The Wreckage

Mady and I in 2016

Madyson was born with a lung infection that only 1% of babies are born with. She remained in the hospital for over 3 weeks after her birth and was constantly monitored. We didn't even get to hold her for the first days of her life. We didn't get to feed her or bath her or change her. She was hooked up to heart monitors and IVs and slept on a hard table-type bed. Throughout the days she spent her time getting medicine and fighting for her life. She came into this world a fighter. The very thought of her being ill, pained me and her dad so severely, we would just stay at the hospital, even past visiting hours. It was an extremely difficult time. But, like a "1 percenter" does, she fought back, and kicked that infection, and after a month, we took her home to begin our new life's meaning.

I was, immediately, although not from a nurturing environment, a nurturing mom. It was instinctive for me to put myself aside for her. To give up sleep, time, goals, wants, needs, and just everything for my child. I tend to think that most moms do that. My birth mother did not. And truthfully, that was when it all hit me. I was 23 years old and I was about to be hit with grief so big it would consume me for years. Grief so long-coming that the effects would leave a wake in many lives. Pain so severe and disgust so profound that rage would follow me throughout my twenties and well into my thirties.

But, that pain was my teacher. The grief became a classroom for growth and understanding. It became a "what not to do" and a lesson on what kind of life I needed to live. The rage would teach me how to parent with love, rules, expectations and boundaries. The reckoning would teach me what kind of environment would be hard to live in. Finally, I would become a survivor with guilt big enough to carry years of character and instincts. I became thankful for the pain, but whilst in the valley of all that hurt, man was it tough. For the first time, I also knew what it meant to wish you didn't know the things you found out. To wish you could go back and not know the stuff you shouldn't know. I began the journey to find my birth father, whom I had, up until that point, known to still be alive. And I started the fight to get my adoption records and information about my birth family. I had to know what the hell my parents were thinking and what happened to us kids. Why my parents, especially my mother, would allow her kids to be sick, beaten, abused, hungry and neglected, I couldn't understand. Not after having seen my very own daughter fight for her life. Not since I watched my own flesh so ill she couldn't even be held. Hell no, it wasn't right. I had to know!

It was important. Finding out would be the difference. But, ultimately, so damaging. And in the middle of all that wreckage, was also a very clear picture of why. Why my sister had a "hard time adjusting" and my brother had to be sent back and why, I would be the only one to be saved from the past and the hell of it all.

Memories are a very strange thing. Our brains have the ability to block the bad and enhance the good. We can recreate the past in the depths of our minds, but our hearts can never be better only worse. The pain we feel is engraved on our hearts and the moment an event happens we are changed forever. The knowledge gained by the investigation into my humble beginnings would both hurt and enhance me. It would both set me back and push me forward. It would both sadden me and make me happy. It would kill me and give me a rebirth. It changed me forever.

E.T. Figurine

Pewter E.T. Figurine

On most Friday's I spend the early part of the morning dusting, vacuuming and just cleaning the crib. My work week is different than Monday - Friday, 8-5. I work a lot, at many different times a day. Truthfully, my mind never turns off. If I am not working to make money, I am working on myself and my relationships with the people I love. Life is work.

So today, like most Friday's I began to clean. Madyson has an awesome speaker her father gave her for Christmas. I put on my favorite music and I got after it. I cleaned the kitchen, bathrooms, my office, and did some laundry. Madyson would have to clean her own room, but I had everything else under control. I felt thankful that I had a home to clean.

There is a bookshelf in my living room. And on that bookshelf are many pictures. The Kid and my adopted Father have two shelves each. Another is filled with awards and gifts from former players and another is filled with The Kid's art work. I don't have a fancy curio cabinet, but if I did have one I would fill it with these items. They are my most precious memories. We all have that place where we share our memories. This is mine.

On the shelf with pictures of Madyson and two crosses, one that says "faith" and another that says "love" there are also 20 pewter figurines. They are small animal figurines, most not even an inch tall. They are bit faded. There is a horse, pig, frog, dog, fish, and another 14 species of animals. And then there is a special one. One that stands out. It is an E.T. figurine. 

