My mother
“I am happy and well. Thanks for asking. And thanks for the pictures, although I’m puzzled as to why you are sending them to me. Unless there’s been a development I’m not aware of, I don’t have a daughter named Jennifer. According to your birth certificate, your mother’s name is Sue…perhaps you should send them to her.”
That was an email from my mother, dated December 2, 2006. She sent it in response to an email from me, in which I attempted to test the waters after we had not spoken for two years. Except for the answer I sent in response to this, and the one she wrote back after, we have not communicated since. Her words closed the door on all the years I had spent trying (and failing) to have a good relationship with her.
When we first reconnected after 14 years apart, I was in college. She visited once, with my two sisters and brother. It was a strange visit, and complex. Joyous, yes. But I remember other things, too. She did things that annoyed me, like laying her right hand on the seat next to her when she drove the car. A silly, small thing that I should not have cared about at all.
What I couldn’t see until later was that my annoyance was nothing more than a product of my anger at her for leaving us when we were so young. Of course, I was happy that we could see each other after all that time, but I remember also feeling jealous of the shorthand that she shared with my sisters and brother, jokes and stories that I didn’t understand. And the glaring truth of it was that they could share that banter because of the years they had together, years I could not claim.
There was a honeymoon period for a while. We wrote dozens of letters over the next few years, and spoke on the phone. But as I learned more about her and began to understand what kind of mother she was to my sisters and brother, it became difficult to keep seeing things as I wanted them to be. Every fantasy I had as a child about a reunion with her, and the relationship that would follow, fell away over time.
As it turned out, I wasn’t exactly the daughter she always imagined, either. I wasn’t always sweet or compliant (though I was those things at times), and I wasn’t willing to blindly accept her version of things. There were three parents in my life, each of them with a different version of events, and it wasn’t an easy thing to throw all of their stories into a pile and sort out what was true.
But it was exhausting, and after a while, I just didn’t care anymore who was to blame for what. I just wanted to get on with things, and try to go forward. There were breaks in the relationship, and then other times when we tried to patch it up again. We both said hard things. We both tried, and we both failed.
After I had children, she visited us several times, when Boy was a toddler, and then after Girl was born. The last time was when Girl turned three.
It was a difficult visit, peppered with arguments. One of her biggest issues with me is that I (and my sister) have not yet gone to court to have Sue’s adoption of us set aside. It is something I want to do, but it will also take some time and money, and there hasn’t been an easy time to move ahead with the process. (We would have to do it in Missouri, where neither of us lives now. Never mind that it was an adoption my sister and I never wanted, yet it’s now our responsibility to set it right so that our mother’s name will once again appear on our birth certificates.) So that explains what she meant in the email above about Sue’s name being on my birth certificate.
The morning when I received the email (above), it was a Sunday and I was up early to take my kids to church. I checked my email, and found that one. After I read it, I sat there, stunned and in tears, though I shouldn’t have been all that surprised at her reaction. It wasn’t as though I hadn’t guessed at how it might turn out.
But I hadn’t expected that. Her words were so final, so sharp and specific, pared down to the cruelest thing she could have said. “I don’t have a daughter named Jennifer.”
I called my sister Ducky to read her the email, and while we were on the phone, another call came in. The caller ID showed that it was my cousin B. And because it was early in the morning, and because I knew that her mother had been very close to dying in the last few days, I knew why she was calling. I answered her call and listened to her tell me that her mother had died just 15 minutes before.
My aunt (she was my favorite aunt) had been ill for many years. I won’t go into the details of her struggle, but it left her unable to interact with her family–her husband, her children, and her grandchildren. She would have given anything to have those years to be with them, I know that.
There was such pain and grief in that moment, and utter disbelief and sadness that my own mother would throw away the gift of all the years still ahead of us (and over what?), when my aunt would have celebrated every one of them, if they were hers to have.
That moment will never leave me. Even as a writer, I don’t think I could have imagined an intersection of events quite like that. It broke something in me.
The waste of it. The carelessness. After all this time, I can accept whatever my mother’s feelings are toward me. She has written things that have made it clear enough over the years, how ambiguous those feelings are. But how could she just toss away a chance to know two of her grandchildren, even as their sweet faces looked back at her from my email?
I’ll never understand it.
But it’s not all bad, this story.
