I wrote recently about the fact that my sister gave birth to my oldest daughter. I believe this was a result of a choice I made that caused pain for both of them. See prior post.
My daughter’s path:
My oldest child was born to my sister, who had taken LSD multiple times with a group of friends at a young age, and at some point got “stuck” in an imbalance through her experience. At the age of 14 or 15, she was diagnosed with schizophrenia. Her partner, when she brecame pregnant, was an alcoholic who had served in Vietnam. Things were not easy in their home with a newborn child, and at the age of 3 months my daughter was brought to my mother’s house. My mom cared for her for 10 months while I trained for a career which would enable me to support a child. One might think this was a simple happy ending, but all her life my daughter has carried the pain of abandonment that all adopted children carry. Trust has never come easy to her. For so many many years she felt less than others. She navigated an abusive marriage, which, thank God, she found the strength to leave when her sons were 8 +10. I carry this knowledge of my beloved daughter’s pain.
Today she is an amazing woman. She has healed and is still healing herself and her sons from abuse. She walks tall and is kind. My grandsons are wise and loving – in college and finding their way to full manhood. She has a job she loves and a partner she loves and is becoming a gardener like her mom (me) and also has a special feeling for animals like her biological mother did when she was younger.
She is a loving and supportive and wise and present daughter. I wish she was closer, but I can get to her in 3 hours. I give thanks for her daily.
My sister’s path:
My sister has not had an easy time of it. It was difficult for us (my parents and 4 siblings) to accept our loss of the gentle person we had known, her imbalance and delusions. She spent time in an institution early on, in which she suffered abuse of various kinds at the hands mostly of other patients, including rape. The medication she was given for mental illness made it difficult to think, function, or relate to others. She had a hard time navigating a job or keeping an apartment. Becoming pregnant did not add to her stability, but she did her best.
At the age of 22, my sister was a migrant worker in Florida. When she realized she was pregnant, she returned to the fold of her family. Her boyfriend followed her back North and they were supported to set up housekeeping in a nearby apartment. I lived 4 hours away, and I remember seeing her once during this time. She really did glow. When my sister went into labor almost 2 months prematurely, she was flown to a hospital. Her daughter was in an incubator for some time, without a lot of touch, as happens. My sister took a bus daily and pumped her breasts at the hospital in a city about an hour away to provide the benefit of natural immunities and nutrients carried only in breastmilk. I remember visiting the baby there. She was beautiful.
I don’t know what happened when she was released from the hospital. I was told that one day my sister’s boyfriend showed up at my mother’s door and told her that our sister had left and said “Here’s the baby.” My mom was not physically strong, but managed to care for the baby for close to a year.
I had no thoughts of parenthood, but my father was forceful – saying this child might be all we had of my sister. I acquiesced. Plans were made for me, the oldest, to become her guardian. About 7 months later the 2 of them showed back up again.
This is where my heart breaks. My sister had been pumping milk for all that time so that she could fill a bottle and once again step into motherhood. However, it was not a positive dynamic that they brought into my mother’s house. I had fully embraced the path ahead and “our” baby was now 10 months old. I was spending weekends with her at both my mom’s and my home.
Now my sister had returned and was setting up obstacles so the baby couldn’t get to my mom. She’d crawl over or around one, and another suitcase or box would be set up. Scarves were draped around her neck. I walked into this scenario unexpectedly on day of my sister’s return. My mom, paralyzed, was allowing this. I banished my sister and her boyfriend, taking “my” daughter home with me for a week while my mom had her locks changed. No conversations. No explanations. No attempt to navigate the change of course with compassion or grace. I just went into protective mom mode and took the action I perceived as correct. [Did I mention how much I loved and missed my sister? A story for another day.]
I think of this as the day I stole my sister’s child.
We didn’t see my sister again for years. This lovely child turned my boyfriend and I into parents; we got married and adopted her. We were a family. We had 2 more children a few years later. My sister did return to the area where our parents lived for a few years, and she and her biological (our) daughter got to know each other during family gatherings. Then she disappeared again. Nothing about any of this – presence or absence – was easy for either of them.
My daughter never saw her biological father again. Our door was open to him and there was one aborted visit that broke her 4 year old heart. When she was a young adult, he called her off and on for a few years saying “Hi it’s your father.” She informed him one day that he was not her father, and maybe that’s when the calls began to include alcohol and anger. When she moved, he no longer had her number (cell phones). My daughter learned after trying to seek him out a couple years ago that he had died the prior year.
My sister now lives 2 times zones away, has a stable life and our youngest sister and her husband provide connection and family in the form of their children and grandchildren on a regular basis.
My gratitude is boundless.
So much pain all around. But a song arises, strangely from this telling. The words are …
From thee I receive, To thee I give, Together we share, And from this we live.
Because there is also so much love.
I thank my father for keeping my sister and my daughter in our lives.
I thank my youngest sister for providing so much for our challenged sister.
And as well as the knowledge of their pain, I carry the wonder of my sweet sister’s gift to me.
I will tell more about all of this – of us on our joined and separate journeys – at some point.
Listen to song mentioned above (hoping I posted it correctly). https://youtube.com/shorts/F1-eICA5hS0?feature=shared
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8 hummingbird way 