My entire life I have had this specific memory. That day at the beach soon after Jason went back to the state I remember him giving me that E.T. Figurine. And today when I cleaned that shelf and dusted all 20, I remembered that day again. The day at the beach. And not just that day, but the days prior, and specifically the day he left. I know my adopted father remembered that day as well throughout life. He had a heart of gold. He used to bring these figurines home from work on occasion. I remember that like it was yesterday. In my heart, I know that my adopted father, Don, did that on purpose. I didn't feel sad though. And I didn't feel pain. I didn't feel sorry for what we have all been through as a family. I cleaned those figures and I looked at the pictures of Don, my father, and my cup runneth over. The blessing of these 20 figurines, so perfectly purchased, were a reflection of my relationship with him. They mean a great deal to me. And when he died, my adopted mom gave them to me. What a blessing, Joyce, my adopted mother, was. 

On that day, the day we lost Jason, a spiral of pain began for all of us. Pain is a promise. We will all have it. My pain isn't worse than yours and yours isn't more painful than mine. But that day, our pain, impacted us forever, not just me. He wasn't just gone from my life. But he was also gone from my father's life, and my sister's life and all of our lives. We all dealt with it in different ways. But for me, that is when replacing Jason began. 

A brother: a man or boy in relation to other sons and daughters of his parents. A brother, a protector and friend. A brother, a guardian and family. For me my brother was the first male figure in my life. My birth father did not live with my birth mother. He was the "man of the house". When he left us, he left a hole.

My father, Don, was a good man. He worked hard, long hours, to provide an awesome life for us. I played sports, I traveled and saw the world. He and I would fix up boats together and I looked up to him. He was a good dad. Those figurines, his effort to connect with us, his devotion to working for his family every day, day in and day out with a commute of 45 minutes one way, that taught me to work hard. No matter what work hard. He was an awesome person with a huge heart.

No one can replace the people you loose. Not even superdad's like mine. Not even the guy who served his country, adopted two daughters, worked his butt off, coached soccer and just was a good dad. He taught me to fish, he taught me to work hard. Not even him. Because we can't replace the people we loose. Not with humans. But with love and God. And once you have God, love immediately follows. and Amen to that.

Replacing Jason is a mission, still. But not in the way you think. I want to Replace Jason in other's lives, the way that so many have replaced Jason for me. That is my mission in life. I want to replace Jason for the memory of all of us who lost him. And I want to help Replace Jason in anyone's life where there is a void. I am able to do that through prayer and through love. Jason can be replaced in your life through FAITH. God is family. He will send you love.

For me, that is the most important WORK I can do on myself. Every day is a walk in humility and just an over all CHECK of myself. But today, when I cleaned those figurines, I was reminded that I have replaced Jason, with love and service, but most importantly, FAITH. And that includes him and his every memory. What a blessing. 

A Birth Day

Born, December 27, 1976

On this day in 1976 was born into a scary life. A life definitely unfit to raise children in. An environment riddled with drugs, violence, neglect, hunger, abuse and pain. I was born to drug addicted parents who were not stable and into a life that had no hopeful outcome. But, I was born.

I was born to nearly die at 7 months old from viral pneumonia. I was born to live in foster care until adopted at age 5. But, I was born. I was born to watch my brother be taken back to foster care. I was born to grow up not knowing where I come from. But, I was born. I was born to experience loss so great that the effects would last a lifetime and to be changed forever by circumstances I had no control over. But it was born. I WAS BORN.

I don't know what time I came into the world and there are no pictures or records from that day. I can imagine it was bitter-sweet as my mother and father were already struggling to raise two children. I feel sure that the birth was hard for my mother as she struggled with "sadness" and drug addiction. But, I was born. I was born.

I can not share with you any stories from that day because all of them died when my birth parents committed suicide. I can not tell you how much I weighed or how long I was. And I will never be able to tell you when I started sleeping through the night. But I was born. I was born.

I was born to be given up so that I could be found. I was born to have no trust so that I could learn to trust. I was born having no family so that I could one day be grateful for my own. I was born to lose so that I could know what it means to win. I was born to make mistakes in my journey to understand that it's the journey that matters. I was born to feel pain so that I can know the joy of a great feeling body. I was born to take the hits so that I could learn to be tough enough to get up and go again. I was born to push away so that I could learn to open my heart. I was born to fail so that I could be accountable to the victory. I was born to wait until I could be patient enough to actually wait.