The sisters and brother I mentioned? Well, I have a lovely, easy relationship with the oldest of them, my sister W, whom I wrote about a couple of weeks ago. She has two children, a girl and a boy. I have a friendly, though still somewhat unformed, relationship with my other sister, C, who lives on the East Coast and is very smart and accomplished. I haven’t had any kind of relationship with my brother, but neither have W and C in recent years. Who knows how that will go.
But that makes five of us, the children of one mother, and the point is, we’re the heart of this family now. It’s a fragmented, complicated family tree, but it’s up to us to make ourselves important in each other’s lives, no matter how we got here, and we’re on our way to making that happen. It’s not a straight, smooth road, by any means, and I doubt Norman Rockwell will come back from the grave to paint us.
But we’re trying, and I am grateful for all of them.
____________________________
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Wow lady…what a thoughtful post. For what it’s worth, although my background isn’t nearly as complicated as yours, I was estranged from my parents for years. During that time, I found my true family, friends that I have known and loved for over 20 years. My parents have come around and we are friends now, but in my heart, I know who loves me unconditionally without manipulation or expectations, and it ain’t my parents.
I’m very glad to have found you.
I love so much that you have found your sisters. And I’ve seen the bond between you and Ducky. (I’m not bringing up the Clocktower. Tell Ducky about this).
That story strikes a real chord in me. In a sense, I am your mother. I left their father when they were in elementary school and moved two hours east for another job (it’s a long complicated story), and I’ve always felt guilty about that. However, unlike your mom, I’ve maintained a relationship with A and G and have gone to every event in their lives and they spent every other weekend and all school vacations with me. So we’re close (and maybe closer than most parents are with their teens) but there is always this sense of loss for me. Happily G has chosen a college 40 minutes from me!
This is one of the things I just don’t get about life. Why did you have to endure this and call it life while others had it so easy. It totally sucks and I wish the magic wand was in my hand.
I found that heartbreaking to read. I just cannot imagine ever being estranged from my parents (my mother died some years ago but Dad is alive and kicking) or any of my family. As for a mother disowning her own child it just isn’t fathomable to me. I’m happy to hear you have a good relationship with your siblings, may it long continue.
The Clocktower? Are you referring to the paper or to the infamous cross-campus argument?
If the latter, you should write about it. I have no memory of the incident, but I don’t doubt the veracity of the story. And it’s funny.
ms. ducky. i am so blogging about the infamous cross-campus argument. it is one of my favorite memories.
perhaps this does not say much for my memories.
Oh, she sound so bitter. I am glad you have found sweetness elsewhere….
I just can’t believe everything you have been put through… and yet, you are strong and amazing.
You have broken the cycle of pain and you are creating a future of love, family and connection.
You are a beautiful writer Miss. Jennifer.
First, I can’t believe your mother would have ditched you in the first place. I find it mind-boggling.
Second, I can’t believe the same mother that ditched you had the GALL, the unremitting NERVE to write you such a nasty note over whose name is where on a stupid piece of paper. She’s going to chuck her relationship with you AND your children over a piece of paper that NO ONE looks at except when bureaucracy demands it?
I’m so sorry Jennifer!
Franki, sometimes we have to make our own families, don’t we?
Leendaluu, I assure you, you’re not like my mother.
HRH, maybe I’m holding my own magic wand…Maybe it looks something like a pen.
Akelamalu, I am very happy that you aren’t able to imagine it. I love hearing the stories of people who had good, kind parents. You won the lottery there, and I’m glad of it.
TEOM, she is bitter. It is one of her most identifiable characteristics.
GM, she doesn’t read it, yet. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if she found it, now that I’ve started using my full name. You’ll know she’s found it when she leaves a comment. She wouldn’t be able to stop herself.
Kelcey, thank you.
Hatchet, it’s a hell of a thing, isn’t it?
What a conclusion, if it is a conclusion. I so feel for you. How on earth you managed to move forward from that Sunday morning is a testament to your strength, courage, determination and willingness to learn.
I hope you do come to know your brother (if he lets you – it has to be two way doesn’t it?) and that you manage to maintain the relationships you have. Do your siblings still see your mother?
It is very sad for her that she was (is?) that bitter. She has lost so much more than you ever will.
This is beautifully written, heartfelt. God bless you.
And you are grateful for all of them – that says it all! You are finding your way through all of this, it is clear. I hope one day it all finds its place and there is peace – even for your children.
Have a good weekend Jennifer – I’ll see ya – Kellan
HRH, I can’t speak for Jennifer, but I spent a lot of time on that road, and I can tell you that it’s either longer than I thought or it doesn’t go very far.
