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Posts Tagged ‘adoption’

her sweet baby sister

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on August 1, 2025| 3 Comments »

In loving memory of Barbara L. Audi (November 4, 1960 – July 25, 2025)

I begin to write, walk away, come back, edit, rephrase. I want to say the right things to honor my sister – but what can I say to paint the picture skillfully enough? I can only hope her amazing soul somehow shines through my words. I’ll be editing this a lot until I’m happy with what I say and how I say it.

My name is Amy, but the name on my original birth certificate is Christina Ann Sweet. I didn’t know it, or have access to that birth certificate, until early 2017 when I found my biological family. In an instant I went from an only child to the youngest of 5 on my birth mother’s side and the oldest of 3 on my birth father’s side.

This was a lot to process.

The first sibling I met was Barbara, third born of our mother, Marilyn. Barbara was 9 years older than me and lived just 20 minutes away for most of our lives, though of course neither of us knew it.

When I worked up the courage to call her for the first time, her answering machine picked up. Barb’s husband Mickey heard my brief explanation on the message, and in shock, handed the phone to Barbara. The minute she understood this was real, she asked, “how soon can you get here?”

I drove there right quick and she immediately threw her skinny arms around me in a tight hug. “My sweet baby sister!” she cried joyfully, holding on as though I’d run away if she let go. She had been looking for me – and wanting her “baby sister” – since I was born but not brought home. Of all possible reactions to my sudden appearance, this is the last one I’d imagined.

And yet here we were, so obviously sisters. Same lanky frame, same facial features, same mannerisms. For the first time in my life I resembled a family member…one who loved me unconditionally right from the get-go. Amazing.

For the next 8 and a half years, my big sister Barb was my friend, confidant, partner in crime, and biggest fan.

Barb welcomed me into her home and family, wholly and with no hesitation. We discovered we had very similar taste in music, clothes, activities, you name it.

The first time she walked me around her property, in fact, she paused by a creek and asked sheepishly, “is it weird if I want to play with rocks right now?” “Wait, what?” I cried. “I play with rocks! Let’s play with rocks!” And so we did, like two little kids.

When I visited, I nearly always brought along glue sticks and magazines, and we’d make collages together, telling Alexa to play Crosby Stills and Nash, Van Morrison, CCR, or the Eagles. She preferred the Rolling Stones and I, the Beatles — but we loved so many of the same things that I began to understand how we humans are definitely products of both nature and nurture.

I got to meet our older brother, Philip, the next summer when we planned a stay at the beach nearest him; he lived in Enterprise, Alabama at the time, so I drew a line from there down to the ocean and hit Panama City Beach, Florida, on the panhandle. Barbara and I flew down, he drove to us, and we had a wonderful reunion-vacation together. We loved it so much that she and I vacationed there together 3 more times, creating shell pictures, adopting beach cats, and making up stories about the people passing by our porch.

In almost every photo I have of us, Barb is either holding on to me, looking at me lovingly, or both.

Sometimes she would take my hand and simply say “I just adore you.”

I basked in her love, maybe even took for granted that it – and she – would always be there.

Though she never met Jonah, she always asked about him and she kept a photo of him on her fridge.

My big sister was ornery and obstinate, loving and accepting. Her laugh was loud and infectious, and she was all kinds of fun. She was imaginative, inventive, and incredibly kind. She rescued animals and people alike, collecting strays and hearts along the way. She exemplified her maiden name, Sweet, in everything she did.

She even found four leaf clovers all the time (and proved this to me one day by finding 2 in less than 5 minutes)! She enjoyed antiques and pottery and plants, and she loved her children, grandchildren, father, friends, and family so very much. She made friends with strangers everywhere she went in a way I’ve never witnessed but always admired. She was a strong, free spirit and a bright, lovely soul. Barbara was nothing less than a gift from God, and I’m so grateful I had her for as long as I did.

