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Last Updated: May 16th, 2008 - 11:10:25 |
LOVE IS MULTIPED, NOT DIVIDED
I’ve had the same conversation three times in the last week, all in different contexts. Why all this week I’ve no idea, but I find it curious enough to write about it, and have the conversation with you on paper as well.
A child in my son’s school class asked me why our younger son looked different than our older son. As I feel we are ambassadors charged with creating a positive image for adoption I knelt down and explained that Marcus was adopted. “Who is his real mother?” the boy asked. I gave a short answer about how he has both a birthmother and me as a mother, and we are both very real. He then pointed to my older son and asked “Do you love him more because you are his real mom?” (I forgave the comment. He is after all, just five.)
A friend is adopting. Someone in her family asked her “can you love an adopted child as much as a child that is born to you?” (I try to forgive the comment. She is, after all, trying to understand)
Another friend asked, with much apology beforehand, if I love our sons differently. I really enjoyed the discussion that followed because it gave me the opportunity to put words to feelings- a process I always enjoy. (No forgiveness necessary!)
Having both a homegrown child and an adopted child is an enormous gift. After surgery as a teenager I was told I would never have children. From that point on I knew I would adopt, but since I was also adopted that left me deeply aware that I would never know anyone that shared my genetics. As I grew up I always had, and still have, a compelling fascination with families, and how they look alike. I love looking at family albums, and seeing physical traits woven like beautiful ribbons through the generations. One of my few regrets in life was never seeing my face reflected in the face of someone I love…
After marrying my wonderful husband we turned to in vitro to build our family. The doctors who told me 20 years ago I wouldn’t have children of my own couldn’t have foreseen the miracle of in vitro fertilization, and this was my first path to motherhood. The anxiety, joy and often the grief of in vitro is no stranger to anyone that has walked the road of medical intervention, and we experienced it all. When our son was finally born I stared longingly at him… this child was the first person I’d ever known that shared my genes; my very essence. My eyes, for the first time in my life, stared back at me.
When I was adopted 40 years ago adoption agencies tried to match families with children that shared the same genetic traits. Scandinavian families were placed with blonde babies, and Mediterranean families with olive skinned babies, all in a well meaning attempt to help families ‘forget’ a particular child was adopted. I suppose the feeling was that it would make it easier to love an adopted child if it blended easily with your family, and you could forget, for awhile, that this child was not born to you. In an ironic twist I was placed with a tall, exotic looking, thin and olive skinned family. I, however, am none of the above.
Our adopted son is bi-racial, and our other son a fair redhead - a genetic gift from my birthfamily, I recently learned. I love that Marcus looks nothing like our family. I love that when I look at him it is immediately clear that this beautiful child was not born to me, but was brought to us through the most amazing miracle. I love being reminded daily- a thousand times a day- of this miracle. I love that when looking at our sons I see two miracles, two children I thought my aching arms would never hold, two boys I never knew I could love so much.
A friend who is pregnant confided she is afraid she won’t love her second child as much as she loves her first. I think this is a pretty normal feeling among couples expecting a second child, as I’ve heard it said more than once. Of course, that fear is dispelled at the moment of birth, and few give it a second thought. Mothers and fathers of multiple children will tell you they love their children differently, but always equally. I know that people adopting a second child, whether the first child is a birth child or adopted child, feel the same way. My advice to my friend was to remember the old saying “love is multiplied, not divided.” The powerful, consuming love you feel for your first child grows exponentially when you have a second.
Can you love an adopted child as much as you love a birth child? That is, after all, the real unasked question. As a mother who is head-over-heels in love with both her children I will tell you the answer is an unqualified, unmitigated, unbelievable yes. Yes! It is a gift to my birth child that I will always hold him dear because I see my eyes in his, I see my husbands long fingers and lean legs in him, and I know the heart that beats inside him comes from my own. It is a gift to our adopted son that I love him with an unspoken ferocity because he, like me, was a child removed from his first mother, and will always have a tiny, broken link inside him. By nurturing him I also go back and nurture the child that I was, and through being his mother I also come to understand and love my own mother in a way I couldn’t before. As he grows he is like a precious blossom unfolding, and I can watch him without the filter and expectation of heredity.
I know a woman well in her 70’s, with five sons. Three adopted, two by birth. She shared with me that when they would sit around the dinner table there were times she would forget who was homegrown and who was adopted, and she had to search back in her memory to see if she remembered giving birth to them or not. I love that story because it exemplifies for me the way families weave themselves together into tidy little quilts, and sometimes you have to take a pretty close look at the stitching to see how they came together.
I have a favorite photo taken of my mother, my boys and me during a visit last year. We are all so different- my beautiful olive skinned mother, my redheaded son who looks like my birthmother, my bi-racial son and me. I see beautiful multi colored ribbons woven throughout our picture, weaving us together with an intricate, enduring strength. It is beautiful.
© Copyright 2008 by AdoptionDesk.com
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