I WAS BORN and I have lived an awesome life. Humble beginnings have actually set a great foundation for me. I have loved many, I have hurt many, I have helped many. I have no regrets.

There will always be a part of me that longs for those stories. I would be a liar if I told you different. But that doesn't cause me to be sad, not anymore. Now I get up on this day and say I WAS BORN. And this is an actual life. To be lived. To embrace. To screw up. To fix. To celebrate. To affect. It causes me to wear a patch of pride instead of shame for my scars. And it causes me to appreciate every breath that I take. Because, man, I WAS BORN.

Three Memories

Sometime between the age of 6 and 9 I saw my brother again. The memory of that day is very vague. It was a scheduled visit at a beach or a park somewhere far from the house. The drive there was long and we didn't stay very long once we got there. I remember Jason though. He looked and acted happy. He hugged me and we played. I remember him giving me a pewter E.T. Figurine. That was the last time I saw Jason, until I was 20.

That is a good memory. I have thought of that memory almost every day of my life. Even as a young child, I held on to that memory. I know no other particulars about that day, just the way that I felt. I remembered only good things about my brother Jason until I saw him again in 1996. I longed for Jason throughout my childhood. I often worried about him, and cried for him.

When I struggled, I always wished he was there. For many reasons, my sister, Lauren, and I were lost throughout our childhood. Both of us. Sports and school activities kept me going. Lauren was not as fortunate. She had an extremely "hard time adjusting" as it was explained to me. She fought her own battles. Some affected me, others didn't. That is her life to deal with and her tragedies to get through. I had my own stuff. Different but just as damaging. My adoptive parents did the absolute best they could under the circumstances. But we all had a tough time getting through it.

Jason and I in 1996

When a family breaks up, a lot of pain can follow that. Jason, Lauren and I were a family inside of a family. We were broken the day we were taken from our birth mother and before our adoption was finalized. It affected all three of us differently. For me missing Jason proved to be the inevitable crutch that held me back spiritually, mentally, physically and emotionally. The anxiety caused by loosing Jason, created a tsunami wave of pain that affected me and my family. This gigantic wave caused abandonment, grief, distrust, anger, regret, depression, fear, and an overall anxiety in me and my siblings throughout our childhood and well into our adult years. I went a different way than my siblings. My story will end differently than theirs.

I will always remember that day at with Jason. When I close my eyes I remember him handing me the E.T. figurine. I see the wind blowing his hair and his hand reaching out to hold mine. I see him happy. I have three memories of my brother. The first was the day he was taken by Social Services, the second was the day I saw him at the beach, and the last time was in 1996, when I found him and visited him. He disappeared after that and I never heard from him or saw him again.

So many people experience trauma in their young lives and before they have developed the skills to cope with it. There are survival skills that one must learn in life. When you are young you are not equipped with those survival skills. You just get through it somehow. What happened to me, after it all was said and done, is a miracle. I know now, I survived because of God's grace and mercy. I know now that every defining moment had a central theme and the lessons from those moments lead me to the most precious revelation of all.

A Closet for Christmas

(left to right) Lauren, Nana, Me and Jason during a visit

My brother, sister and I spent almost 5 years in foster care. We lived in a home with several other kids and 6 children of our foster mother's. We called her Nana. The information in the "blue folder" described her as a loving person who cared about us a great deal. I don't really remember her that well. I do remember that she was an older lady. Her daughter's helped take care of all of us. It was a busy house. There was always something going on, kids in and out. It was very loud. We lived downstairs and weren't allowed to go upstairs for any reason. My room was a large closet in the front of the house and I slept in a crib from 8 months old until we left when I was almost 5. I remember Nana cross-stitched or did some kind of crafting and there were a bunch of those popcorn tins in the house. I remember watching some kids get adopted before me. They were younger than me and didn't have any siblings so they "went" quicker than my siblings and I. That's about all I remember about foster care. I don't have a terrible feeling when I try to remember that time of my life. I believe it was a safe place.