The services are tomorrow. Her daughter Robin and I plan to wear colorful dresses to celebrate her life. Barb’s favorite color was yellow – the color of warm sunshine, sweet honey, sour lemons (a flavor we both love) and so very many different kinds of beautiful birds and flowers.

So shine on, sweet sister. I will miss you and love you always.

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bracing, embracing

Posted in adoption, Anderson School, autism, behavior, grandma, placement, The Anderson School for Autism, Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on October 22, 2017| 5 Comments »

It’s been a great summer with Jonah – he was mostly happy, lovey, and good-natured.  Predictable in the best way, and I swear he grew 6 inches since last year — my height (5’7″) at least, when he’s not in his typical slouch.  He went swimming, enjoyed campus walks at school, and his visits with us were awesome –well, at least from my perspective.

Our summer routine:  my mom and I drive down early every Sunday morning, and as always she stays back at Andy’s apartment while Andy and I pick up Jonah at his residence.  About 80% of the time, he’s already at the door, looking through its window for daddy – because it is daddy he looks for.  Andy picks Jonah up for visits a few times a week, and Jonah adores his father.  So as soon as we enter the code and open the door, Jonah walks out immediately.  I don’t take any of this personally.  Whenever I’m not there, he asks for mama, and I know he loves me too.  It’s all just part of how he rolls.

Usually Andy takes Boo to the car while I stay back to sign him out, talk to the caregiver staff, gather his coat or other items, and grab his meds for the day.  When I return to the car Andy’s just putting Jonah in his harness and getting him settled in the back seat behind mama.

Jonah asks for radio and if the song is not what he wants he’ll say other radio – and if it’s not loud enough, he’ll say on which is his way of asking us to turn it up. On! he’ll repeat until it’s either loud enough for his satisfaction or as loud as we’ll let him have it.  Then we drive to either Dunkin’ Donuts or Stewart’s and procure a jelly or chocolate donut, based on Jonah’s caprice.   We head back to the apartment as Jonah eats his treat.  I hand him a wipe and he cleans his own hands and face, then hands the wipe back to me.  Sometimes he asks for kiss hand and gladly I oblige.

At the apartment he confirms Grandma is there and will sometimes acknowledge her, usually accepting a hug or kiss, then heading for the fridge.

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There he pulls out random things he thinks he wants and we help set him up with the burger and fries grandma always brings.  Sometimes he asks for Jungle Book or Oompa Oompa,  his attention span varying in length but always longer than it used to be.  Sometimes he asks for train on computer and wants to choose his own videos, on as loud a volume we’ll allow.  He still, on occasion, enjoys his bathtub brunch.

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Always after these activities and sometimes in lieu of them, he disappears into Andy’s bedroom to get in and under the covers.  I ask “can mama lie with you?” and he always says yes.  So I take off my shoes, make sure his are off, and get in with him.  Usually he giggles: “And the boobie,” he says softly, turning to try to reach down my shirt.  I gently move his arm and he giggles again but stays still.  And after only one redirection, lately, he keeps his hands to himself, turns away from me, and pulls both covers and pillow over his head; I curl into him and rub his shoulders or scratch his back.  Usually we both fall asleep for an hour or so like this.

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I sometimes hear my mother and Andy talking.  They argue politics or talk about Boo.  Andy got rid of TV and my mom can’t have her Fox News anymore, so she reads a newspaper or book.

Like I said, visits this summer were awesome for me.  Andy doesn’t mind if I take a nap with Boo, but poor grandma is left to her own devices.  “Lie down with us,” I tell her, and she could, but she doesn’t want to.  Stretched out on the bed, you can see just how long and lanky he’s gotten.

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Sometimes my mom gets sad about Jonah napping during visits, but I remind her it’s a hell of a lot better than the stretch of time when Jonah refused to get out of the car at all – or, worse, when he was attacking us left and right.  At least he comes in the apartment, even if it’s only to nosh and nap.  It’s more than good enough for me.  My mom is getting older, though, and she tires easily.  It’s a lot for her to drive down.  Lately I’ve been doing the driving, both ways, in her car.  And if I can’t visit for whatever the reason, she hasn’t been going either.

