Patchwork Family

Being an adoptee is most noticeable within the adoptive family. The differences scream at you loudly and often. Your appearance, your interests, your strengths and your weaknesses are reminders that you have genetic ties elsewhere. My brothers are biological. Like my parents, I know they love me, but my impression is that they observe me with a perplexity, like a difficult math equation, or an unexplained bruise. Nature vs. Nurture. I was raised  in the same home, with the same rules and unconditional love but far too often my nature bumped up against my nurture.

First mothers and adoptees are a patchwork family held together by an invisible thread of loss . When you meet one and realize you have a shared adoption experience, it’s like being given a precious gift, “Ohhh! So am I! How old were you?, etc..” ((hugs ensue)), then the bubble that briefly insulated us from the rest of the world pops, and we go back to whatever it was we were doing before. From that moment, we’re related. This thread spans across the world- we are the same race, gender, sexual orientation, and age. I now have mothers and siblings all over the country, with the singular moment that ties us together forever.
In this deep sea of lost adoptees I’ve been so fortunate to meet others just like me- on an often futile search for truth, identity, and belonging. We’re on the Island of Misfits, each of us waiting for our plane ticket out of here.

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