by Band Back Together | Jan 22, 2019 | Uncategorized |
My story all begins in August of 1976, my birth mother was 17 and was pregnant with me. So before she had me she had my sister who is supposed to be 4 years older than me. That would put my birthmom at 13 when she had her. That daughter was taken by the state and considered unadoptable because she sat in the corner and rocked back and forth. Well fast forward to 76. I was told her parents had told her she had already made one mistake and if she had me they would disown her. So she threw herself down two flights of stairs. She ended up going into labor and because I was seven or so months gestation I survived I weighed 4lbs5oz well she took me home and life began. It was said she was a drug user and abuser and that while she was under the influence she would hold me under water to watch the bubbles come up. I was also told she used me as her personal ashtray. I was also told she would use her foodstamps to buy drugs cause back in that time they were like paper money and were traded for real money or drugs. Anyway my adopted mother was telling her best friend how all she wanted for Christmas was a baby. Well the best friend had a sister and that sister knew my birth mother. So oneday when my moms second husband was at work or somewhere he came out to his car and there I was. I was dressed in a dirty T-shirt that they had used as a makeshift diaper. So he took me home and zipped me up in his coat this was winter time in Charolette NC. So he goes in to the house and unzips his coat and shoes me to my mom. My mom then begins adoption proceedings. Well I had to go back to my birth mother and I was told she burned all the dresses my mom bought and didn’t use the burn cream for my bottom where she used me as an ashtray. So my mom finally gets me and my birth mother tried to stop the adoption because she would lose her benefits. The judge didn’t allow it so I was adopted at 14 mo old and I weighed 11 pounds. Then when I was about two my moms second marriage ended because her second husband threatened to kill me because I wouldn’t stop crying. So she moved back home with her parents. Well we lived with them till my mom remarried to my dad and he adopted me to give me his last name. Well every time I was adopted my birth certificate was legally changed to represent my current parents and their respective ages at the time I was born. However many years later my mother confided in me when I told her of abuse from a family member that had happened. She told me her father my granddaddy whom I called daddy for years had molested her until she came back home with me after I was adopted. Only after she returned home did she confront him and say it was over. So I think possibly she got pregnant by him and moved away remarried and had me. But everytime I tried to talk about my adoption and wanted to search she would tell me to talk to my granddaddy he was supposed to have all the paper work well he would tell me to go see my mom that she had the papers. This man never threw anything away so it’s odd to me that the papers were never found which also makes me think something shady happened. But no one in the family that is left will talk about it. My granddaddy was a raging alcoholic for years and only stopped drinking when the dr told him if he didn’t he would die he abused my uncles and my mom. But my records are sealed as it was all considered a private adoption and unless I have a terminal illness or need an organ that my children can’t provide or something on that level I’d have to petition the courts to unseal my records and they can still deny the request. So I don’t know the truth for sure and it doesn’t really matter I guess other than to finally have answers. I hold no ill will to anyone involved no matter which story is true. I feel bad that my mom suffered that abuse I’ve been abused sexually and I know how that feels. I just wish I could know the truth just so I’d know where I belong. But as the time has passed I have an awesome husband and three great kids so I have a family I’d just like to have medical information. So there it is my story I hope it helps.
by Band Back Together | Jan 22, 2019 | A Letter I Can't Send, Faith, Family, Feelings, Loneliness, Marriage and Partnership, Marriage Problems, Sadness |
I have been single for the past 5 years.
This time of year where people getting engaged is hard for someone like me who wishes for it to be my turn. So here is my heartbreaking letter to my once future husband that I cannot send.
Dear Future Husband,
I am going to be honest; I don’t think you exist.
Once a upon a time, I used to dream of the day I’d meet you; we’d have a lovely courtship, an amazing proposal on top of a Ferris Wheel (because you know how much I love them), then a wedding of my dreams (which, I’ll admit, has changed throughout my life but still involves these great pair of heels that have been sitting quietly in my closet, sadly collecting dust) and the rest of our lives together.
You know, the whole white picket fence bit.
But now? I am no longer wearing white, I’m wearing black.
I’m no longer walking down the aisle to you, I don’t see your face light up with the biggest, cheesiest smile as I walk to you.
No.
I’m very sad, standing in dark forest, all alone. So lonely. My heart has been broken too many times to count. A piece of you, of our life, fades with each piece of my heartbreak, and now you’re gone. Disappeared. No longer are you parts my hopes and dreams, now you’re nothing but an afterthought.
