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Hello! I am the amother of a delightful, American-born, Cambodian 2 year-old little girl. (Ripples--thank you for your "rant".) I am not looking for fantasy. I'm looking for honesty, so that I can understand my daughter when she begins to ask questions about her life.
My daughter joined our family a week after her birth. She was the result of date-rape, her teen bmother hid her pregnancy from everyone--and is the bravest, gentlest, strongest person I know. I love her, nearly as much as I love the daughter we share. Originally she wanted our adoption to be closed, but my husband and I wrote that our door was always open to her. A month later I received an email from her--the beginning of a very close friendship. I have taken our girl to visit her twice. Our family is, as she says, her "secret family".
Our family is "white". We have 4 biological children. We live in a primarily "white" neighborhood, and most of the kids in her school will be "white". No one in our extended family is anything other than "white". Our daughter is beloved and adored, but stupid comments are made, such as, "What is she?" A human. Our daughter. She is the adored princess in our family. Special. Treasured. Well-meaning people, are stunned by our love for each other. "She loves you so much! Isn't that just so amazing?" I'm only amazed that they are amazed.
Our family didn't adopt to "save" a child. We already had our hands full with four kids ranging from 7-17. Wonderful kids who, for the most part (lol), truly love us. We weren't "missing" anything. Then one day in early Jan 2008 I KNEW a baby was coming. Soon.
A month later we received a phone call that our daughter had been born. Miraculous because only our background check had been completed and we hadn't signed with an agency. (Everything else we did in one week!) Meeting my daughter was like meeting my soul. I feel a connection with her that defies understanding. Unexpectedly, it is beyond that of my biological children. She is not of my blood, but of my very soul.
I cover my anger when people say how "lucky" she is. Lucky? Lucky to have lost her mother? Her grandparents and aunts and uncles who don't know she exists? Her culture? People who look like her?... Yes, she doesn't live in an inner-city on a narrow street where violence is as common as the sun rising. Yes, our house is nicer than the apartment her bfamily lives in. And she has a closet full of clothes--will have a great education--will travel... But nothing, NOTHING makes up for what she has lost. And I grieve for her. Not as much as I laugh with her. But I cry sometimes when she does something extraordinarily cute, because in another city there is the most lovely young woman, who would have made a wonderful mother to her, given safety and a chance--who loves her completely. And I'm the one who is laughing into the dancing eyes of the silliest little girl in the world.
Our family has become involved with refugees, and next year a school in Cambodia will be named after our daughter. We have been warmly welcomed into the Cambodian (I should say Khmer) community close by. We have new Khmer friends across the US and even Cambodia. We have reached out for our daughter, and she has opened our world. We are the "lucky" ones. We are the ones who have been "saved". Our love for her is a glue that has somehow encompassed our whole family. Profoundly. But people don't see that. Instead, they hold us up as "good" and "generous" to adopt. The only thing we have been told we are "lucky" about is that she happens to be so beautiful and sweet tempered. I get so angry! And..I look in the mirror and wish I was brown. Wish I could BE what I am trying to replace, and cannot replace. Wish I could know what it is to not be "white" in a "white" world.
I guess I don't know what I'm asking of you "adoptees". Perhaps advice? A way that I can be the best possible mother to a precious little girl. A child who I don't want to have feel alone, divided between cultures, between one family--and what might have been. And how do I handle the circumstances around her bmother's pregnancy? How do I tell the truth (or do I?)? When she asks about her bfather, what do I say? I have NO idea. Hopefully her bmother can stay in her life and help answer that. But, with the secrets her bmother's life holds it's hard to know if that will be possible as her life moves forward. Her culture, at least for her, makes honesty about what happened to her very hard. (At least I have her emails. Our daughter will forever know she has always been loved by two mothers.)
I know, I'm getting ahead of myself. There is so much joy in a two year-old!! These are topics and concerns for another day. But that day will come, and I want to at least have some idea of how I will answer. Of how I will stay a safe place for my girl to fall.
Thank you for walking paths similar to the one my daughter will walk. Thank you for being willing to share honestly how you feel...and have felt. Especially the pain. Joy is easy to accept for us amothers. It's what we dream of. But it is your hurts that can perhaps lead us to the potential of greater joy for our children.
With Gratitude,
Kajsa
Mom of a 2 year-old. :)
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A way that I can be the best possible mother to a precious little girl. A child who I don't want to have feel alone, divided between cultures, between one family--and what might have been. And how do I handle the circumstances around her bmother's pregnancy? How do I tell the truth (or do I?)? When she asks about her bfather, what do I say? I have NO idea.
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Thank you, Ripples. I've got a lot of reading to do. ;) I truly appreciate your honesty and forthright look at adoption. That is a gift I hope more of us amoms will accept and be grateful for. You have lived what most of us haven't--but what our children will. We'd be dumb not to listen and learn.
As for training pre and post-adoption--in my case, you are exactly right. None of what you listed was covered. We just needed to know how to change a diaper, give a bottle and administer CPR. (Basically keep a baby alive.) I am Swedish-American. My native tongue was lost with my father who was forbidden to speak it, lest he not "fit in". When I attended aparenting classes, I was told that we were our daughter's culture now--the only one that mattered. That where she came from, where her people came from, wasn't important. I knew this to be untrue because I long for what has been lost for me--minor as it is compared to my daughter. I feel Sweden within me, so how could my daughter not feel Cambodia? How could who and where she came from not be incredibly important? Thank you for validating what I knew in my heart.
With Gratitude,
Kajsa