Happy Thoughts .... The Nurse

Helllooooo! YES! I am alive and well, but have been running in 19 different directions these last few months. But I am here to let you all know I will have some great posts this month as we talk about National Adoption Month, which is November. In the mean time as I am gathering others voices I thought I would share the series I call Happy Thoughts. Just some positive stories of my experience with adoption....

The Nurse
Well if I am going to advocate for the positives of adoption, I guess I should start telling positive stories! I am starting a series of blogs containing some of the wonderful things that have happened to me as a birth mother. Let's start with this....

After my daughter was born, I was in a private room in the hospital and feeling quite sad and lonely. I knew that I only had a few days with her and my heart was torn between my guilt and my joy. I always had a smile on my face, that is the kind of person I am, but that smile was hiding a broken spirit within. they were keeping the baby in the nursery because I had a dry birth and she was needing attention. (Dry birth ...  my water broke 24 hours before she was born. When the water is absent for that long, it becomes dangerous for the baby because the amniotic fluid is not present to protect from bacteria and germs. It is also a very difficult delivery for the mother because without the fluid the uterus has to contract harder and longer to push the baby out.) The entire nursing staff was accomidating me because they were all so impressed with the decission I had made to place my baby for adoption. I think they were trying to make me as comfortable as I could be so that I could really enjoy the limited time that I had with her. I took a nap and when I woke up one of the nurses was bringing her in.

The nurse was very pretty and had an unforgetable smile. She set me up with all that I needed and she left us alone. After a few hours my daughter was asleep and I was exhausted so I called the nurse station to ask them to take her to the nursery. The same nurse came in and I was still holding my daughter. She came up and rubbed her little head and told me how absolutely beautiful she was. I thanked her and I put her into the crib, I covered her and tucked her in and stepped back. The nurse stood there for a minute and I told her it was alright to go. She started toward the door and then stopped. She turned to me and said "I know that I would get into trouble for saying this...but I think what you are doing is an amazingly selfless thing to do at such a young age. I have worked here a while and I cannot tell you how many girls I see come through here, younger than you, and they keep these babies for all the wrong reasons. I just want to grab them and shake them to wake them up and tell them that there are other alternatives. What you are doing for this family is so amazing. You will hear some horrible things from people who judge you for what you are doing, don't listen to them. I would like to ask that you promise me something." She was now very passionate and I could see the compassion in her eyes through her tears. "What is it?" I asked. "I want you to promise me that from now on, until the day you die, I want you to promise me that you will celebrate Mother's Day. Do something nice for yourself, be good to you every Mother's Day because that is a day that is custom made for women like you. You are an incredible mother and I want you to be proud of yourself." I told her that I would and she grabbed me and gave me a quick, tight, squeeze of a hug and then composed herself.

This was a complete stranger telling me what a difference I had made. I was taken back by her honesty and her utter unconditional understanding of what I was going through. I wish I could find her and tell her that she made an impact on me at a time when I needed acceptance the most. I will never forget her or her words. It is 20 years later, and I am still telling people about this wonderful woman who lifted me up when I was needing it, and helped a heart heal a little more with the kindness of a stranger.

Adoption Advocation, Life Heritage and Ghost Stories ... OH MY!

I found this in the archives and it made me smile. Earlier this week, I asked on my Facebook page what people's thoughts were about birthdays in adoption. I had some great responses, insights and stories from all sides of the triad.

This, I think, is my favorite writting about a birthday (my daughter's 16th Birthday to be exact). I wrote this several years ago, and the irony, circumstances and eventual discovery are quite a journey. Take some time for a good ghost story, with a happy ending!

Adoption Advocation, and Life Heritage and Ghost Stories ... OH MY!

I am going to incorporate positive avocation for adoption, passing on of one's heritage in adoption, and a ghost story all into one post. Inspired by Halloween perhaps, pull up a chair and let me tell you a little story. (Technically this should be a Happy Thought ... but I liked the title by itself so know that this is going to be incredibly positive!)

Have you lost a loved one? Felt some kind of force in your life that makes you think that they could still be there, watching over you? Making sure that you follow through with important things in life? Or just to let you know that they have your back, will be your guardian angel for as long as you walk the Earth? I have one. She lets me know quite frequently that she is here, right beside me as she has always been ... for as long as I can remember.

My biggest supporter in my decision to choose adoption for my children was my mother. She told me time and time again how proud she was of me to put my children before myself. She always told me that I was a much stronger person than she could ever be. She smiled when she spoke of her grandchildren, and that smile grew wider when she explained to people that I was her hero. (Still makes me blush just to write it. If anything, she was my hero my entire life!) She always talked about how one day, she just knew that we would all be together somewhere laughing and enjoying each other. Mom talked of traditions that she wanted to pass along to them in the hopes that she could include them in her life, her family history ... their family history.