Maybe you’re really out there, but I am not so convinced of – even though my friends have told me otherwise. They’ve told me to to be patient, God has a plan for you, the list goes on.
They don’t know how I fear that I’m that I’ll never find yo; that we’ll never have our own happily ever after.
In fact (this is really horrible of me) but I stopped praying for God to keep you safe, to watch over you, that your heart is pure, that you have undying faith.
I began to feel that I was wasting God’s time by praying for someone who doesn’t exist; someone I’m never going to find.
I used to believe that love conquered al; that it was stronger than anything. That I could love you despite never meeting you. Recently, it sounds silly and downright depressing. I am desperately afraid that it’s going to be too late for me – I’m not getting any younger and my clock is ticking.
I sort of feel that I have given up on us. I used to fight so hard to find you, but now I am exhausted and I can’t wait anymore for you.
I wish I didn’t feel this way. I’ve tried to fight it.
I hope you understand and will forgive me someday and that you find another woman to love just as much you would have loved me.
From,
Your Once-Future Wife
by Band Back Together | Jan 21, 2019 | Civil Rights |
On Martin Luther King Day, we are called to celebrate the life of a man who steered the United States, kicking and screaming, in the direction that could have lead this country to being a better version of itself. Dr. King believed that if we wanted to, we could be better than we were at the time. A time when my father, an active duty military man, and my mother had to be careful where they went in Washington, DC, where they were stationed, because not all parts of our nation’s Capitol were safe for black people.
He was partially successful.
Here we are, fifty years since his assassination, and some people say that our country is every bit as racist as it was then. Well. It has to be said that black men are being killed and in some cases murdered at an alarming pace, by police. Facebook Becky’s continue to call the police on black people for the simple crime of being black in “their” spaces. We have white nationalists in the House of Representatives, and in the White House, so…
All of that said, there have been good things. My oldest is a college graduate from a school that had 75 percent white students, she is thriving as a charge nurse. My youngest is a second year geology/paleontology university student. I live in a cheerfully integrated neighborhood in a southern state. Some of the officers that I supervise are white. Where I live, people don’t look askance when they see me and my wife together.
How are we doing, America? I suppose it is a matter of perspective. As for me, I think we have a long way to go. We can get there if we want to, but, do we want to?
by Band Back Together | Jan 21, 2019 | Civil Rights, Racial Justice, Social Injustice, Social Justice |
This weekend marks the 36th year of celebrating Dr. Martin Luther King Junior. I could tell you that people lobbied for the holiday since his assassination in 1968. I could describe the countless city streets named after this iconic hero. But it wouldn’t do justice to the fact that racism is still alive and well. I’m not even bringing up the overt racism of Neo-Nazis and the KKK, although there’s a special place for them in the afterlife, but of the implicit bias of our white society.
From the accidental slip of a micro-aggression, “The crows are so negative because they’re black,” to the doll test where African American children choose the white, blue-eyed baby doll as good over the brown, brown-eyes doll, we are right from a young age that white is good, and black is bad. Call me an SJW. Mock me for trying to be “woke,” but the crux of “Political Correctness” is not being an asshole; be kind to your fellow humans.
And that’s when I found the book “Not My Idea: A Book About Whiteness,” by Anastasia Higginbotham. It’s part of a series called “Ordinary Terrible Things,” which sums up the theme nicely. I ordered it from Amazon with some trepidation, although I knew it was important that I have this conversation with my seven-year-old, and on previewing it before reading I said oh.
“Who is that with their hands up? Why is that policeman screaming at him?
bang!
bang!
bang!
bang!
bang!”
Oh crap, what have I gotten myself into? How could expose my seven-year-old, who has never even heard 2/3 of the creative swear words the English language contains, to this violence?
Oh, I see.
It’s definitely part of my privilege as a white person to try and shield my children from it. Children of color are exposed to police brutality on such a large scale that the mistrust of police begins in preschool: “Then daddy threw the chair at mommy and the police took them away (actual quote from a four-year-old).” Being mistrusted by the police stems from old biases that African descendants are lazy, shiftless, uncooperative, and unintelligent. Why else would they have such problems with the law?
…No. the law is an attempt to make this land safe for its inhabitants, to support democracy, and to set a code for behavior in the different aspects of our society.
