Are You Using Instant Therapy Spray?

While I was on vacation, I spotted this gag gift in a store and it brought a hearty chuckle.

As funny as it was to see this “instant therapy spray”, it reminded me of how many broken or even traumatized people think they can become whole without help.

Just like crash diets don’t work, neither does suppression, pasting on a smile, or living in denial.

“Stopping by to talk to the pastor” doesn’t work either.  I’ve been a minister for 28 years and although I have the utmost respect for pastors, they aren’t the same as therapists. Pastors give biblical counsel, not therapy – unless they are also licensed professional therapists. I know a few pastors who have that training and licensing, but most don’t.   

Human Beings Want Their Natural Mother

Two of my friends have both lost their mothers.

One friend was very close to her mother, and is grieving horribly. Everyone understands this.

Photo Credit: dimnikolov, Flickr

The other friend was not close to her mother. She is also grieving terribly and perhaps some do not understand why she is reacting the way she is. Why is she taking her mother’s passing so hard when the two were not close and in fact were at odds most times?

In going through the recent passing of my natural mother as well as observing other friends who go through the same, I have noticed the impact is great no matter the relationship. If one was close to their mother, they mourn the loss of spending time together – the comfort of their mom’s presence. If someone was not close to their mother, they mourn the loss of what they hoped for, but did not receive.  Either way, when your natural mother dies, it's a huge blow.

This is What Adoptee Grief Looks Like. Warning: Gross Picture

 "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."

Ernest Hemingway

Bleeding is my blogging style.

I took this photo in Ernest Hemingway's writing studio, last year in Key West.

My adoptee and first mom blogger friends are amazing. Some of them, like Susan Perry, write about adoptee rights and they blow people away with their knowledge of statistics and laws. 

Some, like Amanda Woolston, testify brilliantly before congress, and then write about it.

Others like Laura Dennis, write from a mental health perspective and can deliver compelling posts featuring case studies, therapist interviews and the like.

 

Me? I emotionally bleed. 

All over the laptop. 

And I invite you to watch me bleed. My writings are a journey of wanting you to be able to taste the coffee I'm drinking and walk down the hallway  with me where I'm rounding the corner, and feel the tear as it runs down my cheek and into my ear as I lay in bed at night. 

Most of all, I want people to know they aren't alone. 
And, they can make it.


Recently I told an adoptee friend, “It appears God lets me bleed to the edge of death and back so I can show other people how to do it and survive.” 

So today, I’m quite literally and not just figuratively bleeding. No, it's not that time of the month.

An Adoptee Living Through Not-Okay-Ness

"I'm for truth, no matter who tells it. I'm for justice no matter who it's for or against."  ~ Malcomn X

“Who is God?”

The question was on a church sign I saw yesterday, announcing a new sermon series, in the town where I’m staying right now. 

I’ve been on a leave of absence to get my bearings, following my first mother’s passing, and will be for a while. 

Photo Credit: HaarFager, Flickr

I had been crying as I drove along yesterday, the last two days being very hard ones.  I had nightmares both nights and woke up crying both days. 

When I saw the sign, it infused me with a shot of hope. Because I know who God is. And the question on the sign served as a reminder to me to think about that.

Since my first mom passed, I knew I wasn't in the right frame of mind right now to lead anybody but me. Leading myself takes every ounce of energy that I have at the moment. So I'm on a self imposed time out, for the sake of myself and others.

I have to motivate myself to get out of bed,  brush my teeth, and stuff like that. 

The Final Goodbye

I had never touched a dead body before.

Photo Credit: freedigitalphotos.net

I've seen a whole bunch of them.

Prayed for the people crying over them. 

Cried with those who are crying over them.

But never laid my hand on one.

Until Friday, August 9. 

The first deceased person I ever touched was my first mom.

I held her hand at hospice after she passed, and touched her face ever so gently. 

I took a photo of her hand in mine with my iPhone.  I will not post it here or show it to anyone. It is precious to me and remains just for me. I told her I’d never post her name here on the blog and in keeping with that I don’t post her photos either even though it’s just her hand.

The Lie We Believe About Time

 “...you know that a good, long session of weeping can often make you feel better, even if your circumstances have not changed one bit.”  

~ Lemony Snicket, The Bad Beginning  

My sister and I eat the same thing at Olive Garden every time.

Soup, salad and breadsticks.

And sometimes a piece of lemon cream cake to finish it off if we’re not too full. 

Photo Credit: dyobmit, Flickr

I normally get a caffe latte too.   

Last Friday, there was no cake or latte to finish it off and we mostly picked at our soups and salad. There’s something about a huge lump in your throat that makes it hard to eat.  

The Arrangements

 “You'll stay with me?'
Until the very end,' said James.”

~ J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows 

Taking the elevator down from the fifth floor hospice was a going-through-the-motions type thing. We walked to the parking deck and got in our cars to go to BlileyFuneral home. 