One such item was my Sweet 16 Corsage. It was the corsage that my mom received on her 16th birthday and my grandmother had it preserved so that she could give it to me when I turned 16. It was a very sentimental thing, and my mother had mentioned on several occasions that she could not wait to give that corsage to Bella when she was old enough. No matter how things were going in our life in adoption, she always reassured me that it would happen ... I would know them and be a part of their life. She did not know her life would end far sooner than she had wanted, or predicted.

While in the hospital and clearly near the end of her life, we spent a quite morning talking about things. Mom was resting between subjects when suddenly she opened her eyes and said ... "You have to promise me that you will give Bella the corsage. That corsage was pinned on me by my mother, and I pinned it on you, and it should be pinned on her when she turns 16. You have to make sure that your corsage goes to her ... it should be hers. I want her to have it, do you know how important that is to me?" I knew. "Yes, I will make sure she gets it." "I am serious Kelsey, you have to promise me!" She had some fight in her, she was making her point. It was almost a last testament for her, because after that she never mentioned another family member for the rest of the time I was with her.

Years later, when the time came around for Bella's 15th birthday I started to think about that corsage. I still had many boxes from my mother's in my garage so I spent the better part of six months sorting through old memories, photo albums and mementos of my mothers life. I found some wonderful things I had forgotten about, but no corsage. I thought back. I had seen it the year before, I found it in a box and brought it into the house because I knew I would be looking for it soon. But where did I put it? Started cleaning and putting things away in the house. Another 2 and a half months went by and although my house was clean and very organized, I still could not find the corsage. Her 16th was getting close and I was starting to panic about that wish, those last words murmured from my mothers lips: "I am serious Kelsey, you have to promise me!" I wrote a desperate message to Bella's mom asking her if I had sent the corsage to her in advance. She responded no and asked what it was. After explaining the story to her, the significance to my mother, the significance to me ... well she was devastated that I could not find it. 6 weeks to go before the birthday and I was loosing my mind.

I was sleeping one night a month or so later and I had a dream. I was decorating for Halloween in the front yard and thinking about the corsage. As I spread the spider webs, I heard a familiar voice say ... "You want some help doing that?" It was my mother, walking across the front yard. She smiled. It was good to see her. "That would be great", I responded. We finished up the decorating and admired the work we had done. She told me she had to go, she had things to do but thanked me for letting her help with the Halloween festivities. It was always one of her favorite holidays is what she said, but I knew that. Then just before she left she said, "What you are looking for ... you might want to check the kitchen again." And she smiled, then walked down the street.

When I woke up, I had no recollection of the dream. I had overslept and was in a panic to get lunch made, dress the boys and get them off to school on time. It was a hectic morning to say the least, and I really did not think about my dream. Long about noon, I had a moment to sit quietly and it was then that I remembered seeing her again, spending time with her again, hearing her voice again.

Her voice. I remembered what she said about finding what I was looking for in the kitchen. I wasted no time, I looked everywhere for that blue box. I looked in every single cabinet. I looked in every nook and cranny of that kitchen and never once saw a blue box. Nice, I am completely crazy is what I was thinking to myself. I was also crushed that I was not going to find the corsage to give to my daughter on her 16th birthday. My heart sank and I leaned on the counter next to the fridge, sulking in my failure to keep my promise to my own mother. I lifted my head in disgust and was just about to tell myself off when I noticed something in the corner, tucked away. It was a candy holder that I bought at Hallmark (my mother's Mecca!) years back that looked like a witch's spell book, you know like an old thick book on a book shelf...really creepy and deep ... and it held Halloween candy and talked to you when you opened it. I picked it up, laid it down on the counter and took a deep breath.

I opened the cover to hear "Happy Halloween!" in a creepy witch voice followed with cackling and there, laying inside alone, was the blue box that I had so desperately been searching for. I was shaking. I reached in and picked it up, knowing what it was that I had found. I opened it and with one look inside a flood of memories came over me...tears began to flow and I cried uncontrollably. I was a little freaked out. I mean, I certainly do not remember putting that corsage in that box. I really don't think I did. It was not Halloween time when I was looking for it, yet there it was in the kitchen just like she said it would be. I felt like I was in a huge CLUE game
... in the kitchen, with the corsage in the Witches book.
I was really freaked out when I realized that I had exactly two days to send it to Bella! I Fed Exed it off with a card and letter explaining the meaning behind the vintage Sweet 16 Corsage. It made it there, and her mom pinned it on her on her 16th birthday. She thought it was pretty cool that she now had something that was presented three generations ago in her family. I knew she would like it, and deep down I knew that my mother helped me find that thing~!

