. I introduced her as the person who had called but not as a half-sister or daughter. Later we met up with her adoptive parents in the motel. What I remember most was that they reminded me so much of my Mom and Dad. What I found somewhat strange was that her Dad especially kept telling me how they had taken Linda to Poland; they were of Polish heritage. Other trips and everything. I kept feeling like they were trying to prove to me they had done a great job in raising my daughter. I in turn was constantly thanking them for what they had done. It was just very strange.
We went to dinner with plans for Linda and I to drive the 30 miles to my parents’ home. I had called earlier and said that it was actually Linda, not Michelle, but that she’d like to meet them. So much later, past my parents’ bedtime, we got there. We talked briefly and Mom told me to take Linda back to the “telly room” as they called it and show her the collection. Mom had a bulletin board where she posted all the grandchildren’s pictures. We did that. As we prepared to leave both my Mom and Dad gave her a big hug. I took her on a quick drive through town and then back to the motel. We promised to stay in touch, and we did.

Tomorrow: Part III- The Birthday Party

Babies are not a Business

Tags

Adoption "industry", adoptive parents, babies, birthmother, families, transactions

Guest Post by Monika Zimmerman

Com·mod·i·fy
transitive verb \kə-ˈmä-də-ˌfī\ to turn (as an intrinsic value or a work of art) into a commodity (Source: Merriam-Webster Online dictionary – http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/commodify)

Children give our lives meaning

Commodification is the transformation of goods and services, as well as ideas or other entities that normally may not be considered goods,[1] into a commodity. (Source: Wikipedia – http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Commodification)

We all deal in commodities every day. From the time we wake until the time we sleep at night, we cannot avoid them. Anything that we or someone else have purchased is a commodity. Even the homes in which we live are commodities. Someone has made them and we’ve purchased them to use for our own benefit. If we look at it that way, then an infant adopted domestically can be viewed as a commodity. Someone else has made that child and adoptive parents have paid money to “use” that child for their own benefits.

Estimates cite approximately145 million orphans worldwide

Elaine asked me to write a post today on the corruption of adoption by commodification. Elaine and I have decided to do a sort of blog swap since I interviewed her about “The Goodbye Baby” for my own blog. As I write about adoption issues on my blog frequently, this seemed a topic in line with the things about which I write normally.

I especially like the definition found in Wikipedia of commodification. Infants should not be considered goods. However, the demand from hopeful adoptive parents is great, so the adoption “industry” charges exorbitant fees for the people acquiring these “goods.” It’s simple supply and demand. The supply is low probably for a variety of reasons, but there are thousands of couples looking to expand their families through the acquisition of a “perfect” baby, so the demand is very high. This leads to coercion of pregnant women in situations that may be less than ideal and can lead to lies to get the commodity (the infant) to the buyer.

Adoption should not be about supply and demand. That attitude is what has led to the general viewing of infants as commodities. I’m not saying that individual people feel this way, nor am I saying that there are complete agencies or adoption businesses that feel this way. However it is a combination of people and businesses that have led to the corruption of adoption. If consumers in the form of hopeful adoptive parents didn’t pay whatever huge sum to get the baby they want and instead considered foster care, then there wouldn’t be such a large demand for agencies and other entities to treat the pregnant women who enter their doors as the factories to make their customers happy.

There are a lot of ways that adoptees, adoptive parents, and birth parents can speak out and change the processes for adoption. But in this area, the hopeful adoptive parent has all the power. They’re the ones that can change their own views of adoption and quietly change adoption as a whole.

Author Monika Zimmerman

Monika currently lives about an hour south of Seattle, WA, with her daughter’s birth father, Nick. They both enjoy the open relationship they have with their daughter and her adoptive family. One of Monika’s passions is writing about adoption reform on her blog, Monika’s Musings (www.musingmonika.com).