It’s hard on her, and on my dad too, I’m sure.  Jonah’s the only grandchild they’ve got, and they’re surrounded by friends, family –everyone, really, all talking about their grandchildren.  Photos and stories of them at the beach, in a play, on vacation, at graduation.  My parents wanted that too.  They love Jonah very much but I’m sure they grieve the grandchild(ren) they never had.

Because Jonah is 15 now, we’re starting the process of transitioning him to an adult program. He can stay at Anderson until he is 21, but before that we need to identify the best, most appropriate housing for Jonah.  So I went to a required Front Door orientation about a month ago.  Mostly they talked about very basic stuff – what it means to be eligible, how to prove eligibility, how to access services – things we plugged into years ago.  Because it’s an adult service, though, some of the details will change.  Instead of an Individualized Educational Plan (IEP), for example, he’ll have an Individualized Service Plan (ISP).

And so here we go.  So far Andy and I have only decided that we will choose the best place we can, whether it’s near Albany where he once lived with us, near Rhinebeck where he lives now, or somewhere in between.  Aside from that, we’ll cross bridges and make decisions as we come to them.  It’s a 6-year transition for a reason; the system operates slowly, lists are long, and Jonah may change and grow beyond what we anticipate.  If we had to make such a decision today, it might be very different from one we’d make 6 years from now.  I guess we need to decipher the most likely trajectory and go from there.  We really are at the very beginning of the whole process.

To be honest, I don’t like thinking about it.  It would be easy to worry, to waste time imagining scenarios and outcomes, but what good would it do?  Best to educate ourselves about options and forge ahead.

But here comes Halloween time, and for the past two years this has meant Jonah’s behaviors get worse and he becomes very aggressive.  Last year he was so violent, he spent Halloween in the hospital.  And sure enough, it seems we’re in for it again.  Andy says not to worry, that Jonah continues to be good for him and on our visits, and he’s right.  But last week I got the dreaded email, on three different occasions, detailing dates and times during which Jonah needed take-down interventions.

I can’t even muster the hope that it won’t be another season of helplessness in the face of whatever’s making Jonah’s pendulum swing yet again.  I have to wonder if he has Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). He does have crying jags now and again that seem to have no cause.  I think I have SAD too, or maybe it’s just a reaction to Boo’s uptick in behaviors, but either way I face depression in the fall and winter.

My solution this year is to schedule more things with friends and force myself out of the house.  Almost always I end up enjoying myself, and getting out is healthier for my head.  It’s way too easy for me to “hermitize,” as I call it, staying inside virtually all the time unless I go to work or visit Boo.  Amazon.com and grocery delivery make it that much easier to stay in.  It’s no good for me to sit and dwell or go numb and listless.

As a result, I’ve spent more time recently with my sister Barbara (it still feels so strange to say my sister) or my friends.  I went to a beautiful mountain Oktoberfest with an old college roommate, drove over to friend KP’s house for food & a fire, that kind of thing.  It isn’t easy, honestly, when home feels so comfortable and the world seems full of obstacles and assholes.  This Saturday night I’m even joining a bunch of friends on an evening Halloween cruise with dinner and dancing (dear God and little baby Jason help me).  I’m going to fight this SAD if it kills me, both on my own behalf and on Jonah’s too.  I’ve been talking with his doctor and behavioral staff and they are raising his dose of Prozac a bit.  We want Boo to be happy.

I’m bracing for the storm that might blast us for a third year, but also embracing the good days, and feeling very grateful for every last one we get.

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There’s more to tell and it would be easier if I’d write here more regularly, so I’ll work on that too.  I just found more siblings – a younger half-brother and sister on my birth father’s side.  They didn’t know I existed, which is a whole lot different from finding my birth mother’s daughter, Barbara, who had been looking for me my whole life.

My new brother and sister both seem interested in at least emailing, which is more than I’d expected.   Given the situation, I won’t mention names or post pics.  I was born just days after our father married their mother, which doesn’t sound very good.  The last thing I want is to cause a rift in their parents’ long and happy marriage, so I’m going to let my new siblings decide how to handle what must be very shocking news.

