Tag: separation

January 11, 1994

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On January 11, 29 years ago today, a newborn girl was found in a gutter.

The first few days of my life are unknown. My date of birth is unknown. No name, no family.

“When life begins with the trauma of maternal separation, life is built upon that separation. To believe an adoptee can simply “get over” being adopted is like telling a non-adopted person to get over being alive.

I’m not telling my story to convince anyone that adoptee trauma is real. I’m telling my story because it is, and I deserve the healing that happens with every word.” – Ferera Swan

Working on healing me, for her.

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To My Amma On Birthmother’s Day

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I just learned about this day a few years ago, and how ironic that it comes the day before Mother’s Day. But it gives me the space to remember you and honor you and all that you were to me and grieve what I lost when we we were separated.

When I saw a medium several years ago I was told you were my spirit guide and I’ve felt you more today than I have in a long time. I got the chance to speak to some like-minded Indian adoptees and when I say it was soul food—literally what I needed as this painful weekend comes up.

I look for you everyday in all that I am and in all I do — in my curly hair, in my dimples, when I wash my face, when I’m laughing. I look for traces of you and wonder what remains. I scour through photos of myself and stare in the mirror hoping to think of some kind of resemblance to a woman whose face I’ve never known.

This is adoption. These are the unknowns. These are the thoughts that consume me this Birthmother’s Day and Mother’s Day weekend. I will forever wonder if thoughts of me consume your mind as well, but no matter what I hold this day in my heart to honor the woman who breathed life into me.

“My mother was my first country. The first place I ever lived.” – nayyirah waheed

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27 years. 27 mark 9,855 days since you last held me. With each year that passes it feels like I can physically feel the distance between us increasing. My chances of finding you are less and less.

“I am trying to remember you and let you go at the same time.” It’s like Nayyirah knows exactly what I’m feeling. I’m trying to find you and find who you are in me, but I also have to come to terms with the reality that I will probably never see you again.

I saw the gutter I was left in. Is that all I am to you? A piece of trash not even good enough to keep, let alone leave in a place of more dignity and care?

Maybe you didn’t care. That’s ok. But I’m never going to give up on finding you.

I hope I’m doing the right things. I hope you can feel me too. I hope you never stopped loving me.

I hope you are looking for me too.

Somewhere halfway around the world, we are turning 26.

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This was written last week on a particularly emotional and difficult evening. Every year as my birthday gets closer and closer, a heaviness comes over me—a heaviness that only adoptees seem to understand.

Aai, I went through my wedding photos today. I looked for you in every single one. I searched my face for features that might have resembled yours. Some moments I feel my heart can’t handle the agony of knowing you will never see me in my bridal saree. Other moments I am comforted because I felt your presence all around me every moment that day. I felt like a true indian bride and I longed to see what you looked like on your wedding day. Maybe we looked the same. I ache for you.

So many milestones you’ve missed, and I have missed many of yours. There will always be one we share. 26 years ago I was still a part of you. You were my first home. We only had a week left to be together. I so wish I knew your thoughts during those last few weeks and days. I can only hope you were not alone.

We are turning 26, and each year that passes adds more and more distance between us but I will never give up on trying to find you. You are forever in my heart, my aai. Please don’t forget me.

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To My First Mother on Mother’s Day

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I recently found out that Birthmother’s Day exists. It is traditionally celebrated the day before Mother’s Day. What a weekend full of pain for those whose mothers are only a memory (or lack thereof).

Although there are good days where the crushing weight of your absence in my life is a little less heavy, and although there are days where I don’t stare in the mirror trying to find traces of you in the reflection, today is not one of those days. Today I can hardly move. Today is a day where I ache so deeply for you.

To the woman who carried me, bore me, and saw my first breath in this world, you are with me today. I wish you could’ve been here with me through every stage of life, but that is not how fate would have it. I look back on the files in my possession from the agencies and I can’t help but stare at the photos wondering what traces of you I’m seeing. If I could turn back time I would go back to the day we were together–my first and last day with roots.

Not a day goes by without thoughts of you, but today they run rampant throughout my mind. I have come to the realization that I won’t get to meet you again in this life. I will never know your face, nor the circumstances surrounding why we were separated. That is a weight nobody will understand but those who are experiencing this journey with me.

On this weekend that is meant to recognize mothers and birthmothers, I remember you. I will never forget. I carry you with me everyday. Happy Mother’s Day.

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