synchrony

Some days, I’m just fine—as happy and as bright as the sun.

Other days, I realize that this whole process is so much harder than I think it will be.

On days like today—I am constantly on the edge of weeping.

* * *

Every time I try to sit down to write a letter to my birth mother, I am swallowed up by emotions for which I cannot find words.

And although I am reminded of all that has been lost, I try to fight to remind myself that now there is also so much to gain.

It’s just hard.

I don’t know how else to say it. I don’t know what other words to give to it.

My heart simply feels broken.

* * *

One of the hardest elements with which to cope is the fact that my birth parents and I do not share the same language.

I am unable to assign words to how intensely this loss of language affects me. It stirs within me such a depth of grief and pain that I find myself numb and speechless.

I can only weep.

It is an unspeakable loss—no words exist to convey with just potency the loss that swallows me and shuttles me down into a dark and secret place.

There will never be words that are able to tell of the emotion that falls upon me as both light and darkness with such perfect and horrific synchrony.

* * *

I can only fall myself—silent yet overflowing.

It is here that I find for what I was looking, and whom I was seeking—in all its wonder and terror, in all its lucidity and obscurity—this is for what I have been waiting all my life.

* * *

It was and remains worth the wait.

magic

I am struggling.

I feel as though my mind is caged. The words will not emerge. My thoughts feel jumbled and vague. My emotions are rampant and scattered.

I cannot explain what’s happening inside of me.

I feel frustrated. I am distraught and anxious. A restlessness and uneasiness crawl beneath my skin. I feel like I’m going mad.

* * *

But this is the journey I have chosen.

It’s like climbing mountain after mountain. You trudge and trek, day after day, upwardly.

Finally when you reach the top, you feel relieved. You catch your breath. You take in the magnificence. You cannot believe you have made it this far.

You set up camp. The sun seems as though it is closer; the air is crisp and invigorating. Yet as you breathe it in, it rushes through with a coldness that almost makes you lose your breath, and as it rubs against your face, it feels bitter and sharp.

You realize that, eventually, you must begin your descent to make your way toward the next and vast mountain.

* * *

I feel like I have to justify to the world and to myself why this is hard. Why this is bittersweet.

Why I can’t just get over it.

I keep trying to reach for understanding and for illumination. You would not think it to be so slippery and elusive.

This still hurts.

This is still so inexplicably troubling.

What is it that still harrows and afflicts me?

* * *

The limbo.

The middle.

The rip.

Feeling stuck.

Pulled apart.

Divided.

But not of my own accord.

I’ve got to somehow make this work. I can’t stay here. I can’t keep treading water. I’ve got to find dry land.

I’m not a fish.

* * *

Maybe I can metamorphose. Shift. Reconfigure.

Become amphibious.

Then, I will be able to pass between two worlds with the ease that I could never know otherwise.

* * *

Although, I somehow think that I might be better off making a run to the aquatics store to buy a snorkel and some flippers.

And maybe even sign up for a course on scuba diving.

It has not been since I was a little girl that I believed in magic.

* * *

That’s not to say, however, that I don’t still believe in the possibility of what could be encountered as magical.

* * *

For now, I'll continue making my way through the mountains.

I'll continue treading and swimming nearer the shore.

Maybe I am already beginning metamorphosis.

Maybe I am more amphibious than I seem.

Maybe this all just takes time, the kind of time that requires a lifetime.

emerging

I am finally beginning to emerge from the fathomless nebula that has cloaked me since our return from Korea—my eyes still bewildered; my mind still besieged; my heart ever-confounded.

* * *

I feel as though I disappeared into this vast and secret world, to discover that what I had once thought existed only as fantasy had always been waiting for me—tangible and arresting.

I can only compare the wonder and amazement to that of a little girl who might have stumbled her way into the fantastical—gaping mouth and glimmering eyes. And while there, she gazed upon and grasped within her own hands all that she had only ever seen—and longed to touch—in a dream.

I feel as though I could remain in that world forever.

* * *

But I must return.

Yet I am troubled.

How does one return to daily life when everything has changed? When the world has changed? When you have changed?

Adoption is such a misunderstood experience fraught with misconceptions and misinformation due to often well meaning but ultimately wrongful ignorance and presumption.

Therefore, please understand that I mean no disrespect by making the upcoming comparisons, but they are the closest instances at which I can grasp to even attempt to foster understanding of the gravity and intensity of the process of reunion and post-reunion.

The emotional complexities may be somewhat akin to those who return from war.

Life is never the same.

And although, at times, you may feel relieved that the war is over, the loss and the grief remain. No matter what healing or restoration finds its way to you, the tragedy you have endured becomes a part of who you are and who you will become.

It will forever shape you.

* * *

This is not to say that opportunities will not arise that ultimately lead to a full life of new happiness and new dreams. It has been said before that suffering need not be an end, but rather it can be the beginning of a new and daring hope.

Yet, the truth is that no matter what sense you strive to make of it, no matter what happiness you find later, life can never be what it was before—some for worse, some for better.