Who’d have thought this only child would end up with so many sisters and brothers?  I wonder if there could be more even I don’t know.  Life throws curve balls.  I’m as ready for them as I could be, I reckon.

Here’s to a happy Halloween for Boo, and all of you!  I’ll keep you posted on that storm, if it lands…

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trajectories & rewrites

Posted in adoption, Anderson School, behavior, tagged , , , , on January 28, 2017| 8 Comments »

There are many roads converging for me, and Jonah, right now.  I’m not going to say a lot about Jonah just yet – there is an IEP meeting coming up and I’ll write more about him then.  Our visits have been good, and he hasn’t aggressed toward me in many months.  I’m really looking forward to seeing him tomorrow and giving him the cool t-shirt I bought him last week when I was in Phoenix for work.

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I guess I’ve been too overwhelmed to write – too overwhelmed, even, to really turn things over in my head.  How expert I am at being the wintertime hermit, staying in, sleeping more than I need to, seeking a comfortable numb from a sometimes crushing and ever-present anxiety.  I’m usually good, though, at turning my attention from that which frightens or floods my mind.  To be honest, for a while now I’ve kind of kept my head in the sand, ostrich-ing my way beneath a lot of this life.

But recent events are taking me somewhere new now, shaking me awake from the slumber.

You want me to get to the point, probably, so here it is:

I found my birth family.

I’ve written a few times in this blog about being adopted.  (Each of those links will bring you to a random example).

So my co-worker, Erin, likes researching on Ancestry.com.  Back in the summer, when we’d first met, she was really interested in my somewhat half-hearted search to find birth relatives.  I presented her with all my non-identifying birth information and gave her the green light to start digging.  I’d already taken the DNA test through 23andme.com, so we had a second cousin to work from.  Then Erin said Ancestry.com had its own DNA test, so I took that one too.  Long story short, we found more relatives and Erin was able to nail down some family names (Hoffman, Moon, and Sweet) and some specific people.

My non-identifying birth information is so unique it wasn’t likely to be confused with another’s.  I have four siblings (the paperwork said “probably half siblings”).  The paperwork also included their sex, the year they were born, and the fact that the youngest boy (next to me) had died before I was born, cause unknown.

Twice Erin found women she thought might be my biological mother.  The first time, mid-summer, I wrote out a script for myself and when I called, no one answered, so I left a message.  The lady called me back and was very kind; she had no idea how we might be related but said she’d help me any way she could.  None of the information sounded familiar to her at all, though.  Erin and I determined we’d followed the wrong branch of a family tree.

The second time Erin found a potential match, back in early December,  it was a woman from the Sweet family.  I called her, using a script again and, like before, left a message.  This potential birth mother, however, never called me back.  We figured it was a dead end and Erin kept looking.

And then, one day in early January, Erin showed me an ad she’d found on adoption.com from another person in the Sweet family.  The woman who had placed the ad was looking for her sister, and said she had one brother and one sister, which matched my circumstances exactly.  She gave her sister’s estimated birth year as 1970 (I was born in September of 1969).  Then I saw the baby’s birth name:  Christina Ann Sweet.

My breath caught. My parents had told me that, at the time of my adoption, I was named Tina.  This was the detail, really, that made me confident it was not just another dead end.  “I’m the person she’s looking for,” I said.  “Me.  I think this is it.  You found them!”

And so Erin sat beside me as I called with my script.  Another answering machine, but halfway through my message a woman answered, her voice excited.  I explained again why I was calling and told her I thought I might be the sister she was looking for.  I mentioned that I had four half-siblings, one of whom had died before I was born.  Then she knew, and started to cry.  “I’ve been looking for you my whole life,” she told me.