What turned out to be far more important is what we’ve done with what we have. Jennifer’s a great mom, even though her up-close role models fell down on the job. We’re both (now, at least) far more emotionally healthy than anyone could have expected.
After reading both posts now, I don’t know how two mothers could be so hurtful. Well, of course, I know it happens; part of my family tree needs a flow chart and college course to follow it, to understand.
Still. It pains me, looking at my kids and thinking how could someone be so cruel. Be so hateful.
Brava to you and your strong heart. Such powerful posts from a powerful woman.
I am with Mama bird. I’m astounded by all that you’ve endured in your past, but you live and write with such courage and brilliance. Your mother sounds very similar to my MIL from what I’ve read. I’m so glad you’ve found a bond with your siblings.
Agghhhh – completely heart wrenching writing. Keep up the nurturing of your sibling relationships.
Kellan, thank you. It’s what I hope, too, and this helps put everything where it should go.
Ducky, this was beautiful: “I can tell you that it’s either longer than I thought or it doesn’t go very far.”
Lisa, genealogy sites were created just so we could keep track of our families? 🙂
I’m still in the process of trying to find out what made my two mothers into who they are. I know some of it, but not enough yet.
Sandy, thank you. I hope your MIL doesn’t make your life difficult these days.
Mary Alice, thank you, and I will.
Cath, I just realized I missed yours. I hope we do all come to know each other at some point, though such things can’t be forced. It seems like an odd thing not to know a sibling, so I hope I will know him someday.
Thank you for your kind words.
Wow. Words fail me except to say that a lot of families have real similar stories. Doesn’t make it easier, but I’ve learned that after a certain number of years we all get our armor dinged up.
The best I can offer is a rag and some polish! ; )
I’m beginning to think their are more complicated families than non-complicated ones. Or maybe the people from functional families aren’t blogging to make sense of their lives?
It’s her loss.
She should be so very sorry that she’s rejected you. She has lost so much in doing that, and the sad part is that she probably doesn’t even know it.
And the flip side is that I’m not sure, from these stories you’ve written, that YOU’VE lost much at all.
I applaud your honesty; your strengtth; and your maturity. Oh, and let’s not forget your kindness and generosity.
I have a bad mother story of my own so reading this kind of bit me but I’m so glad for you that you’ve moved on and created your own version of family to replace it. I’ve done the same though it is a hard road and the tears never seem to end even nearly 30 years after she left (I’m almost 40), they find their way out at odd times now and then. The older I get, honestly, the less I understand how she could do what she’s done. Having your own kids makes it harder to fathom or forgive.
Just want to reiterate what someone else said…that you aren’t alone, there are lots of us “orphans” out there and we do make it!! And we have to remember to feel so proud of ourselves for not repeating our history.
Also, your story reminded me so much of another I read and saved even though it was torture for me to read. It really made me feel better for making the same choice to give up on my mother and reclaim my sanity and stable emotions and focus on taking good care of myself and my own family. Anyway, if you’re interested, go look at a blog called Girl Gone Child and find the entry for January 30, 2008.
Take care of yourself and thank you for bravely sharing your story with the rest of us.
I am holding you so close in my heart right now.
Love this. I understand. I have a father who left when I was five and a mother who said this to me when I was 27 years old:
“Please don’t tell me anything about your personal life. I don’t want to know.”
And she didn’t, not even when I was little. At least she told me what I had felt all those years.
I joke about all this on my blog, but it is — as your post beautifully captures – difficult and complex. As one very smart person said to me once, those of us who did not get genuine unconditional real mother love will never ‘make it up’ or find a replacement. We just make do, without.
Ron, my sister and I have an ongoing discussion about which mother would have been best to grow up with, our mother or our stepmother. Or least bad, is how it works out. It’s hard to say. If only there was a way to turn the discussion into a drinking game.
flutter, thank you. Lunch, soon?
LinMN, I’m sorry you can understand even a bit of this. The best thing we can do is to make something better for ourselves, and make our own families, not always from people to whom we’re related. I will check out that blog.
Slouching, thank you.
Jenn, I don’t know that I blog just to make sense of things, since I’ve had a long time to sort out all of this. But I can’t deny that it’s good to release some of this stuff. Since beginning to write about it, it seems to feel lighter. And I wouldn’t have written in this kind of forum if it weren’t for the inspiration of other bloggers, specifically Emily at Wheels on the Bus.I don’t know that I would have gotten to this point as fast. I certainly feel less like the odd girl out after hearing some of the other stories.