As a white person, I have a duty to show my children their privilege; to let them know that the “I have a dream” speech wasn’t a panacea that solved the problem of racism in the U.S.A., that people are still treated poorly because of their skin color, and that color blindness is nothing more than an ostrich, it’s head buried in the sand. Higginbotham explains this by saying “When grown-ups try to hide scary things from their kids…it’s usually because they’re scared too.”
So I sat my seven-year-old down and we read the book. She wasn’t as visibly struck by the police shooting element as I was, but she hasn’t been exposed to gun violence. We read about how racism still lives, that we are allowed to combat it by saying it’s not our idea, and that all the evil behind the mask (dollar-themed) sells to us is an illusion of power that could be taken away at any moment.
She didn’t really understand the concept of racism at first, but by reading through the book we began a conversation that was needed for her to fight for justice in this world. She agreed that if she saw a person in need she would help them, but the question of how else she could use her voice to fight for justice remains.
How do we move forward?
by Band Back Together | Jan 18, 2019 | Coping With Divorce, Divorce, Family, Grief, Help For Grief And Grieving, Homelessness, Loss, Pet Loss |
It’s Mother’s Day and I’ve spend most of the day in tears. I ‘d been looking forward to it; even had some cool plans for spending the day with my daughters. Those plans went sideways shortly after breakfast.
I left my husband this week, a planned separation which took several months to execute thanks to our housing situation. As far as our daughters are concerned though, we’re still a team working together to make sure they’re happy and healthy. This week we’ve been ultra-focused on our daughters and the new adjustments.
With all our attention on our children, we didn’t pay much attention to the other members of our household.
Our pets.
When I got home from work on Thursday, I realized one of the dogs hadn’t eaten her breakfast. Not unusual, sometimes she leaves her food until late, so I wasn’t concerned. Friday night, she still hadn’t eaten. This time, I brought the black dog into the light in the kitchen, and took a good look at her. She was gaunt, ribs and spine sticking out alarmingly.
She clearly hadn’t eaten in days.
I called my ex and we agreed to flavor up her food with broth to get her to eat. We assumed it was stress from the separation. I sat, hand feeding the dog until she finally ate her food. Same deal on Saturday and again this morning. The gauntness was less pronounced, but I noticed other symptoms: a little bloating, weakness in one leg.
This morning, my ex came to get the girls for church. As he was petting her neck, he found it. A golf-ball sized lump hiding under her fur. Another closer to the other shoulder.
He took the girls to church while I took the dog to the vet. The emergency vet gave me her early findings. My 9-year old lab has Lymphatic Carcinoma. Cancer. X-rays indicate that it may have already spread to her organs, and possibly bones as well.
Some of you will read this and know the pain and horror I felt. Others, not so much.
It may just be the dog, but it’s my dog, one we raised (along with her litter-mate) as a rescue puppy. A pet who loves me unconditionally, knows when I’m sad and has comforted me upon many occasions. Knowing that I couldn’t put her through chemo brought me to tears.
If it really is cancer, the right, most humane decision is to put her down before she begins to suffer too much.
This cancer diagnosis capped the end of an incredibly horrible week.
A week which included leaving my husband and walking away from my daughters for the first time with the new custody sharing schedule. I kept telling myself it would be just a few days, just like a business trip. It wasn’t though. Being separated from them felt like my heart had been ripped out of my chest.
A week where the bank finally approved our short sale, but gave us a short 30-day deadline to close escrow. A week that saw a solid, approved plan to move into a rental home go awry as the owners of the rental we’re moving into reneged on the deal at the last minute.
A week that ended with learning my daughters and I would be homeless come the 31st.
Ironically, the owners of the rental reneged because we had one too many dogs. A massive wave of guilt washed over me as I wondered if maybe this would allow the deal to go through.
I think the dog knows what’s coming. She’s been rather chipper since we got home from the vet. It’s prompting my 6-year old to try to convince me that the hard lump on her throat is smaller than before so that maybe she doesn’t have to die tomorrow. I’m in one of those horrible waiting periods where I want to convince myself that it’s just a bad infection, one which we can treat with antibiotics and TLC.
Maybe our regular vet will disagree and give us a different diagnosis. But, we have to be prepared for the worst.
Oh, my pretty puppy.
I am going to miss you.