With my boss’ kind permission I took 1/2 day off from work and drove out to meet her, only about 20 miles away.  After determining for certain that we were not mistaken, we talked and we laughed and she showed me all kinds of photos.  I think we look alike, though she is nearly 10 years older:

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We both love bohemian, hippie clothes.  We both love elves and don’t wear makeup.  We have so many of the same mannerisms.  We even both stand like a flamingo when we do dishes (something I had to have a photo of when I saw it).

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She is kind, and strong, and so happy to have found her “baby sister.”

There is a lot to tell, and more people to contact and see if they want to meet me or not.  I always assumed my birth family would want little or nothing to do with me – on the non-identifying birth info sheet it said I was the product of an affair and that my mother had reunited with her husband (apparently the father of all the other kids but me).  I envisioned a family repaired behind me, healed in my absence – maybe even because of my absence.  A single indiscretion on my mother’s part resulting in a surprise pregnancy and unwanted child – me.  They probably wouldn’t want a scar like that ripped open.

I was raised very much wanted and loved, by both of my parents as well as a big extended group of grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, none ever treating me as anything but one of the family.  Maybe it’s for this reason that I never tried all that hard to find my birth family.  It always seemed there would only be rejection waiting for me, and though I told myself it wouldn’t matter, I’m also old enough to understand you never really know how things are going to hit you.

But I wanted a photo of my birth mother, if nothing else.  And I couldn’t stop thinking that maybe some of the siblings at least might want to meet me.  And now I have both of those things.  This is my mother’s wedding photo:

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I still have many unanswered questions.  It turns out the second woman I’d called in early December was not a dead end after all – she is my birth mother.  She just didn’t call me back.

My brother’s death, just weeks before my birth, was a tragic accident.  And my siblings’ childhoods were not idyllic.   But I’m not here to expose wrongdoings, make accusations, or reveal things the family has the right to keep private.

I’ve been invited into the life of a sister who has been looking for me – a sister who wants me for a sister.  It’s something I’ve never even really considered as a possibility. Whether or not I will have a relationship with my other half-siblings isn’t clear yet.  It is enough, for now, to have the one.

Mostly I have Erin to thank, for without her this family likely would have all gone undiscovered.  Now I know information that was unfairly kept from me my whole life.  Information that I (and, I believe, all adoptees) have the right to know.  Who I am and where I came from.  It matters.  My siblings were told they had a little sister and then that little sister never came home from the hospital.  It wasn’t fair to them, either.

And so, just like that, my life’s trajectory has changed and will never be the same again.   I get to rewrite the ending.  I’m grateful for the gift of it.

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revelation part two

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , on November 24, 2013| 3 Comments »

Of course as soon as I posted that last entry, the school called to say Jonah needed a management/two-person take-down that day.  But I wasn’t expecting a miracle, just enjoying a moment.  Or a few thousand moments.  In general, his behaviors have shrunk significantly in both frequency and severity.

Though I have been very sick (more migraines w/accompanying nausea etc.) since early Friday morning and didn’t go with my mom to see Boo yesterday, I am beginning finally to feel better.  I’ll see Jonah on Thanksgiving Day when Andy drives him up for a visit, and I can look forward to that.

I also am looking forward to and simultaneously afraid of revelation number two.  It will be a wandering story, because these kinds of revelations always are…and I’ll start here…

I have this wonderful friend, and though we’ve only spent six days or so in one another’s company, we have remained simpatico even though those six days are now three years ago.  She and her partner are embarking on the journey of foster parenthood, and many of the babies they will foster have been born crack addicted or will have other conditions and disabilities to overcome.

Having regarded Boo a “difficult” baby, I’m unsure how to imagine caring for an infant who won’t/can’t stop screaming, who won’t/can’t sleep, and who, somehow at the same time, needs to be nurtured and loved and held even more than a “normal” child.    I know in my heart that my friend can do this, and can also let go when it is time to do so, however heartbreaking it may be.

Is it heartbreaking for the baby, too?

I was in foster care from birth to six months old, after which I was adopted into my family.  I wish I knew the circumstances of the first six months of my life, other than that I was placed into foster care because “there was something wrong with my feet,” which my parents were later instructed to fix, early 70s-style, by attaching my feet to a straight bar as I slept.