The five of us arrived -- Tom, my sister, Aunt Jeri, Tom’s daughter Merry, (who was providing care and driving Tom around full time now that his arm was broken) and myself. 

We were warmly welcomed by an administrative assistant and the funeral director on duty. Blileys is a huge funeral home with many funeral directors, one of which is actually in the building around the clock, to assist anyone who needs help. They let us know we could reach out to them anytime, day or night.

After asking what drinks each of us would prefer, we were led into a conference room with a beautiful round table and chairs around it for each of us. We took our seats along with the funeral director and his assistant and began the process of planning.

The Final Moments

 Clean clothes, dirty clothes, I threw them all in my suitcases, quickly repacking to unexpectedly leave the condo we were staying in for General Council in Orlando. Larry got me the next available flight out, which meant we needed to leave immediately for the airport.

Photo Credit: elitatt, Flickr

Meanwhile my sister texted me to say that Tom had gotten off balance and fell and broke his arm. He was in the ER of the same hospital our mother was in.  Shari was just beside herself and said, “I need you! Please, please come quickly!” 

  “I’m coming as fast as I can!” I declared, while throwing my makeup and hair products in the bag, yanking the phone charger out from the wall, zipping the suitcase and saying, "let's go, babe..."

"Why Can't You Just Be Happy?" (Five Truths to Understand)

I have friends who fight human trafficking.

Friends who fight domestic violence.

Friends who fight racism.

Friends who fight world hunger.

Photo Credit: Lincoln Blues, Flickr

Everyone around them seems to think this is great. (Me included!) Nobody seems to ever ask these friends why they continue to care about these issues, or why they can’t just be happy.

This happens to me about adoptee issues, though. A family member recently remarked, "I just wish you could be happy..." Be careful, you might end up in my blog. This might be worse than gastritis, depending on the situation.

Triad Gone Postal!

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh go the adoptees.

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh go the adoptive parents.

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh go the natural parents.

It’s a relentless cacophony of wailing.

Photo Credit: Ryan Vaarsi, Flickr

Why I Chose to NOT Go On Medication for Post-Adoption Pain

Disclaimer: What I share today is my personal journey and choice, and is not a statement that I believe everyone should follow the same path.  Please consult with your physician and therapist, to determine what course of action is best for you.

  

Photo Credit: Deanna Shrodes (Yes, this is my neighborhood...)

While out on a walk in the neighborhood I met a woman who had experienced the loss of a family member in the previous year. As we talked she shared that she had not really allowed herself to let go and release her emotions and fully express the grief. She told me she had not yet even allowed herself to cry. There was a fear that if she released her emotions she may have a nervous breakdown, the pain inside her was so great . “I’m afraid if I start crying I’ll never stop…” she said.

The Black Box Under The Bed (And How It Helped Me Find My Brother)

Have you ever played hide and seek and found yourself underneath a bed?  Perhaps all of us have been there at some point in time. Laying underneath my adoptive parents bed during a childhood game, I felt a large, cold object. I pulled it out from under the bed into the light. It was a black metal fireproof box. Curious, I opened it. 

Photo Credit: misha.ilin, Creative Commons

Unfolding the parchment-like papers, my eyes fell upon my original name for the first time.  I knew I was adopted, but all of this was new information. Adoption and name change papers declared that the child relinquished by an unnamed woman, and given to my adoptive parents, was named Melanie Lynn Alley. 

I can’t remember exactly how old I was when I found the box. I just know I was still small enough to fit underneath the bed. I couldn't lift my head but I could squeeze underneath there and hide. 

I stared at the papers trying to reconcile that Melanie was Deanna and Deanna was Melanie.  

Adoptees: Why Didn't You Say Something Sooner?

As a kid, I collected words like some collected crayons. 

Photo Credit: _IBelieve_, Creative Commons

My adoptive mother has recounted the story several times of when I was a preschooler and used the word indubitably as I was speaking, and in the correct context!  Placed in accelerated reading and writing from the time I started school, I engaged in both, every day of my life from my earliest recollection. Performing recitations for special occasions, I was unafraid to give a speech, or sing a song. I remember the first time I did so, at four years old, for the entire church.  

Why mention this? It’s not to bring up my since birth Wonder Womanish tendencies.

Horrible Things People Would Never Say (That Are Said All The Time!)

 

 “I know a girl at church whose mother was killed by a drunk driver  and it was never any different for her, being raised by her Dad's new wife."

“My neighbor had a son who got lost and never came home, but she never talks about it. She must be fine.”

"I kinda wish my parents would have died. I've always envied people whose parents died and were able to get new ones."

"God redeemed you through your parents death. Isn't He amazing?!"

"Friends whose spouses die are lucky. They are extra special because they have the choice to pick new ones. Better ones. Ones with more money who can provide them with a better life."

"My cousin doesn't even want to know how his parents died, or search for their bodies. He has no interest."

“My best friend thanks God every day that her parents disappeared. She knows it was God’s plan and gave her opportunities she would not have had, if her parents stayed in the picture.”