I found this on a fabulous blog Life in LA – which was profiled in the SMH and actually introduced me to this whole liberating world. Thank you Claire Smith.
I Go Back to May 1937
I see them standing at the formal gates of their colleges,
I see my father strolling out
under the ochre sandstone arch, the
red tiles glinting like bent
plates of blood behind his head, I
see my mother with a few light books at her hip
standing at the pillar made of tiny bricks with the
wrought-iron gate still open behind her, its
sword-tips black in the May air,
they are about to graduate, they are about to get married,
they are kids, they are dumb, all they know is they are
innocent, they would never hurt anybody.
I want to go up to them and say Stop,
don’t do it–she’s the wrong woman,
he’s the wrong man, you are going to do things
you cannot imagine you would ever do,
you are going to do bad things to children,
you are going to suffer in ways you’ve never heard of,
you are going to want to die. I want to go
up to them there in the late May sunlight and say it,
her hungry pretty blank face turning to me,
her pitiful beautiful untouched body,
his arrogant handsome blind face turning to me,
his pitiful beautiful untouched body,
but I don’t do it. I want to live. I
take them up like the male and female
paper dolls and bang them together
at the hips like chips of flint as if to
strike sparks from them, I say
Do what you are going to do, and I will tell about it.
When will the rain stop
falling in my head
when will sun shine warm my eyelids and prickle my skin
when will the dark clouds
lift from my spirit
from my self
and let me fly high
above the others
and let me be me?
I often ponder if issues of fertility will always mark my life – too much or lack thereof. As someone who was adopted at birth, watched my parents marriage disintegrate – something I believe was largely grounded in their inability to deal with or talk about their inability to have children, has met and maintains contact with my birth parents and now has children on my own, I am constantly amazed at how many people come into my life who have fertility issues or are somehow connected to all things adoption.
It is in some regards a strange badge, and yet, as I’ve worn it all my life not something I see as a burden or blessing, a positive or negative. It just is.
How do you explain to someone that your Mum will always be your Mum but how thrilling it is to meet someone who has your body shape, your eye colour, your temperament, your sense of humour and someone who, despite not being a part of your life ‘gets’ you within minutes of meeting?
How to you reconcile in yourself the absolute joy in knowing you do look like someone or that treasured feeling of special-ness in knowing that through all those turbulent and sometimes infinitely lonely teenage years there were people thinking of you, loving you and watching over you without even know who you had become, what you looked like or where you were? How do you reconcile that with the impenetrable ties to your parents forged by all those fights, tears, moments of sheer joy when you won the hockey final, were awarded school prefect, got good grades and just a life lived?
I don’t know.
I doubt I won’t ever feel that twinge of guilt I feel when I have a fabulous time with my natural mother or natural father and their families, that somehow I’m betraying my Mum and all she went through to raise me.
I doubt the strange sense of going an extra mile to make Mum happy and proud, in some sort of perverse attempt to lessen her living grief at never having bore a child herself, will ever go away.
I doubt that blame I feel, that had I come from Mum’s womb my parents may still be together today, will ever truly disappear.
But, that said, I don’t doubt how lucky I am to have so many people in the world who love me.
I don’t doubt I will ever stop LOVING having five birthday celebrations (Mum, Dad, in-laws, birth mother, birth father) and that Christmas and other celebratory times go on forever.
I don’t doubt my kids will get a real buzz having so many sets of relatives and the stories they can regale friends with.
I don’t doubt my life will not have peaks, troughs, triumphs and failures and that all of those times there will be someone there to hold my hand, pick me up, feed me chocolate or ply me with champagne.
And that, I think, is quite a life.
Children wake up as light creeps in around the corners of the blind. I wonder if there will ever be a black out blind that truly blacks out all light. I’m sure those alive during old fashioned world wars would understand. Those wars when all countries involved were affected – not just one specifically because its leader is a bully or it has lots of natural resources bigger bully-countries want.
Crying quite angrily now. Why don’t they come in here instead of just crying out for me – its daytime, there are no monsters. Oh body aching as I sit up. Hair scratchy, eyes itchy. Hmm, is that thrush? Way overdue for pap smear too, better make appointment soon – smirk to myself – just after I make the appointment with the dentist for the three crowns I need and the optometrist for the first check-up in almost four years. Yeah right.
I’m coming, Mummy’s coming.
Still he sleeps. Bastard.
Boys up, boys happy. Smothering me in kisses and cuddles. Pulling me under their doonas in a morning ritual I wonder I will ever tire of. Would much rather be still asleep in my own bed, but this is fun, sort of.
Well, here I am. Finally. Been busy – kids, work, life and the like.
Am about the embark on a brave new working world (restructured out of existence) so it seemed a good time to start.
Ever feel like your soaring but falling all at the same time?