The moral of the story? Open adoption allows a birth family to pass on traditions to their flesh and blood. To me, that is pretty awesome and inspiring. Sure adoption can have its faults, sure it can be something that many do not understand. But for those that are involved with it, a story like this can inspire some to be more open to their birth families. Just as in my case, it only enhances the child's life to know where, and who they come from. Another moral...always pay attention to those little signs that others are around to help you out in life...no matter HOW freaky they are!

Photo courtesy of etsy.com.

Adoption Avocation, life heritage and ghost stories ... oh my!

This photo was used courtesy of The Bacon Party on Facebook.

Okay, my post on Tuesday was a little weird. But I cannot stand to see people hurting in our Country and not receive the help that they need. I am off my soapbox.

Instead, allow me to explain my sometimes here sometimes no attitude towards blogging lately. I took it upon myself to run for the local School Board and I had no idea just how much time it would take from my regular routine. It was a three month blur of talking, meeting, talking, smiling, listening, talking and making sure people knew not only who I was, but what my platform would be.

I did this because a one income family does not have extra cash to spend on a campaign. Besides, nothing makes me more irritated than to hear the National Candidates’ spent over a billion on their campaigns. I don’t want to buy your vote, I wan to talk to you, tell you my ideas, hear your concerns and then let you know that if elected, I am going to work hard for our students.

My approach worked. Despite not having a committee to back me, yard signs to plunk strategically down the most driven streets and no experience in the position I was running for … over 2,500 people in the community voted for me. Guess a reputation can make a difference in an unknown candidate. Because to tell you the truth, I bet there are more kids in town that know who I am than adults. I volunteer quite a bit, and make it a priority to give each kid my undivided attention so they know I am there for them. Not me. Not anyone else. I am there for the kids.

The election ran so well for me, that at the end of the first count I was one vote ahead to gain a seat on the Board. One Vote! If that is not democracy, I don’t know what is. And if you think to yourself, “my vote does not really matter,” well this is key evidence that it does!

Now we move onto counting all the absentee and provisional ballots which could be finished soon, but could take as long as December 4^th to determine who the Board member will be officially. In the last update on the County Recorders Office it said I was behind my opponent by 30 votes. That is still a very small margin, so more waiting will follow.

So, yes, now I know how Bush and Gore felt in 2000. I now know what a long wait means. I now know what I could have done differently and what I did right. Either way, I am thrilled that so many believed in me and chose to give me a chance in this election.

But this is a blog about adoption, and it is National Adoption Month so I SHOULD be writing about that topic, not an election that for some is now history. I want to write, but just cannot keep my mind off of the future here and now. I have tried, but have failed to write coherently what I want to convey. SO instead of babbling on, I will leave you today with this post from NAM two years ago. It is a post that will provoke thoughts, perhaps some anger but mostly I hope it brings some deep contemplating about what you can take from my words.

Adoption Avocation, and Life Heritage and Ghost Stories ... OH MY! 

This Fighting Heart

Photo credit: http://www.fhfishmemorial.org/

When you fight for your heart, it is best to get the hell out of the way. Most of the time what we fight for is love. Be it love for our family, love for our passions, love for our politics, or love for another person ... be it friends, co workers, lovers ... love is the ONE thing that people will agree is worth fighting for.

Some 20 odd years ago, I fought for love. I was but a lowly sinner who found herself asking for help when others would have not been brave enough to ask. I was 19 and in a relationship that was not going to last long enough, not nearly enough. I was in college, trying to make a better life for myself through education while working 30+ hours a week to fund such dreams. I was seeing a therapist to dig deeper into my psyche in order to find the true reasons I was so angry with my father. I was struggling through a life realization that as if I did not have enough on my plate, I was contemplating bringing a child into my already mixed up world. I was pregnant.


Now, understand that at the end of the 80's people were very self absorbed and this cynical society that we now live in, I think, was born of this decade of outlandish decadence that left people feeling a little invincible, a little eccentric. To admit that you might need some help with something was often seen as a weakness, a flaw. I spent a large part of 1986-1989 seeking help for my heartache, my sorrow that was left from a childhood of being hoodwinked by someone I so desperately wanted to be loved by. Finding my boyfriend when I did I felt I was finally getting that break I needed in love. That break that might just help my heart heal. Kind, funny, handsome and quite chivalrous he seemed to be all that I was looking for.