But I’m always glad to hear when someone was brought up in a happier family.
Dave, I like your metaphor of the dinged up armor.
Matron, ouch. Lots of women, it seems, give birth to children and never become mothers. (Edited to say: I’m not talking about mothers who give children up for adoption. I’m only speaking in this context here.)
And, yes, there are some funny things about it. I love reading what you write about it all.
Jennifer, I can only imagine the pain of that particular morning, the seeming finality of your mother’s email tying in with your aunt’s death.
It is both painful and inspirational to read your journey. I hope you continue to draw strength from your sisters in your shared and unshared experiences of your mothers.
Most of all, I hope that you recognize what a wonderful mother YOU ARE and that you are breaking a most destructive pattern that often repeats itself in family dynamics. I admire your strength and honesty tremendously.
In the end (for ME, anyway; I can’t speak for anyone living outside of my skin), I think that it’s important to not allow others’ pain to infect our lives. For whatever her reasons were – and they were not yours (or mine) to figure out, your (my) mother was unable to come to terms with your (my) presence in her life. (See how easily I can do that? The email at the front of this post literally made me gasp with recognized pain).
My point is that we can no more control what they think or how they behave than they can control those things in us. The hardest thing I ever had to do – but the thing that literally set me free – was coming to the recognition that I WASN’T TO BLAME. The fact that my mother couldn’t love me had NOTHING to do with me as a person. I AM lovable; I AM a decent, kind, worthwhile person. My mother cannot see that, and has instead invested in me all of the properties of a person that she most despises, then blames me for the failure of our relationship. I can’t control that – but I don’t have to accept her view of me, either.
(that should be “YOUR (my) mother…” not “you (my) mother.” oops.
Fixed it…
I love your writing.
The more I get to know you, the more you share about yourself growing up the more I admire you and how rather than let is rule you, you have made yourself this strong loving woman you are. I admire you so much, my friend.
“You’ll know she’s found it when she leaves a comment. She wouldn’t be able to stop herself.”
I loved that – it’s so true.
A beautiful post, by dear friend.
I am always left speechless after these posts of yours. You are such a strong and *amazing* person…
I read this post a few days ago. I’m still trying to think of a comment that is as beautifully stated as the post is, but I’m coming up blank.
All I can say is, this post made me so sad. Sad for your mother who is missing out on knowing such a lovely person. I’m also amazed by your honesty and your strength. Thank you for sharing this with us.
My son is ten months old, and we live across the ocean from my parents and in-laws. But still I see them dote on him, and ask to talk to him on the phone, and beg for pictures, etc. I just cannot fathom anyone not wanting to know his or her own grandchildren. It’s heartbreaking.
I’m glad you gained siblings in all of this, though. That’s a blessing..
I hadn’t seen or spoken to my father since shortly after HRH was born (11/02). He moved five hours away and he never met RC. When he was diagnosed with lung cancer (50 years of smoking will catch up with you) my two sisters and brother rallied around him while I stayed in the distance.
During his last days, my sibilings and even my mom (who finally kicked him out about 15 years ago) went to see him. My brother (whose sentiments are usually most like mine) even pushed me to visit. In my mind, some harms can not be forgiven.
I relented so far as to send some pictures of my boys along with a paragraph describing them. I told my siblings until I had something to say or something I needed to hear, I would not visit. And I was prepared to handle the consequences if that meant I would not see him at all.
So I did. And I have no regrets (about that anyway).
Wow. As a mother myself, I cannot imagine ever writing, saying or feeling those words about my kids… and I’m sure you feel the same about yours. It baffles me how a woman could blame the child for an adoption, etc., that happened so long ago- I don’t imagine you were consulted about it much, if at all.
You are a tremendously strong woman, and someone to be admired for all you have done, and are doing, to move forward.
J. you know you’re a great writer and have such a way with words…..but that’s almost beside the point after reading this post.
My heart goes out to you, and I just want to know, how the h**l did you turn out so beautifully after having gone through a childhood like that?
-suz
Where do I start? I’m sure your readers are happy I was on holiday when this one came out so they didn’t have to wade through my response. I’m a little brain-weary from my travels, so it might not be as long as usual, but there’s a lot to say…..