I wonder how much those six months shaped me, and I wonder why, as my parents tell me, I did not seem to mind being suddenly moved to another environment with different people, different sights & smells — a different life.  It kind of worries me (half-kidding) that I was all fine and smiley in my new home.  I would not like it one bit if someone took Boo away from me at six months old — and I would not expect him to like it one bit either.  I mean, damn.  You can’t tell me babies are that malleable.  Or are they?

Or was I simply quite happy to wake up warm and so obviously loved and welcomed by a large family of parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents, the whole shebang?  None of my family has ever made me feel adopted.  Not ever.

Still, I was always curious about my biological relatives – and I wanted more medical history for both me and the only other blood relative I know (Jonah-boo) – so I did a spit kit DNA test to see if I could find some blood relatives on www.23andme.com.

It’s been a year now since my results came back.  I did find out which genetic markers I had and whether I was predisposed to all kinds of different illnesses and diseases.  I actually have a low risk rate (compared to the average population) of most everything except Restless Leg Syndrome (RLS).

I also found out what part(s) of the world my ancestors are from, and how much of me is from where, and who I am distantly related to based on DNA strands or whatever tool they’ve got to determine these things.

A genetic expert I am not.

I never found anyone closer than a “possible 3rd or 4th cousin” on the site, and tracing relations that far removed, especially with me being adopted, would be near-impossible.  Last month, though, I received a notification that a definite second cousin match, R, had been found.  She wrote to me through the 23 and me site, and I answered.

Long story short, it appears I have stumbled upon my biological relatives.

After sharing all the non-identifying information I had with R (which actually provides quite a lot of details, like four half-siblings born before me and each of their birth years and sexes, plus the fact that one had died before I was born),  she wrote back again.

It appears R’s father is my first cousin, and that one of his five aunts is my birth mother.  R’s whole family is still in the area where I was adopted (very close to where I live now), and though she now lives in the NYC/NJ area, she is coming up to see her family for Thanksgiving and will speak in person to them about all this.

One of the big potential problems is that, based on all that non-identifying information I’ve got, I’m the product of an affair (hence the four half and not full siblings), after which my birth mother reunited with her husband, and my birth father likely just took off running.

So I e-mailed R that I will understand if they don’t want to meet or see me, and that I’m not trying to impose myself on their family.

Exchanging e-mails would be great; meeting them would be cool.  But I need to prepare myself for complete rejection.  I cannot expect they’ll be rolling out the welcome mat for one who may only remind them of a painful situation perhaps best left in the decades-past.

Who knows what will happen?  I am used to questions, and mysteries, and instability, so this is not really all that different.    At any rate, I should know what has been decided, hopefully soon.

I really would like a picture of my birth mother, though, if that’s all I can have.  I want a partial mirror of myself to stare into, the way all my relatives (on both my mother’s and my father’s side) have certain commonalities; the features, behaviors, traits, and mannerisms they share are their mirrors.

I’d like a look at mine.

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march seventh, two thousand & two

Posted in Anderson School, autism, behavior, music, Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , on March 11, 2013| Leave a Comment »

Jonah turned 11 on March 7th.

This weekend I couldn’t see him; I was on a business trip to an adoption conference in NYC, so Andy brought Jonah up Friday evening (the day after his birthday) and I met them at oft-requested grandma’s house.

Evidently Boo was a good boy the night before at the residence, where they threw a little party with pizza and cake.   I guess as soon as Jonah understood it was his birthday party, he began incessantly requesting cake.  All through the party.  Cake?  cake?  cake?   And to be even more specific, what he really meant was frosting?  frosting?  frosting?

Perhaps for his birthday next year I will give him a whole tub of frosting right at the beginning of the party.