I've always felt so grateful for being adopted. Not many people could have adopted kids of our age and background. Most people wanted babies or very young children. And not a whole lot of people wanted more than one. My adopted parents would tell me that from time to time. I am not sure why they did that, but they would always follow it up with, "we picked you guys", "we wanted you guys". Moving into their home was an experience I remember well. My brother got his own room while he was there and my sister and I shared a room. I had a bed for the first time in my life and an actual room. I remember that well.  Our parents slept on a pull-out couch in the living room while renovations were being made to the house. They were building an addition onto the back of the house and a room upstairs. When my brother was sent back, I moved into his room.

The house was built before the Revolutionary War and sat on over 12 acres of land. A lot of the land was wooded with pine trees. It was a fun place for kids to grow up. You could have an adventure every day. The floors in the house were actual wood planks and the exterior was cedar shingles. There was a "trap" door in the hallway floor that led to a makeshift basement. It was made of the same wood the floor was made of an opened from the floor up. It was a great house. I remember a picnic we had there when we moved in. We met a lot of the family and that was a happy day because everyone seemed so excited to meet us and spend time with us. The other thing I remember about that day is chasing my brother around the house. It had to be spring because I remember the smell of the grass and the sun was shining bright. It was a good day.

(left to right) Lauren, our new dad, me 1st Christmas, 1981 

Our fist Christmas came along and our parents asked each of us what we wanted. Jason had already left
before Christmas and I don't remember much. But, my mother said that when she asked me what I wanted for Christmas, I told her a closet. I wanted a closet. Of all the things I could have and that was what I wanted. A closet for Christmas might sound funny to most people but I think it was me trying to get some normalcy back into my life. I had slept in that crib in that closet for years and that was what I knew. I never had my own room until we moved into our new home. I so appreciated that room and that bed. I was happy to share a room with my sister. That was until she began to have a hard time adjusting, then it became a little violent and unsettling in that room. I was still grateful though. I was happy just to be there.

My entire life I have been so grateful for anything I've had or that has happened. I have known my whole life how it could have been had I not been adopted. I have known my whole life how it could have been to be without parents. I was told when I was six that our birth mother had committed suicide. I will never forget that day. It was when I first began to understand loss. Throughout my life I expected only the minimum because I believe that even the minimum was enough and was a blessing. And disappointment wasn't something I felt too often because anything was better than foster care. I got used to loss way too young. I had become accustomed to adversity way too young. I learned how to deal with feelings of inadequacy way too young and most days I woke up not knowing how defeated I was. I didn't know God then. He wasn't a topic of discussion in our home. I know now, it would have been easier had I been introduced to faith earlier in my life.

A closet for Christmas. Think about what your children want for Christmas. I think of what Madyson asks for and it blows my mind. I think she asked for a phone at age 5. Either 5 or 6. I never even knew to ask for materialistic things as a newly adopted child. All I wanted was a closet. A darn closet. People often accuse me of being "overdone" or "two passionate". You can't come from where I come from and not be. You can't lose the people I have lost and not appreciate so much the people that stay and the ones who you connect with. I was so grateful for that closet just as I am so grateful for every blessing I have been given throughout my life. It's true that you can not know happiness until you become grateful. So many of us work hard to find the negative things in our life. We spend time dissecting what others have done to us, or haven't done for us. Somehow we just squander the blessings that God has given us and even laugh in the face of his mercy and grace. We forget that there are people in this world who are happy to have anyone to call family. We overlook that there are children out there who are just excited to get a closet for Christmas.

You Look Just Like Your Dad

Madyson, almost 2 :-)

When Madyson was born she had dark hair just like me. I loved it! I wanted her to look like me. I couldn't wait to be a mother. I wanted a bunch of kids, a large family. Moreover, I couldn't wait to have a blood relative. I know that sounds weird to most, but it meant a great deal to me. By the time she was born I had lost every remaining blood relative to death or estrangement and I was desperate for some true family. I needed someone I could relate to and say things like, "you have my eyes" and "you get your skin tone from me" or "you have your dad's teeth". I never heard those things growing up because there was no one to compare it to. I didn't have any pictures of my parents when I was a child or young adult, those pictures didn't surface until after Mady was born and I went on a search to find the truth. I hoped that having a daughter with even just a few of my physical characteristics would fill a person void in me. And I knew it would help Mady to know who she was and where she came from. I knew from watching other families that we could connect through sharing these stories.

