Portrayals of Open Adoption Stories that Honor the Real Journey
By Courtney Frey
Stories are my work. My own story prompted me to begin researching adoption as a whole when, in 1995, I discovered the painful reality of changing minds and non-existent communication. I'd waited five years for an update letter from my son's adoptive parents and when I finally received one, was devastated to read, "We feel very strongly that Jonothan is ours until he's 21 and we hope that you will respect that." I spent another five years doing all that I could to communicate with my son's adoptive parents through the adoption agency only to finally face the reality that I was not going to receive what had been promised, nor was I going to be able to work towards having a relationship with the adoptive family.
From 1995 to 2000, I did all I could to understand adoptive parents and others who were in open adoptions. I ached to know what was working for them, how they did it, and why possibly my own adoption had turned out the way it did. I read every adoption book I could get my hands on, or every book at least that I could afford, and when I'd exhausted those resources I began going on-line meeting birthmothers and adoptive mothers who were kind enough to share with me. Through my experiences in research I began writing stories and articles from my own experiences and based on what I had learned from others. Yet still, I felt that something was missing. My questions had been answered from professionals in the field of adoption, those involved in healthy open adoptions, and from the vast many who shared their experiences with me. Yet, no one situation is alike, and I realized that regardless of how much research I did … I would never fully know why my adoption turned out the way it did or how to repair it.
Even knowing now, through mistake, the identity of my son's family and where they are located, is bittersweet. How can I possibly introduce myself and the prospect of communication when in reality, despite the research I've done, I've no idea how they are feeling or why or even if I could make a positive difference? Would contacting them prove to be an even worse situation than my not knowing anything at all? These are issues that I find myself weighing over and over again. To do nothing … or to risk it all?
I find myself lacking the courage to address many issues and concerns, not only in my own adoption but also in the adoption of my birth niece, the daughter my younger sister relinquished into open adoption shortly after my relinquishment of Jonothan. I fear stepping over boundaries that I assume exist, and instead of just coming right out and talking about things, I deny my own curiosity and ache to know more. My birth niece and her family live just a short distance from me, I could easily phone them, and yet I fear my involvement, or desire to be involved, would offend them. So I don't do anything.
Authors and professionals like Marlou Russel and Kathleen Silber have written outstanding books on adoption and openness in adoption, and I've read all of them. The tools lie in their words and throughout their chapters, yet applying them inside my situations proves to be a frightening task. I receive countless e-mails and phone calls from endearing people in all aspects of adoption who usually find the courage to ask me, "With all that you are doing in adoption, how do you deal with your own being the way that it is?" I feel perhaps that I do not what I preach.
I very well could finally send one of my letters to my son's adoptive parents. They may even open it and read it. What then? After twelve years they've no desire to know me or communicate with me and my crossing the line just might cause them to either become angry at the agency or even worse, pick up and move so that I would not know where they were. Could I risk that? I very well could pick up the phone and call my birth nieces adoptive parents. They may even express gladness in my calling. What then? Their adoption is between my sister and them, not I, and would I be causing greater stress to the situation? Could I risk that?
I find myself leaving the present and the future in the hands of others, believing that my influence would do no good. I deny my need to help things along because I feel insecure in my ability to do so. I shy away from the confrontation because I fear the outcome may be worse than the current situation. So I say nothing, do nothing, and through the years I begin wondering … are we all doing that? What if in another ten or twenty years during reunion my son's parents say, "You should have written! We had no idea!" Could I live with myself for sacrificing all those years? What if my birth niece's parents say, "We would have loved for you to be involved!" How could I live with myself for missing out on so much?
On the other hand, my son's parents could develop resentment towards me for intruding into their lives and therefore not be supportive of a possible reunion. I may loose my son forever. My sister may be angry with me for getting involved in her adoption, resent me for it, and my birth niece's adoptive family may be annoyed that on top of everything else now they have to deal with another person from the birth family. I could loose it all. Or would I gain everything?
The one most important issue seems to get lost in the whirlwind of my own need, and that is what would be best for the children? Regardless of what I need, want, or assume to be the best situation is the over-riding factor of what my birth son and birth niece need in order to be healthy individuals.
Are they happy, loved, and cared for with or without my involvement? Are they struggling with their identity, unanswered questions, or are unnecessary assumptions causing them fear, anxiety, resentment, etc.? Would my involvement be a positive influence? In the letter I received from my son's parents, his mother wrote, "Jonothan is very happy and loved. He hasn't asked us anything about you, but if he ever does we'll try to answer the best we can." Many adoptee's have shared with me about this and the majority have told me that they never asked their adoptive parents about their birthmother because they feared hurting their parents feelings. The majority of those that did ask questions were given answers that left them with even more questions than before.
Would my involvement be a solution to that? My mother shared with me, when I asked why we were not allowed to introduce ourselves to my birth niece as "family", that her adoptive parents had said she had been struggling already with the lack of involvement from my sister and they didn't want to cause her any more confusion. Did she have questions that I may have been able to help with? Did she wonder if her birth family cared about her or loved her?
As I began outlining the aspects of this series, "Portrayals of Open Adoption," I felt that sharing the honesty in my own life in regards to openness was only fair. Despite the research, the books, and the learned knowledge I've gained over these years, my own truth is that regardless of how much I "know" … applying the tools is never easy.
So as you read the upcoming stories, as you peek into the lives of those in open adoptions, you may find yourself screaming solutions into your computer screen. You may be faced with questions you never knew you had, and you might just discover that when it comes down to it … each of us are called to search our own truths, walk our own journey's, and along the way we truly need others to reach out and help us along.
Stories can teach us, inspire us, and change the way we live. Perhaps this very series may be the encouragement so many, including myself, need to take that first step towards honoring the openness we at one time meant to keep, or even perhaps challenging ourselves to open our hearts to more than we expected in the first place.
Copyright by Courtney Frey, 2002