Of course I am being facetious and am in fact trying harder to pay careful attention to what he is eating and drinking.  Last post was all about how I want an answer to his aggression, and I figure the first place to look is nutrition & what is going into his body.    The school has a nutritionist and I may request the guidelines or whatever to pay more careful attention to Jonah’s diet.  In all probability it is me who gives him more “junk” food than anyone.  He actually eats his vegetables (and certainly gets no black soda) at school, that’s for sure.  Andy always has salad, vegetables, and healthy things for Jonah to eat.  I’ve ordered a continuous prescription of chewable Omega-3s; I think he’s been on them for a year or so now.

Most of the limited medical research I ‘ve done so far emphasizes the comorbidity of autism (particularly that which is accompanied by aggression) with stomach problems and/or sleeping difficulties.  Jonah goes to sleep early and sleeps well through the night, and he doesn’t have stomach difficulty.  Unless you count that the food gets down there unmasticated, as he is wont to shove great chunks of food into his mouth and needs constant reminders to take small bites.  Maybe that does mean something.  One of the problems with this kind of research is that I find either ‘autism 101’ filler pieces about how behavioral problems are addressed through ABA, sensory toys, social stories, etc. or I find articles and dissertations out of advanced medical journals and can’t even comprehend half of what I’m reading.

So I will dig a little more every day.

On Friday Jonah enjoyed his mini-party at grandma’s house.  She’d bought him two helium Happy Birthday balloons, which of course he loved, and as a treat we got him Burger King.  Of course, this was topped off by two baths and a very auspicious car ride to see train, which arrived at the crossing just as we did.  Jonah rolled down his window and stared at the passing railcars.  It was a very good visit.  Boo gave lots of hugs and kisses, and requested music? if we weren’t playing it loud enough.

Boo tries to share a french fry with his balloon

Boo tries to share a french fry with his birthday balloon

“How old are you now, Boo?”

No answer.

“How old is Jonah now?

I’mtenyearold he replies in a word-slur only someone used to his enunciation can understand.

“Guess what, Boo?  You’re eleven years old now!”

Evvenyearold, he tells me.

“That’s right, Boo, you’re eleven now.  How old is Jonah now?”

I’mtenyearold, he answers, as if to say I just told you.

Gotta love my boy.

a birthday bath - one of two

a birthday bath – one of two

That night Andy kept Jonah overnight for the first time since we admitted Boo to Anderson, a year and a half ago.  And Jonah was good, and it went well, though even when he is good he is an exhausting enigma.

And here I am outside Madison Square Garden,
playing around while waiting for my train
because, underground, Penn Station feels
dizzy with people, everywhere people, blurry-quick,
moving confidently and frenetically in all directions…
and I don’t like it to be down there.

Carmelo Anthony and me

‘Carmelo Anthony’ and me

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under my heart

Posted in autism, Uncategorized, tagged , , on November 12, 2012| 9 Comments »

“Not flesh or my flesh, nor bone of my bone
Yet still, miraculously, my own.
Never forget for a single minute
You didn’t grow under my heart, but in it.”

~ Fleur Conkling Heylinger

I’m preparing to go to Brooklyn this weekend to exhibit and maybe speak at an adoption conference.  I’m adopted, and I like to work with prospective adoptive parents.  I have a soft spot in my heart for them and love doing everything I can to help them complete their families through adoption.

Jonah is my biological child and the only blood relative I know, which is weird.  I do like when people say he looks like me.  And yet it never mattered that I didn’t look like my parents’ families (they really all do have similarities in their faces and mannerisms –  nature, not nurture).

Anyway, I’m looking forward to the conference, but also I’m more than a little hesitant to be going to New York City.  The City freaks me out under normal circumstances, but I’m frightened it’ll be eerie, too – a wounded place.

I am there to smile and bring hope to the people who file in to the conference, most of them brand new at this whole adoption thing.  Overwhelmed and emotional, they need a friendly face and maybe some tissue.  You cannot pry but you need to encourage.  I love meeting the people, meeting their frightened eyes with my reassuring ones:  don’t worry; your child will find you, I want to tell them.