But it all changed, and soon our paths were not as parallel as they had been when we met. I won't go into details, but he was not going to be THE ONE. This was the single most important factor that had me reeling when I heard the words from my doctor, "My dear, you are pregnant." I grew up without my father in the home and my mother had lived a lifetime making excuses, reassuring me that I was loved and agonizing daily what this absence was doing to her little girl. I knew her life all too well. Single. Struggling. Heartbroken. Damaged. I understood immediately that having a child without her father around would be a lifetime of ... well, it's just hard to explain if you have not been there yourself and quite frankly it would be a HUGE post!

Once I chose adoption for my child, it became a battle that I was not at all prepared for. Why you say? Did you not know things? Were you unprepared to relinquish your child? Were you not provided the information of this kind of decision? Don't start jumping to conclusions just yet. I DID know the laws, what my rights were, what I could or could not do and so on. I understood the psychological repercussions that I would face, and knew the risk that my child would face because of my decision for her as well. What I did not expect was the horrific trials I would face with my home State of Missouri. After months of preparing, months of meetings, papers to read and settling into the home stretch of just one month to go I thought I was well adjusted and not really ready for it, but rather ready to head into the unknown. 


Oh wait, Missouri said. No. No you cannot. We will tell you what to do, when to do it, and how WE are going to place YOUR child FOR you. This was the gist of a phone call I received one month to the day of my daughter's due date. ONE MONTH! My heart imploded in my chest and the anger shot my blood pressure to the Moon. This starts the story of my fighting heart. My brave heart story. A story that will continue through out this week. 

I have to leave it at that because I need more space to spill it. So until then ....

Happy New Year!

2012

Happy New Year to all of you! May the coming year be the year that we all take some time to be kind to others, listen with a compassionate heart to those that need a helpful ear and enjoy the people we are. New year's hold so much promise, I hope that this will be the year you will remember for a long time to come!

~ Kelsey

Christmas Story to Warm a Mother's Heart

I had to share this with all of you. I loved this story. Yeah, some of the wording that the reported chose is not up to par, but cut him a break. I am just glad that THIS POSITIVE story about adoption made it to the mainstream media!

I hope you enjoy it, and may you all have a wonderful Christmas this weekend!


Here's to ornaments!!!!!


Adopted Man Gets Box of Christmas Joy from His Birth Mother

Adoptions From The Heart Giveaway!

I have come across many people in this world of adoption who are pretty incredible. One of those contacts I have is from Adoptions From The Heart. They have a great blog and website designed to help all that are in adoption. My friend there emails me from time to time and asks if she can use my posts to put up on her site, and I am more than happy to oblige her because I believe in the voices who have lived the life and are willing to put themselves out there to help others understand a little better.


If you would like to check the site out, please follow this link to Adoptions From The Heart. 
If you are interested in their blog, please follow this link AFH Blog.

I tell you all of this because today she was kind enough to share my post Holidays In Adoption on their blog. In honor of her doing so, I am hosting a GIVEAWAY of two of my books just for the Holidays. There is more than one way to enter the giveaway, so please look below for those chances.

1. Comment on this post and tell me what your favorite Christmas tune is for one entry.

2. Click on this link and like the Kelsey Stewart Fan Page on Facebook for one entry.

3. Explore the blog and if you find another post that you liked reading, comment here as the what the post was for one entry.

4. Follow Adoptions From The Heart Blog for one entry.

5. Share this Giveaway Post on your Facebook, Twitter or Blog for one entry.

Please leave a separate comment for every entry and don't forget to leave your email address in your comment so that I may contact you if you should win!

This Giveaway for The Best For You will end this Sunday, Christmas at 11:59 pm PST. 


So feel free to share this information with anyone you know that might want to enter to win this book! And for those of you  who have ventured here from The Adoptions From The Heart site, I welcome you to the blog and encourage you to read on!

Riddle Me This....

Why is it that I cannot go anywhere in social marketing without someone schooling me on being a birth mother? I know all the generations sonny, I understand the repressed laws and awful social stigmas that come with being a birth mother. I know that not all birth mothers have my story or the outcome that I have. I know this. I get it. And just because I HAVE had a good experience in adoption does NOT MEAN I do not understand.


If I tell some of my story, perhaps I am doing so because people need to know that open adoption CAN work sometimes. If I decide to do giveaways of my book it is not because I am all happy go lucky about adoption, it is because I am trying to help people see what our side is like, what we go through not just at the time of the adoption but for every single day after. If I choose to sound happy it is because I am and I see nothing wrong with being happy in life. 

Stop telling me who I am not. Stop stalking me to push your agenda on my life. Stop with all coercion talk and try seeing someone else's point of view, would you? NOT everyone in adoption is as unhappy as others ... and if someone is content in adoption then put your jealousy away and just let that person be.

