Adoption

So as Jaz I have no memory of having my children.  I don't remember being pregnant with them or giving birth to them.  Nor do I remember them growing up until, perhaps, a year ago.  Stephanie holds these memories.  It is very difficult to be attached to them because of this.

I never liked kids.  They were annoying and drove me crazy.  I couldn't stand whining and complaining.  I couldn't stand to hear children constantly ask for things.  I couldn't stand it.

Then I became the host, out all of the time, and had to deal with children that called me mommy and wanted something from me all the time.  It was hard.

People told me I was lucky.  I may not have a family that consists of MY mother and father but I have my own children that I can make new memories with and start my own, NEW family.  However, people just didn't understand that I didn't bond with my children.  I didn't feel that way.

It hurt me deeply that I felt this way about these children.  I knew they loved me and I felt I should love them but I just didn't know how.  I was having a mini "pity party".

The only person that knew any of these feelings were Doc.  I was too scared to share them with anyone else.  I was scared that something might happen to the children.  What if someone took them away? I couldn't let that happen....

Doc finally explained it in a way that made sense to me and got me thinking.  True that I may not remember pregnancy and birth but there are mothers that don't go through pregnancy and childbirth.  They adopt children.  So I need to think of myself as adopting my own children. 

Well, to me, that made perfect sense.  I may not have those memories but that doesn't mean I can't LEARN to love them.

So, I did my best.  I began really working towards getting to know them as individuals. Getting to know their strengths and weaknesses.  I wanted to know everything about them.  I wanted to spend time with them.  I wanted to be with them and love them for who they are. 

Over time it began to work.  I am learning that, although my memories are not there, I can love them anyway.  I can make new memories with them and show them that I love and care for them like no one else in the world can.

I can show them a MOTHER'S LOVE!!

Jaz

Father's Day

What does Father's Day mean to me?

I wrote about Mother's Day and how it affects me.  However, Father's Day doesn't affect me the same way.

As a child that grew up in an abusive home, I blame my mother for the abuse that was done to me.  She is the one that allowed it to happen.  She is the one that sold me.  She is the one that didn't protect me.

But what about my father?  What do I blame him for?

I don't blame him for anything.  I have never seen my biological father.  Not even in a photograph.  I do not know what he looks like, sounds like, walks like, etc.  He could be standing next to me in a grocery store and I would never know.  This is all my mother's doing. She did not tell him about me.  She did not tell him that I was alive until I was 17.

Could things have been different?

As a teenager, I would fantasize about my father coming and taking me from the abuse.  I would yell out at my mother and her boyfriends how if my father was around, he wouldn't let any of this bad stuff happen.

Fantasy?

Perhaps I was living in a fantasy world.  Perhaps if he would have known about me sooner, he would have wanted something to do with me.  Because once she asked him for child support, when I was 17, he could have had something to do with me but he didn't.

Celebrating?

I never celebrated Father's Day before.  I didn't have a father to celebrate with and I definitely wasn't celebrating with the abusers.  So, this year I decided to make a new tradition. I would celebrate.  I would celebrate my life.  Celebrate me.  I went shopping and bought myself presents for Father's Day.  It was wonderful.  This will definitely be a new tradition for myself.
Shopping, Ice cream, and dinner. 

I hope that you did something fun this Father's Day.  Whether it was for someone else or for yourself.

Jaz