I Could Breathe Again

I Could Breathe Again

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I've been working on this painting all week. It's the next one in the Silent Voices series and is about the day I met my daughter for the first time.

Today is my daughter's 34th birthday and yesterday was the 11th anniversary of the first time we met face to face. We first reunited in 2002 but we didn't actually meet until 2003. It's hard to believe it's been so long. The memory of seeing her for the first time is so permanently etched in my brain. I think I held my breath for the entire flight to Ohio.

first hug

That night I wrote in my journal....

Well today has been many years in the making. I met my daughter for the first time. What a long day. I'ts been - up at 4:30 to get ready for the airport, 2 hour flight leaving at noon. Nothing can compare to the feeling of putting my arms around her for the first time. The relief was amazing - I could breathe again. When I got off the plane and made my way through the airport I thought I would faint! I couldn't breathe. I could hardly walk. I didn't see them up by the gates so I made it down to baggage claim. I spotted Josh first, then Cindy - oh my gosh - what a hug, and there were many more to come. Then I turned around and there she was - my Liz. She was just standing there smiling. I ran to her and then I just couldn't let go. We stood there for the longest time hugging and crying while Cindy ran around in circles shooting pictures and Sam handed us tissues. When I finally let go I couldn't take my eyes off her. Cindy was amazed at how much alike we look. She said we look like we belong together. Amy said we have some very similar expressions and mannerisms. 

So from the airport we went to get food. By this point the nerves had settled and we all got very hungry. Without knowing it I ordered Liz's favorite meal - meatloaf, mashed potatoes and green beans. She said she had Cindy make it for her every birthday. Cindy cracked up when she heard my order.

The day we met really did feel like the first day I took a breath. It wasn't just the anxiety sitting on my chest and crushing me that day at the airport. When I finally put my arms around her it felt like I had been holding my breath for decades and at that moment I could finally take in air - as much as I wanted, expanding my lungs fully. I had been shallow breathing all that time and now I can take a deep, deep breath. 

Easter Sunday 2003

Do you remember the feeling when giving birth? - the hours of contractions, unrelenting pain and pressure, pushing and sweating, crowning, head pushes out and then shoulder and then finally the small body slips out and suddenly there's such a rush of relief. The agony is released and you go limp. The experience of meeting her was like birthing her a second time. The pressure had been building for decades, the emotion of waiting and wondering was constantly flowing in waves like the pain. The grief hitting like the tears released between contractions. And then all of a sudden - it's over. I could relax and look at her, touch her, talk to her.

It was the end of a phase and the beginning of a new one. It was the end of the unknown and the joyful beginning of a relationship. It was also the beginning of a new understanding of what was lost to both of us. Reunion brings with it a new set of  bags to carry. They're still the adoption bags but the weight has shifted a little. I could breathe again but the grief is still there. I don't think that ever goes away. Then there is the learning curve of how to fit into each other's lives. I think we've done pretty well. There are ups and downs, quiet times to get through, distance to deal with but I'm grateful.

I'm grateful I get to say Happy Birthday to her.  

Happy Birthday

Today is my oldest daughter's birthday and this week marks 10 years since we reunited. You would think that after 10 years a person would get used to the feeling of waking up and just being happy about their child's birthday. I know that seems like a weird thing to say and don't get me wrong, of course I'm over the moon that I have her in my life and I'm thrilled that I can actually say Happy Birthday to her. The difference for us, meaning us mothers who have lost children to adoption, is there doesn't seem to be a way to shut off completely the emotion of what those birthdays meant for so long. Or maybe it's just me and I'm making an assumption that other reunited mothers feel this way.

For the first 22 years of her life her birthday meant incredible pain. The entire month was about grieving. It's like the loss that I had to hide the rest of the year came ripping to the surface, broke through and destroyed me. The only way to get through it was to cry my eyes out until I was swollen with grief yet felt shriveled and wrinkled like a dried out dishrag.

Those years are no more but there still remains the remnants of what they did to me. It's like a muscle memory. It's an automatic reaction. The memories come back to haunt and make the day bitter sweet. Right now my focus is to be thankful that I can look back and say those years are behind me now and hopefully I can continue to look forward to many more Aprils when I can say Happy Birthday dear Liz.

Birthday Wishes Again

Birthday Wishes

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Acrylic on canvas

Some of you might remember this birthday candle painting that I did a while back. I thought it was finished but recently I received a note from another natural mother who wanted to be added to the canvas. I guess as long as there are moms who want to add their children's birthdate I'll keep it in the "not done yet" section of my studio. This is for moms and their children so I'm putting the mom's name and the child's date of birth. If you would like to be added to the painting send me a comment or message.

Peace,
Carlynne

Birthday Wishes

I've mentioned the painting series that I'm working on and that's the reason I started researching what happens in adoption world. I actually started the series just because it was something I felt compelled to do. I don't know how many of you are artists but sometimes you get a notion about something and you just have to follow through. I think in this case it began as a way to continue my healing. I've been reunited with my daughter for 8 years now and it's been wonderful. I'm thankful every day that I have her back in my life. I spoke to her today as a matter of fact, and I just love hearing her voice. Knowing that I can call her any time I want and hear her laugh makes life grand. It's sad to me that many reunions don't go this way. I wish we were not the exception but the rule.

Anyway, back to the point..... this series began because I felt like I needed to do this for my own healing. Although I had been through 22 years of living and learning how to cope with losing my daughter, and 8 years of reunion, there was still something more to do. In my artwork I was feeling a little stagnant. As artists we need to change and grow over time. We need to try new things. Over the years our style may change, our subject matter may change. Lots can happen as we change with age. In this case I was feeling the need for a deeper content to the work. I needed to do something with more meaning for me. I had already started a series on women and body image and I'm continuing to work on that but this was a feeling brewing inside that had to do with adoption.

These 2 topics are huge in my life - art and adoption. I'm an artist and I survived adoption. It was time to put the 2 together. Although I've lived with being a first mother from a closed adoption for 30 years, that doesn't mean I know everything there is to know about it. I started to read, google and research what was out there. I ordered books like Ann Fessler's The Girls Who Went Away and others and what I found out was that I wasn't alone. I've learned a lot and have tons more to learn. I've met so many wonderful women out there who have walked in my shoes and understand. I've become active in speaking out about the injustices of this industry and I've realized that I need to paint this series. It's a need, a compulsion.

I'll share the artwork about this topic on this blog as I do on my other blog This particular piece started with the idea of birthdays (obviously) because birthdays are such a huge thing in our first mother world. These are the days that are the most difficult. They were for me anyway. Every year there's the reminder of what's lost. As a mom I spent it wondering how she was, what she was doing, where she was celebrating, wondering what she got for presents each year. Did she have a party? Did her family think of me at all? How big is she now? Is she okay and happy? How is she liking school? There's just so many questions and as a first mother I wasn't entitled to any of the answers.

When my daughter turned 18 I baked a cake and with my other children we celebrated her birthday. This birthday kicked off the official search for her. As a good little first mommy I didn't try to look sooner because I was told that it wouldn't be good to interfere with her life. So, 18 was the magic age when I could begin the search. Singing the birthday song to a child I had never met was a surreal experience. I could barely get the words out because of the lump in my throat but I knew that this was the beginning. It took 4 years to find her.

In the background of the painting you can see names and dates. These are the names of first mothers and the dates that their children were born. Some are found, some are not. This piece represents not only me and my daughter but all the first mothers who think about their children on their birthday. So.... that would be all of them. There's not a mother on earth who doesn't think about her child on the day of that child's birth.

Happy Birthday to all of you, from all of us first moms. We love you.

Peace,

Carlynne