Me, not sure what age.

I am sure you have heard the saying, "you can't know where you are going, until you know where you came from." That is such a true statement. It is true down to the core of physical characteristics as well. For me it wasn't just about where I was born, and who my parents were, but it was about who I looked like. As a child, I would look in the mirror and wonder where I got my nose from and why my feet were so big. I wanted to know which one of my parents had dark hair and if I got my eyes from my father or mother. Those things were important to me. I think they are important to most people, but most people take those small things for granted. It was always strange for me and my sister because people who didn't know that we were adopted would always try and figure out who we looked like. People would say "Stephanie, you look just like your dad." I found that funny. My parents and I would just look at each other and smile. But deep down it just made me long to know if I really did look like my father, my birth father. It became obvious to me at a very young age that physical traits were important in identifying yourself and who you belong to. It also became very clear to me that how you looked and who you looked like would affect how people treated you. That is just the truth about people and their judgement. I think we have all been a victim of that.

My birth father, not sure what age

I have one daughter. My plan for a large family wasn't in the cards. I always say if you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans. I was only meant to have one daughter and she is my everything. That is how it is supposed to be when you are a parent and it is how God intended it for me. She doesn't only look like me. She has some of my physical traits and some of her dad's. I always tell her she got the best of both of us, inside and outside. I can tell it gives her a sense of belonging and history knowing that and being able to recognize it when she looks at herself in the mirror.

Almost every day I am able to give my daughter something I didn't have as a child. Giving her my traits and being able to tell her about the day she was born and where she gets her big feet from are a couple of those things. It's an amazing blessing and something I don't take lightly.

Becoming Foster Children

That's my birth mother behind the table.
This is the only photo I have of her. That's Jason in the middle 

When I was 23, I became a mother. My daughter Madyson was born and I was thrilled. I was completely overwhelmed with emotion. I was feeling emotions I had never felt before. I looked at her and felt a closeness and unconditional love that I never had before, not with any person. All mothers can relate to that. But for me, being a mother also came with a lot of questions. For the first time in my life, I realized that my childhood was not normal. I couldn't understand why a mother couldn't take care of her children. I couldn't wrap my head around that. How could that happen? Why would God allow it? Where was God when all of this was happening? Something had to have been terribly wrong. I realized that I didn't know that much about my birth parents and I wanted to know if my birth father was still alive. I wanted to meet him. My birth mother had committed suicide (drug overdose) in 1983, roughly two years after we were adopted. But, my birth father was still a mystery, so much of it was a mystery. All we knew was what was in a blue, coffee stained folder.

Left to Right, my birth Father, his mother and his brother

When we were adopted, my new parents were given a blue folder with 5 sheets of paper in it. On those 5 sheets of paper was the story of how we came to be foster children . The story explained that my birth mother was very sick and couldn't really take care of us. It revealed that Jason, born prematurely, had been seen in and out of the hospital for "bumps and bruises" throughout his early childhood. It described a mother who was married three times, to each of our father's, and had a lot of "sadness" in her life. It read on that Jason "had tried so hard to take care of his little sisters, and was such a good little boy, but it was too much for him to do at his young age." It exposed what our father's did for a living and what our mother looked like. Later in the story, it talked about my father and his desire to get help for us kids. He was instrumental in placing us out of harms way. His name was Stephen, he was a cab driver, and he knew that he and my mother "couldn't take care of us". There was not much information about Jason's or Lauren's fathers except that Jason's dad, Raymond, was Native American and Lauren's dad, Lawrence, was a pipe fitter.

My adopted mother kept this folder and every now and again when I had questions, she would bring it out and reread it to me. Lauren didn't ask much, she remembered a lot more than I did, but didn't and wouldn't talk about it. I on the other hand, had this thirst for the truth, the whole truth. And when I become a mother, that thirst became almost an obsession. I had to know what happened, what really happened. I knew if I could understand the circumstances then I could also understand finally why Jason had to leave us. He was much older than Lauren and I, and I had to know what he went through while living in the house with my birth mother and sometimes her mother. I wanted to know everything because I knew that would explain the hard time my sister had adjusting and it might explain why she was also so sad and angry growing up.

I began a search that would answer all my questions.