First, I have to respond to a couple of comments:
“We’re both (now, at least) far more emotionally healthy than anyone could have expected.” from Ducky. I’m sure I’ve told you both that I believe that. (If I haven’t, I do.) Really, it’s hard for me to imagine how either of you came into adulthood with a thread of normality in your lives and personalities after your childhood–and that’s WITHOUT your biological mother. I’ve had conversations with many over the years, who knew you both at some point (or all) of your childhood, and many, many people are amazed at the strength of both of you, and how you pulled yourselves out of the unbelievable mess and made lives for yourself that do not in the least mirror from where you came.
Now to Mrs. Chili…. first, I have to say that whenever I read a comment from her–here or anywhere else (I can’t remember where else I read them….Slow Panic, maybe?), I think she is a kindred spirit. Her viewpoints and insights often mirror my own and make SO MUCH SENSE. I loved her whole comment, but the part about realizing that there was nothing wrong with HER, and that her mother wanted to blame HER anyway is something I’ve realized in the past few years about my own grandmother. (Thank goodness I had a decent mother and father, but I don’t know why because of the grandmother that bore my mother.) I’d like to have tea (or something, I hate tea, but like the IDEA of tea, and like it more because of “Victoria” magazine!) sometime with Mrs. Chili. She has her head on very straight.
OK, back to where do I start?
I think something that has bugged me for a long time is that I don’t think I know why your mother left in the first place. Have I heard the reason? Do you know the reason? It doesn’t matter as far as your part in it, but SHE left. Granted at a later time she wasn’t allowed access to you, but again, I know she didn’t fight very hard for it, either. That makes me think she’s right that she doesn’t have a daughter named Jennifer. She isn’t a mother to a Jennifer. I’m not sure she ever was. I don’t know enough about the early years to know if she was, but it doesn’t seem to me she was.
Then there’s the issue of having TWO mother figures that are so unbelievably horrible and cruel. HOW DOES THIS HAPPEN TO ONE FAMILY?????? What are the odds? (Probably less than the odds of having a parent that wants to live with her children!) No one said life is fair, but that certainly isn’t fair. But it just adds more credence to your coming out of the whole mess so beautifully. (And I might add that I’m so grateful that L came into your life, even if too late to be a mother to a child, and filled in some of those areas that were so sadly lacking.)
Before I forget, I need to mention that the writing skills in this post were excellent.
Then I have to address the two losses on one day. I have to use a cliche (sorry), “Only the good die young.” The most hateful, nasty people I’ve ever known seem to live FOREVER. Honestly, they don’t die young….EVER. Maybe “bad” people who wreck their lives with chemical dependencies die young, but ones that are just meaner than a pit of snakes? No. They just live and live and live. I have to wonder if God is giving them every possible chance to come to grips with themselves and attempt to repair some of the vast damage they’ve done to humanity. I don’t know, but I do know that people like your aunt, who were healthy as horses their whole lives and die extra young, are often at the hands of those who are living on and on, spreading their poison anywhere they can.
And I just thought of this. I guess that says something about you and Ducky as well. I really don’t know how your aunt grew up, but it was in the family that produced Sue, and what little I know was that it wasn’t good. I don’t THINK it was as bad as what you and Ducky went through; I would honestly be surprised if it were. But the fact is that she didn’t survive it. You did, and you keep on doing it wonderfully. I have to go back to some things Mrs. Chili said. You’ve moved past the views of Sue and your mother towards you. That’s how you can have the life you do. I know your aunt never could move past that and never taught herself to not believe what they said to her and blame herself for basically existing. Your strength is being able to live your life (for the most part) without the clouds of your past shadowing your present.
Now to your mother. I really dislike her a GREAT deal. She reminds me so much of my grandmother. And although (most of the time) I can deal with the garbage the grandmother put in my life right up to her dying breaths, it took a lot to get to this point, and one thing I’ve had to realize is that there are two kinds of people in the world: Those that care only about themselves, and those who care about other people. Your mother cares (and seems to have always only cared) only for herself. It seems the motives for everything. EVERYTHING. she does are selfish and greedy. It seems she has never given the smallest thought to how her words and actions would affect ANYONE in the world, least of all those who are family due to blood lines. Although I really don’t understand people like that, I know they exist. I’ve experienced their existence first-hand. They rarely change. We are pretty much crazy if we are hoping for something better. Their motives are ALWALYS selfish. I have to surmise that in the honeymoon period, she was planning her future with you taking care of her. (Emotionally? Financially? Who knows?) It was never about making up for what she did to you or moving on and sharing life in a beautiful way with you or your family. It was about HER.