Especially me! I thank you for reading, but if you want to personally attack me then send me an email. I would be more than happy to address you directly and really talk about these issues. Otherwise, read ... drink it in ... and move on. Every life has a story to it, and no ones story is going to change because you say it should.

Holidays in Adoption

Holidays can be quite hard for some people. The Christmas carols, the endless lists of shopping to do, the planning of the meals, trying to squeeze into that festive dress that mysteriously became tighter since all of the plates of goodies came streaming into the office or the occasional get together with friends. It can all be daunting and stressful to say the least.

In adoption, facing Holidays can often mean facing demons that linger in the deepest parts of our hearts. For many, this Season is for reconnecting with family we may have not seen for a while. But for many in adoption, this Season is just a reminder of what it is that they do not have. For some adoptees this whole month and a half of Holidays is just a reminder that they have a family somewhere that they do not know. It can be very hard to sit with people that you know loves you, that you know cherishes the person that you are, and you know that they only want to make you feel welcome within their families. However, even with all the love and acceptance that is bestowed upon those adoptees, there are those that most likely have a feeling that they do not belong. All the love in the world cannot squash the need to know who you are and where you come from. And that need to know who you are is never stronger than the Season meant for family, friends and giving. I can certainly understand when an adoptee tells me they do not like the Holidays.

For those of us in the birth family, Holidays are hit and miss. Some years are good. Some years are unbearable. Yet some years, depending on where one is in the healing process, can be filled with hope and peace. I admit that Holidays in the beginning were very difficult. I would go through the motions, open the presents, smile and talk with loved ones, eat a hearty meal and then send everyone off with well wishes and all the while my head was somewhere else. It was not always sad for me, but rather just thinking about what it was that I was missing was my demon. My mind would not stop thinking about how their hearts felt on Christmas morning. Did they know that there was someone thinking only of them on Christmas? Did they know that there was someone missing them on Christmas Eve as they were preparing for Santa to come? Were they baking cookies? Do they stay up late waiting to catch a glimpse of the Big Man putting presents under the tree? What do they want most this year? Will they ever understand just how much I love them?

But, the older I got the easier the Holidays became. Instead of beating myself up about how much they did not know I was missing them, I would think of how much they were loved and cared for. I thought of how much they were loved by those that surrounded them. I thought about how amazing it was that they were growing into their own selves, their own people. I learned to forgive myself for all the guilt I carried for not raising them. I learned to let go, to accept that that cannot be changed. I learned to love myself for the person I was because after all, I would like to think that my children would want me to love myself. I learned that life is not always going to be what we want it to be, and in that thought why not just let go and allow life to love me for a change? I learned after years of soul searching and facing those demons of Holidays past that I am my own destiny. I am a mother of loss, but I am not a lost mother.

It may be easier to read than to do, but let my journey teach you this about adoption: No matter what side of adoption you are from and no matter what circumstances brought you to where you are, YOU are the one that has to live with you. YOU are the one who chooses what path to take in life. YOU are ultimately responsible for you, and once you learn to love yourself for all that you are then you can begin to forgive yourself for all your misgivings. No one else can be you, and there is no reason to let someone else define who you are. The Holidays were not meant to remind us of what we don't have, but rather to embrace what it is that we DO have ... and hopefully we can recognize that life is what we make of it.

It Gets Better and Better!

Jane Ballback blogger at You're My Second Momma, Aren't You?

Just when I was slightly coming off the high of the amazing Letter that I received from the twins mother, I was hit with another wonderful day that was not at all expected!


This past week I was contacted by the mother of an adoptee that I spotlighted here on the blog. I found the piece by Stacee Ballback about a month ago and was so touched with the way she spoke about her life that I felt I had to share her with all of my readers. (Note: My adopted children liked the piece as well :) ) I thought nothing of it because when I find something that moves me like that I KNOW that there are others who would also appreciate the words of an amazing young woman like her. Little did I know that it would lead me to someone who just may be the woman who helps me really achieve the goals I have in adoption: To speak my truths to help others understand the life of a birth mother, and for some ... to help them feel not so alone in their own journey.


Stacee's mother, Jane Ballback, wrote to me to thank me for highlighting the writing of her daughter. She also wrote to invite me to contribute to her new online magazine that will be launching in January! Oh how life weaves it's own little web. In all this big world of adoption, she found me and was kind enough to extend not only an invitation to join her, but also an opportunity like no other I have been offered. How could I not want to do this? To speak my truths and tell my positive experience in adoption to so many who want to hear how good it can be. I strive to teach others what it was that I learned and may in turn help them within their own journey. I have been waiting for an opportunity like this for over two years now and I am still pinching myself at the thought of what can be in the future!


