Paths Diverged
It always seems to happen out of the blue. We live with an endless amount of possibilities, and yet most of us I think live with the assumption that only the best outcomes are actually on the table. For me, it’s not so much that I never wanted to meet my biological mother, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to right now. In the back of my head, I’d always assumed that day would come, even though I knew that this day could happen. For more background on my story, you can check out this previous article I wrote.
My biological mother is dead, killed in a car crash from what was likely a drunk driver. I got the call late at night from my sister, knowing that whatever I was feeling was nothing compared to them. What I’m experiencing is philosophical; for them, sheer pain. Despite those differences, we share the commonality of our complex relationship with her. And of course, it isn’t purely philosophical for me, just as it isn’t purely emotional for them. Part of the complexity is that all things are being worked out all at once in different ways. There’s the question of what legacy a person leaves behind, of what could have been, and what will be now in this new reality with them absent. Below are some thoughts I’ve had as I process through this, and I’ll be honest: I just want to write this and get it out, rather than working on it to make it “good”, so my apologies in advance in for what is essentially a first draft.
1. The first thing I was thinking about was what my sisters must be going through. They grew up with their mom and experienced all of the ups and downs firsthand. They had positive memories even in the midst of the negative ones created through her addiction. I was spared a lot of damage since I was adopted out of the situation. For all of her faults, she was still their mom. And…
2. She was still my mom. There’s a sentiment that lives today, at least in my generation, that your family is what you make it. I don’t disagree with that idea outright. There are many people I consider family because of the close relationships we have, and I think there’s a beauty to including non-blood members into your family. And yet, there’s an inescapable connection with my biological parents. I never met her, and yet here I am, processing through so much. How could that be if blood didn’t matter at all? This is not to say that I think that bond is stronger than the one with my adoptive family, but there is something powerful in our origins, no matter how brief they were. Our stories, for a short time, were connected. Especially from my end, everything that has happened in my life since only happened because of that connection.
3. That eternal link is perhaps the most complicated to sort through. Currently, I am feeling like I both want to make my mom proud, but to also make her regret having allowed her addiction to separate us. Of course, she’s gone now, and so there isn’t a person there to make proud or to cause remorse in. And that is its own weird mix of frustration and of deep sorrow. Instead, I now live with a self-made specter that can only take the forms I imagine of my mother.
4. I keep thinking back on my decision to not meet her. The truth is, I was very open to meeting her. But something I have realized is that I wanted to know that she wanted to meet me. Maybe there was a fear I would be rejected a second time, or perhaps I just wanted to know it would be worth starting up a relationship with her. I wanted the effort to come from her. And yet, I also understand better the situation she was in, of not wanting to mess up my life any more than she already had (if only she had known how God had turned it for good!). For her, I imagine there was a sense that I needed to be the one to express interest in meeting, that she would have to wait for permission to reenter my life. The tragedy of this, of course, is that she never knew, and I never knew. The lack of communication will continue, with no way of telling her what I felt, and no way for her to explain herself. Accepting her death is one thing, but accepting that the mysteries and the questions will linger is harder to cope with. That’s what death often brings though, that feeling of things left unresolved. In that way, my grief is no different than others.
5. There was so much wreckage resulting from my mother, but there were also many good things to praise about her. I saw just in the 10 years I’ve known my biological sisters a sense of growing stability for her. She loved her daughters and was thrilled to be a grandmother. She had bought a house a few years ago and seemed to have really turned a corner. Addiction is brutal, and I’m sure she relapsed at various points in her life. However, it seems as though the day I was born was her rock bottom and the beginning of her gaining stability.
I can only speculate about her, aided by the information given by my sisters over the years. But I know for sure that my life since that day I was taken has been good. God bless my sisters, who had to endure so much of the negative. They have both made lives for themselves and I’m immensely proud of the both of them. Me being taken, though, meant that I was spared a lot of those pains. Even more, I was given an opportunity at a normal life. My adoptive mom and family have been there to cheer me on in life.
6. I am thankful for so many people. I don’t think I’ve ever thanked my adoptive mom for adopting me. It seems like a weird thing to do, especially since she and the rest of my adoptive family are all I have ever known. I am thankful though. My adoptive mom has been incredible, and it feels weird even to specify her as my adoptive mom, because really, she’s always just been “mom” to me.
I am also thankful to my biological mother though, because she also gave me an opportunity at life. I’ve written about this in a prior article, but the mere fact that she chose to endure the pregnancy so that I might live is enough to melt away a lot of the bitterness I have had at times. My circumstances were not ideal, but I’m so glad to be alive today.
The greatest glory goes to God for having taken my situation and put all the right things into place so that I could be where I am today. Many people would look at my origins and wonder what good could possibly come from it, and rightfully so. God was able to take the shattered remains of our lives and work them for so much good. I was never expected to do well. Doctors expected me to be delayed both mentally and physically. God has graced me with the opportunity to complete a postgraduate degree anyways. I met my incredible wife, Diana, and God has blessed us with 3 children that fill us with joy. I did nothing to deserve it, and certainly pure pity could have resulted in giving me much less than I have. But God has been incredibly kind and gracious towards me in my life, and I am grateful for it.
Those are the big thoughts. I am still sorting through it, and in talking with my sisters, I learn more about our history and I’m able to glean new information and piece together some gaps in my story. I hope that my biological mom also experienced the transforming work of the Gospel like I have. I know that I have dealt out my own pain on others and am guilty of my own hurts. But through Christ, I have died to myself and have been raised with him. I am able to confront my own wretchedness within me and experience forgiveness from a loving and just God. I do forgive her, but my forgiveness means nothing, especially now and especially in light of the restoration Christ can provide. I hope that we share that experience, and that we will be able to reminisce in the coming Kingdom of all that Christ healed us from. Perhaps even as our paths split, and we missed the chance to reunite here on earth, God will be pleased to cross them again.