In a similar way, after entering the reunion and post-reunion process, life will never return to what it was before. Not only so, but it will also continually be defined by the co-existence of the seemingly conflicting emotional experiences of loss and gain, tragedy and redemption, grief and joy.

Although reunion is for what I longed for years and years, although it has brought great relief and comfort, it is also a constant reminder of the pain and alienation that have also characterized the adoption experience for me.

I look into my birth mother’s face and feel joy and relief, while in the same moment a pang of grief and agony writhes within. I gaze into my birth father’s face and feel wonder and peace while at the same time I am reminded of the deep sorrow and angst that simultaneously tore us apart yet has ultimately brought us all here together again.

As those who return from war, they are expected to grieve and to mourn, but eventually they are expected to engage in daily life again, and for practical reasons, they must.

I know I must begin to return. I know I must begin to merge and assimilate these worlds.

Yet, in the same way that those who return from war begin to realize that what they have endured and experienced will never be fully understood by those who were not with them, I also realize that there is no telling of this story that will ever fully elucidate what has unfolded and what will continue to be revealed.

time

Disclaimer: I am going to need A LONG TIME to process this trip to Korea during which I met each of my birth parents. I will try to post what I can, but it is most likely going to be a slow and scattered process.

And some things I may never tell...

* * *

I.

We're finally back to our house. It is absolute chaos.

It looks like our five pieces of luggage exploded all over our house--you'd think I took a hose and sprayed clothing, packages, gifts, shoes, etc. onto the furniture, across the floor, on the ceiling, in the kitchen...

I feel like I am Mayhem--emotionally and physically.

It's going to take some time to get our lives back together. And even more time to begin merging and assimilating these life-altering experiences from the past several weeks into every day life.

Although we were in Korea for only 12 days, I feel as though we've been gone for months, and in some ways, for a lifetime.

II.

Bear with me as I withdraw at times and try to make these experiences my own--before they are inevitably judged and processed by others.

I feel protective of what happened. I wish I could immortalize the memories and keep them safe from the opinions and notions, the ideas and conclusions of those looking on.

So forgive me if I am slow to speak, slow to share what happened.

Give me time...I have waited over three decades for these answers...it may take three more before I understand them...

And even still, I am aware that there are certain answers that may forever elude me...

in Korea

This is going to be very brief...we're short on time these days and constantly on the go...

But we are in Korea. I have met each birth parent.

We are currently in Pusan and leaving for Gyeongju today. We'll be on our way to Daegu the day after tomorrow and then back to Seoul.

Each meeting with each birth parent was of course emotional and overwhelming but beautiful and wonderful.

I'm spending more time with my birth mother today. My birth father wants to take our whole tour group out for dinner.

I can't wait to describe the outfit he was wearing for our first meeting...

I wish I could write more...but I've got to get going...

Thank you for all of your support.

I have so much to say...

almost On Our Way

This is going to be a short and concise post.

We're on the verge of the long-anticipated departure for that other world from which I came to be...

We only have three more days until we begin our trek to Korea to meet my birth mother and birth father for the first time since my relinquishment in 1975.

I still cannot believe this is happening.

After seven years of searching and a lifetime of wandering in the darkness, I cannot even begin to express the magnitude and weight of this event.

I feel like a moron trying to elucidate such a profound and inexplicable occurrence with mere words.

I look forward to being able to share this experience with those who would listen...

Thank you everyone for your support and love...I could not face this without each and every one of you.

one Week

I.

Almost.

It is almost time.

It is almost time to fly.

II.

One more week.

Seven more days.

And we will be making our way to Korea.

III.

How are you feeling? What are you feeling?

Everything.

I am feeling everything.

IV.

My husband and I, of course, will be amidst making all the final preparations for the trip.

I feel like I am in a daze. It is taking hold of me like a fog. Like a dream.

I.

can't.

believe.

This is happening.

V.

I honestly do not have the words to express this experience. I am unable to communicate the profundity of what is happening.

Its effects extend far beyond what I can perceive.

And with that, there are those deeply troubled by how I have decided to proceed.

Why rock the boat?

VI.

This ripple began years ago. As it traveled across the ocean, in all directions, it fed upon the wind.

A ripple is made to grow. To spread.

Even when we can see it no longer, it still travels, still lingers, still makes its way to places unknown. Beyond our control.

I did not drop the stone.

Perhaps, I was the stone. That became a feather. And could only go where the wind and water took me.

Until now.

VI.

Until now.

The wind has shifted.

The ripple is bouncing back. Returning to its beginning.

I am not rocking the boat.

I am steadying it.

VII.

Now--stone and feather have had time to become something more.

Whole. More complete.

The one who dropped the stone is standing on the shore. The ones who caught the feather are having to let it go.

I hope they know how much I need them. How much I love them.

I cannot help but spread these wings.

VIII.

Do not forsake me now.

May our weaknesses become our strengths.

There is enough love.

For every mother.

For every child.

I will abandon neither.