I will certainly give you more details about the magazine when they become available. I can tell you that it will share all sides of the triad with some incredible voices that should, and will, be heard. From the conversation that I had with Jane it sounds as if this project of hers could be a big hit with many already interested in contributing. I am thrilled that she has the compassionate heart that she does for adoption because it is not often that one side seeks the stories of the other sides, but Jane is willing to put herself out there in order to let those voices shine. 


So I say thank you to Jane for reaching out to me, asking me to join you and giving me the chance to put a voice out there for the side of adoption that is most confusing for people. And I say thank you to her daughter Stacee for writing such a beautiful testament of the person that you are, which in turn somehow brought your mother and I to each other.


Life happens for a reason, and when that reason is exposed it has a tendency to not only amaze ... but inspire who we really are!

Heroes

I last told you of a letter that I received around Thanksgiving that happened to be from the twins mother. It was a lift that was not expected and quite welcome to say the least.

It was a thick envelope because it contained more than just a letter. There were pictures and newspaper clippings from this past year. They are very handsome boys and I can see similarities they have with folks in our family. I am struck most at how much they look like their paternal Grandmother. I mean, it is just uncanny! I love to see pictures of them because we have two boys of our own and I can see features that they will have that are just like their brothers. This fact is something that one cannot imagine seeing when considering adoption, but here I am possibly looking at the future features of the children I am raising. Just another interesting factor to being a birth mother.

What I did not expect were the newspaper articles. It would seem that both the boys took jobs at the same place over the summer. One day, a young girl was found to be drowning in the pool and the twins were responsible for saving her life. WHAT?! They worked together to get her out, revive her and in a word ... she is alive today because of their quick reactions. Now, to say that my heart grew 10 fold would be a complete understatement. Pride, joy, fortune, permasmile on my face. Just a sampling of the range of emotions that I was feeling, and yes I know that permasmile is not an emotion but you could not wipe it off my face for a few days following the arrival of the letter. I cannot imagine how they felt after such a heroic act! Not to mention, I cannot imagine just how proud their parents were of them! What an amazing certification that you instilled good values and traits in your kids than to hear they put themselves aside to save another life. (And when I say that sentence I am speaking of their parents, of course.)


There was another article about one of the boys and his work at an animal shelter. He has told me about his passion for animals before, even stating that he might like to be a veterinarian someday. There he was, working along side a wonderful woman whom I am sure was appreciative of his voluntary work. It was a great picture and I rather enjoyed the article and what it had to say about the place where he worked. 


My two sons at home are Scouts, they are respectful of others, they know their pleases and thank yous which they even use with each other :) They are good boys who understand that life is not the same for everyone and they strive to be the best they can be. So imagine my happiness to hear such great things about the brothers they have. How wonderful is it for me to see the things that, through genes, might make me proud someday the way the twins mother is. And how wonderful is it that she was able to share that with me? To get copies of the papers, copies of the pictures and compose her own account of the heroics of her sons, well I can honestly say that her joy became my joy that day! When adoption has respect, honesty and communication it really can be a shared and wonderful experience for all involved.


And as a side note, not too long ago one of the twins wrote to me and told me that I was one of his heroes in life. Well let me just say that YOU are one of my heroes as well, kiddo!

Tough Questions

I have been asked more than once in the last couple of weeks about my feelings regarding the children that I placed and how I explained to them the children that I chose to raise after them. It is not at all an easy thing to explain, and often the questions are asked in a rather sarcastic tone.

So, I decided to share this post that explains my thoughts on how I deal with this tough issue.

Adoptee Asks a Tough Question

Was It Over When The Germans Bombed Pearl Harbor?

Photo Courtesy of flixster.com

"What? Over? Did you say "over"? Nothing is over until we decide it is! Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? Hell no!" ~ John "Bluto" Blutarsky, Animal House circa 1978

So the time has come, November is over and we say goodbye to another year of trying our best to raise awareness and advocate for adoption during National Adoption Awareness Month. I accepted a challenge to write a post everyday to advocate, and I did miss one day ... but this right here is the 30th post in 30 days. So I will look at it as mission accomplished! But I gotta tell ya, I have NEVER written this much in all of my life! Not even in college did I sit and contemplate one topic for this amount of time. It has been one bumpy ride with times here and there when I just did not want to say another word about adoption. I admit it, and I will tell you why.

