apologize, but I have to be necessarily brief ... I leave you to imagine the details!
In my book, The Rabbit Culture the story remains outstanding with my son who has many problems of integration. Because of the trauma of abandonment, and of his behavior, psychologists have recognized him as suffering from paranoid schizophrenia borderline; apparently looks like a normal person, but it is as if he traveled on a razor's edge.
But the story continues ... ..
About five years ago, he decided to go to Romania to find his birth mother. Beeing convinced me, after this experience, that the best type of adoption is that of the "Open Adoption", I accompanied him and we went together to Timishoara.
You can imagine the atmosphere ... .that of a journey full of unknowns and unforeseens! In Timishoara we rented a car , to go to Bretea Streuloi where was his orphanage. During the trip he was pretty quiet and happy to see, after twenty years, the places familiar to him.
We found with difficulty the orphanage,
but to our surprise, there were no more children, had been converted into accommodation for the disabled and disinherited people. There were a dozen of adult boys, and a lady who ran the complex with a boy; My son watched him ... and they recognized each other ! As kids, they were together in that orphanage ... obviously ... hugs and kisses, and while they told their stories, I took the opportunity to ask questions about how we could find his mother. Unfortunately, the lady told me, that being dead the director who ran the orphanage, the only option was to ask the municipal police of the town of Petrosani, where he was born.
We departed together for Petrosani, and we stayed in a hotel in the center of the city along with his friend; the next day, he would accompany us to the district of the municipal police to ask questions.
The next morning, we went to the District; there were many people waiting, and my son and his friend, came in to ask questions. I remained out; despite the situation, I was optimistic. But ... when came out, my son came to me, and in a weak voice said to me: my mother is dead ... and has been crying non-stop for thirty seconds. I embraced him trying to comfort him, and he, taking note of the stark reality, stopped crying and has expressed the desire to go to the cemetery to bring her a bunch of flowers ... if ever we would be able to find her grave.
The cemetery was large enough
We have searched for over an hour, but we did not find the grave of his mother. More than a third of the graves were unnamed, and in the end, we left the bouquet of flowers on a grave with no name, however, catered for the symbolic gesture!
We departed to Timishoara, in order to take the next morning, the flight to return to Italy.
Paradoxically, we were both more confident. Is doubt, uncertainty that create anxiety! When the reality is clear and obvious ... you start over. But in my mind, followed each other thoughts and considerations that I had already done, that suddenly appeared to me, in all their clarity:
No condition of indigence or poverty justifies the abandonment of a child. As far as my own experience is concerned I am sure that a child would rather die of starvation or get to know that his parents are in prison, but they did not abandoned him.
If genocide is a crime against humanity, the abandonment of a child is much more, it calls into question the first ethical principle for our survival: a mother who abandons a child.
Animals do not do that, or do so only if the little ones are naturally self-sufficient by birth. It is an everlasting torture and I am sure that my son is wondering – in his own confusion – why he did not get what many people were granted.
While I was driving, at some point, seeing me absorbed in my thoughts, he asked me: "Are you worried? Anyway ... dear father, I think you're a saint! "I looked at almost smiling; and he, knowing that I do not love the Pope and the Saints ... said: "Correction ... a secular saint."
I have never received a better compliment in my life! In the evening, in Timishoara, we went to a pub and we nearly got drunk, to face the night with a well deserved rest.
Six months later, my son decided, against my advice, to return to Romania. He was not convinced of the version that the police had provided for the death of his mother. He 's back in the orphanage, and the lady who owns the structure, not knowing what to do, called the local police.
The police, naively, seeing his original birth certificate
accompanied him to his mother who was alive and well, but in conditions of poverty. I can only imagine their meeting ... .aniway, surely, his behavior has improved, and tries to help his birth mother by any means.
So if by chance, you buy my book or make a donation, you can be assured that every penny will be used for their survival when I am gone…!
Fre ebook : http://www.therabbitculture.com/free-ebook-read-it...