Dear Adoption, You Tried to Forget My Mother
When I was in kindergarten you tried to made me forget her for the first time. I asked my mom where the woman was who carried me in her belly. That day my mom told me it was not her. “That woman was a drug addict and is most likely dead by now.“ I sat on the floor silently next to my mom. It was on that day, I realized, being an adoptee began to shape my daily life.
It was the legal lie on my birth certificate which started it. Stating my adoptive mother gave birth to me on the first day of October. My mom never gave birth to me or any child. That was the reason I was brought from a far away place to central Europe to live with a white, german couple. But that lie is still on paper. My existence and my presence is proof I am not physically related to them, but my own birth certificate denies that fact. The name of my mother was erased and was supposed to be forgotten forever.
My parents decided to make things “easier” and forget about her too. They had what they needed to make a family: her child, a falsedocument, and endless love. Just like they were told. Like you, Adoption, told them.
So I was to celebrate my birthdays without acknowledging that someone
else gave birth to me; without hearing my mothers voice, or seeing her face. We celebrated without anyone even slightly considering she was the one who gave us a reason to celebrate.
I never heard the story of how I was conceived. I never heard the story of how I was born. I never heard the story of where my parents met. I never heard the reasons why they where gone.
But there is one story told to me repeatedly… The story of how I grew in the hearts of my adoptive parents. “You never grew in my belly, but you grew in my heart with the strength of that endless love I have for you.” So I grew from a fetus to a baby in a heart. That sounds unhealthy to me. Is this really what we are to believe? Do we really need the story of my life to be a fairytale? Am I not a human being anymore? As far as I am concerned I have a belly button. And the more you all forget about the existence of my mother, the more I hold onto her in silence.
My Birthday was coming up again. It was around my early twenties. I decided to sneak and steal my adoption papers. I was looking for names that were never heard spoken out loud; to find the truth about where I was from, who I was before I was “The Adopted Child”. I wanted to know. My hands were sweaty, my heart was racing. I was psyched and ready for some truth. But all I found was lacking documents, crossed out names, falsified birthdates and a foreign language. There it was again: your fairytale, Adoption. All my papers from my early existence looked like the first draft of a story someone expressively worked on; crossing out words, working new words in, and trying it all over again. The file felt like a heavy and dusty story book in my hands.
On that day I promised myself I will be skeptical of everything in those papers; as long as I will not see my mothers face again, hear her voice telling me her version of my story, hear her validating, what you Adoption made us all believe about her.
Dear Adoption, I will not forget my mother. All my existence lies in her. And I will not allow you to forget her either. I will show you her face. I will show all the faces of those mothers you deny. And this will change your appearance for ever.