It has been 20 years since I became a mother. I gave birth to three beautiful, amazing children whom I chose to let go. I knew exactly what I was doing and understood that there would be a lifetime of evolving and learning to live life not only without them, but perhaps someday facing what questions they might have for me. In all of those years, I never spoke A TON about adoption. I would have conversations from time to time with friends and acquaintances that I knew, but it was not an everyday thing. Adoption, in my life, was a very personal thing that I went through pretty much alone. My husband has been the one who has heard about it the most, after all he is involved too. But for two decades adoption would come and go for me, not something that I concentrated on every day.

That all changed past year and a half. Adoption has become a very presence in my life, more so than in any other time I can remember. I certainly had never before spoken so deeply, honestly, painfully and joyfully as I have here on this blog. To say it has been a healing for me would be a very true statement. In writing like I have, I also have found so many others who not only have stories to tell but also lessons to teach. There are voices that are so completely different from mine that sometimes break my heart to read, but I take away something from what I have read. I need to listen to these voices and then talk them out with myself to understand better this world of adoption. I need to listen to hear others reflections as a grounding, a tool to help myself realize some things about myself. That is the beauty of it. I keep learning more about other's truths so that I can distinguish what exactly I need to work on in myself and what needs to be done to bring attention to our world, the adoption world. And in that I mean both the good and the bad that happens.

And I intend on doing just that. I think it is a great concept, National Adoption Month. However, I don't think it has to stop in the month of November. I believe it can be done all year through, if for nothing else just to make sure that others out there know what adoption is all about, what it can hold, and what it can become. I will take a few days off, but I am not going to stop raising awareness. I have waited a long, long time to voice my opinion, and I will do my best to be heard.

Now, who's with me?

Why I babble about adoption...

Why do I write? Good question. I spent almost 17 years not venting or writing or dictating what I have lived. I told some, but not until the question "Do you have any kids?" opened the door for The Conversation. Other than that, I did not write about anything until I tried to FINALLY write my book. I always thought I would write a biography, my unique adoption story of living life without my children. (To my surprise, I really had a children's book in me.) My time on the Internet before my book consisted of watching old videos of bands I like, kids and animals doing funny things, emails from family and friends and the occasional research on a trip that was being planned. I did not look for adoption on the Internet because in my life, there was not a need for it.

You see, I have always known where my children are. I have been in contact through the US MAIL for their entire lives so I have been blessed with the good fortune of seeing them grow, knowing what they looked like, knowing what their interests were, hearing of how they were doing well in school and were also well liked. There was not much talk about the adoption in those writings, there was no need to. With every letter I wrote, I told them exactly how I was doing. If the time was hard I told them so. Just a "I am missing them a lot lately, but am so fortunate to know how and who they are." If the times were good, I always expressed my peace and my knowing that I did the right thing. I really had no fear of telling them where I was moving to, what profession I was exploring, what was going on in my personal life because I never wanted my children to ask them a question and them say..."I don't know." I was trying to make sure that the parents felt comfortable with me, knew me and felt reassured that I was not going to live life sad or regretful. They reciprocated in their letters with detail of how they were a complete family, how much joy they had in their lives. This was the key to my sanity.

They were the ones that I wrote to. Them and only them. Until August of 2009. That is when I released the book and began the one woman marketing campaign to get my voice to the world. A suggestion was made (Thanks Sheppard!) that I start a blog, tell my story my way in the new medium of life, the Internet. Blogger looked good, so I signed up there and my voice found a platform. Fantastic! I was having a ball just getting it all out. Thinking about thoughts that I have not visited in over a decade. I loved it. Then I started finding some voices that were not like mine. Voices that were not so pleased with their lives after placement, their lives as adoptees, their lives of waiting to have a child and struggling to understand the mind of a birth mother. The more I read, the deeper I fell into the dark side, the pitfalls of adoption. I knew full well the corruption that happens in the industry having lived in a not-so-birth-mother-friendly state where I was treated like a criminal, but I also knew the complete opposite of the industry when I went to a we-know-you-are-human adoption friendly state and was treated entirely different. I argued my points. They argued theirs, then proceeded to tell me that I did not know the journey. They were right, I did not know their journey. But I listened, I learned their stories, I learned their issues. There is no learning unless you listen.

So in the end, I am left with still telling my story and keeping the positives in there so people know that open adoption with clear communication and compassion can produce healthy relationships. But it is also good to know the other stories out there, the not so happy ones. The travesties that live in our society today that tear lives apart in the name of commerce. The injustices that happen in our country to step on birth mothers in the name of privacy. The sickening scams that leave parents not only heartbroken but vulnerable to fear of all birth parents in the name of I have no idea what! The worst, most sickening fact is that there are adoptees out there that have no access to their original birth certificates which is a fundamental right as an American citizen, just not for them. There is trust broken everywhere in adoption. There is fear everywhere in adoption. It will not go away overnight, but the more that is written, the more that is examined, the more we write to tell those stories ... well the better the chance that it will change. Change for the better.