So I won’t see Boo this weekend and in fact not until Thanksgiving, when we’ll probably bring turkey sandwiches down to Andy’s, and Jonah will beg for bath and grocery store, oblivious of the holiday.  I miss him already, and would gladly trade a big hug for a small slap.

My dad and I are going out to lunch tomorrow.  He’ll ask me how work has been going and I’ll tell him about the adoption conference.  I’ll bring along The Story of Amy, a red-cloth-covered cling page 70s photo album turned into a book by my parents.  My mother wrote in careful script-like print, using cutouts of congratulations on your new baby cards as illustrations:

The Story of Amy

Once upon a time there was a lady and a man named Mr. and Mrs. Wink.  They had been married for quite a few years.  They were happy and still young, but there was one thing wrong.  They had no baby although they always longed for one to share their home.

One day Mr. and Mrs. Wink said to each other, ”Let’s adopt a baby and bring her up as our very own.”  So the next day they called up the lady who helps people to adopt babies and babies to adopt parents, and said to her, “Miss Brown, we wish so much to find a baby who would like to have a mommy and a daddy and could be our very own.  Will you help us find one?”

Miss Brown said, “It will not be be easy.  Many people wish to adopt babies, and you may have to wait a long time.  But come see me and let’s talk it over.”

So Mr. & Mrs. Wink went to see Miss Brown and told her how much they wanted to adopt a baby.

Miss Brown asked them many questions and said, “I will do my best to find just the right baby for you.  But remember, you may have to wait a long time.”

After a little while Miss Brown came to visit Mrs. Wink.  She was very nice, but quite particular.  She asked more questions, and went all over their home.  She seemed specially interested in knowing where the baby would sleep and play.  She found that the Winks had a lovely home and lots of room for a baby.

Many more months went by and Mr. and Mrs. Wink kept saying to each other, “I wonder when our baby will be coming.”  Mrs. Wink would call up Miss Brown and say, “We are still waiting for our baby.  Please don’t forget about us.”  Miss Brown would say, “Be patient.  It takes time to find just the right baby.”

Several months later Miss Brown came to visit the Winks again.  Surely this means our baby will be coming soon! 

One day Mrs. Wink got a phone call from Miss Brown.  “I have good news for you!  We have a baby girl for you to see.  Can you come tomorrow?”  Mrs. Wink was so happy and excited.  She called Mr. Wink at the office and told him the news.

The next day Mr. and Mrs. Wink went to see Miss Brown.  First she told them about the baby: “She is six months old with the biggest eyes you’ve ever seen and lots of brown hair,” she said, “now go into the next room and see her.

Mr. & Mrs. Wink both held the baby girl.  “This baby is our chosen baby.  She’s just perfect!”

Miss Brown said, “Well go home and get some baby clothes and some baby food and come back tomorrow and you can take your little girl home.”

That night Mr. and Mrs. Wink went shopping for baby clothes and food.  They were so excited they didn’t sleep all night.   The next day, they went to pick up their baby girl. “What shall we name her,” they said.  Mr. Wink said, “How about Amy?  I think that’s a pretty name.”  Mrs. Wink thought for a while then she said yes, “Amy means beloved.  I think Amy Marie would be a pretty name for our little girl.”

After dinner the Wink’s house was a very busy place.  Everyone came to see little Amy.  All her grandmothers, grandfathers, aunts, uncles, and cousins were there to see her.  And of course they just loved her!

After everyone left, mommy and daddy got Amy ready for bed.  When they put her in her crib they both said “this is the happiest day of our lives; we have a beautiful little girl.  At last we are a family!

The End

My parents read my story to me so often, I suppose, that I always knew I was adopted.  And I was very lucky; it was a good family.   I’ve always been lucky, always been blessed.  I certainly didn’t always realize it or appreciate it, but now I know it.  I know it every day.  It helps a lot to know it.  When I’m grateful I’m happy.

People deal too much with the negative, with what is wrong.
Why not try and see positive things, to just touch those things and make them bloom?

~ Thich Nhat Hanh

‘Manzo knows this!

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