Me? I don’t have a lot of patience for people like that. (If anyone reads this, please don’t get me wrong thinking that any ill-judged action is worthy of this criticism. I’m only referring to a type of person that has only their own interests at heart.) Which is, as you mentioned, why we (you and I) don’t have to die young, because it’s so easy to be mean and nasty to people like that. Actually, I prefer to ignore them, but they WON’T LET US!
And finally, I love what you said in the comments about your mother reading your blog. SO funny that she won’t be able to avoid not commenting. Again, it’s all about her, and that’s why. (But then what does that say about me with my ridiculously long comments?)
This was so beautifully written. I am impressed with your ability to move past something so painful. May your own, non-Norman Rockwell family continue to grow its own beautiful, imperfect tree.
I’m late to tell you that I’ve read and re-read this wrenching post of yours several times since I came to it in the past hour. My heart shriveled a little more each time at your mother’s callousness.
I myself have wonderful parents. They love my sister and I in the way I hope I emulate daily with my son. The map of their love serves me well in following the roads of my own mother-child relationship. I am grateful on a daily basis for their presence in my life and the path of rightness in love which they still guide me in.
By contrast, their own growing up was quite difficult. Estranged relationships with their parents and some sibling conflicts that perturb their life to this day. Alex and I, we were always sheltered from all of that to whatever degree my parents found possible.
Now a grownup, I sometimes wonder where they found the emotional stability to not repeat a pattern of hurt which they endured on a constant basis for a large number of their growing up years. I guess it must be the same kind of place from where you and your sister Ducky draw strength from in order to break the cycle.
Someday Jennifer, boy and girl will never be able to tell a story like yours. They won’t be able to simply because, you are not your mother. There is no repeat here, only something entirely new. On days when you feel sad about what should have been as regards your familial relationships, dwell on this instead and take heart.
For whatever it is worth, I am proud of you.
Where can I begin with this? Your words are brave, honest, and compelling. The kind of words many of us want to say, but dare not. The fact that you long to be an involved and loving mother only prove that you have broken the cycle. Your introspection on mothering is one that, I imagine, we all do. Those of us who question our interactions with the little ones we’ve created do it out of fierce loyalty, and even subtle confusion.
Keep going Jennifer.
(P.S. Love the new look.)
Besides being the Wicked Witch of the West, I am an accomplished genealogist with over 25 years experience. To those of you who think a birth certificate is “just a silly piece of paper”, you have NO idea the problems an altered bc (the name for a bc after an adoption) can cause for future generations. As it stands now, any of Boy and Girl’s descendants 100 or 200 years from now who go looking for their ancestress will find birth certs listing Sue as Jennifer and Ducky’s mother, and put HER name on their pedigree charts.
This is the #2 reason I have begged and pleaded with Jennifer to have her and Ducky’s original birth certs restored.
The #1 reason is it would prove once and for all that Jennifer *truly* considers me her mother and her children’s grandmother. As for the expense and inconvenience, these didn’t seem to be issues when she traveled from out of state to attend her father’s last two weddings. Or when attending her father’s 60th birthday gala would’ve cost close to $2,000 (which Boy and Girl’s father nixed).
Best Case Scenario is Jen and Ducky’s dad would admit he and Sue lied to the court about being unable to notify me of the *second* adoption hearing. (I attended the first, and proved that I HAD tried to maintain contact with the girls, who were NOT at the first hearing btw. They’d been whisked off to their other grandparents in Oklahoma for the duration, which did not go well with the judge, who denied the first adoption attempt.)
For the record, whenever it suited her, Jennifer used the fact that Sue is her mother on her birth certificate to tell me that I was NOT her mother. Can’t be both ways. Either I am or I’m not. Which is all the email was meant to point out. It did NOT say “You are not my daughter”. Thanks to the second, fraudulent adoption proceeding, in the official records of Missouri, I never gave birth to a daughter named Jennifer. Same with the State of Kansas for Ducky.
Lady, if someone had MY kids and wasn’t letting me see them, I would have moved heaven and earth. I would have shown up at the police station. I would have done whatever it took.
But, I get that maybe you couldn’t help save your kids. I do. What I don’t get is why now, now that they are free of Sue, you aren’t breaking your back to make up for lost time.
Emily Rs last blog post..And, now, back to our regularly scheduled posts
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