I write to tell my story but I also have come to advocate for the positives in adoption as I know them. I will continue to tell people how I was able to keep hope alive, keep my heart courageous, keep communication going and keep trying to be open to my children and the difference it has made in all of our lives. I write because I have something to say. I write to make a change. I write to make sure that if someone out there needs to hear a positive story about adoption, they will find it here and know that someone was able to make it through living happily.

Baby Vanessa, Birth Mothers, and the Idiots Making Decisions!

Recently I read a post with...Adoptive Parents Nightmare ... in the title. It was a great little blurb about this whole debacle that is the Baby Vanessa Media Hype. It made me think very differently. The writer told of how the adoptive mother was on Good Morning America and for some reason, I was quite defensive about how this mother was going to leave the country in order to keep her baby safe. It prompted me to leave a comment that went something like this.....

This case is going to get a lot of attention because the key ingredient is to make the birth mother look very bad. Before I get too far, let me say that I have been a birth mother for over 20 years and I have a very positive outlook about open adoption. With that said, this story is a classic example of how the media gets a hold of a story about adoption and, as ALWAYS, there is a negative condentation to it. This mother obviously did not name him for a reason, perhaps a reason that has already been stated: “even though he has a history of domestic and child abuse.” Maybe this woman knew what he was like, knew that life would be traumatic with that behavior and did what she thought was best at the time for the child. Her choice was to not name the father.



Now, what I think would be a big help to this whole situation is if the adoptive parents of this child would understand and support the birth mother and where she is in all of this hype. I know that may be hard, but it will speak LOADS to the child later in life that her mother was supported through thick and thin by her adoptive parents. Far too often the birth mothers are left alone after a discovery like this, no one is willing to support her decision. The adoptive parents feel jilted, the father is angry that she chose adoption and may be trying for redemption…a payback perhaps (who knows what the story is between these two birth parents), and the birth mother feels guilty that everyone lives are now disrupted because she wanted to protect her child from potential harm. If the adoptive parents were to support this mother, show her that they will stand by her in any situation, then it would speak a thousand words to their character. It would speak a million words to the mother who chose to allow her heart walk without her. It would speak volumes to the judge that these parents care about the future of the child, and the mother who made them a family.

There was a reason she did not name him. Her reasons lead her to adoption. She should not be made a monster for wanting to do what was best for the child, at the time, in her mind. And you are right, the child should not be punished and moved to a foster care miles away in a home she does not know. The big wigs should just get all their ducks in a row and assess the dynamics before making quick decisions. But the bottom line here, and the point I am trying to make is that this is not just a nightmare for adoptive mothers out there … it is the worst kind of nightmare for a mother of birth, too.

There is something to be said for wanting to protect your child. If you are a parent, then you know that you would do anything for them. Let's not vilify this mother for trying to do just that. We don't know the whole story, let's not be hasty about uprooting so many lives before you know all sides of the story.

Such a beautiful review of my children's book...

The Best For You Book Review

Thank you Deanne for this amazing review. I am oh so very grateful and humbled by your description. What a wonderful Mother's Day gift to me!!!

Kelsey on Adoption Angles
Click the sentences above.
Click menu. click movies. Click my name...enjoy!

When you begin watching and I come on, you need to crank up the volume because there was a mic issue. The sound gets louder as we go along, but know that you have to TURN IT UP!!!!



I think I did pretty good for my first time. I tried to convey that I do not represent all birth mothers, but I represent a positive voice who tells her story to help others know that it is a sisterhood with many stories and views, but a sisterhood none the less. And most important, when open adoption is really open, it has potential to be very rewarding for all involved.

Thank you Melissa for the opportunity to shine in my own light. You are doing such a wonderful thing with your show, so original, so free, so informative. Thank you for being you!

Tattooed at 22

How do you help yourself heal after placing a child for adoption? How do you deal with the pain, the loss, the grief? How do you accept that you are a mother with no child? I had many ways to cope, and this is just one of them...

When I returned to Missouri from California after the second adoption, I was a different person. I was not having an easy time dealing with the heartache that was familiar to me. I tried as hard as I could to prepare myself for life after the birth, but I soon found out that I was fooling myself. I was so disappointed in myself for having to watch my heart leave me, again, and disappointed that I could not undertand why God would put me in that position for a second time. Sure, I knew deep down that there was a reason, but that reason was eluding me and breaking me at the same time.

My solace was my mother and my man. I cannot say enough about the support and love that I received from them. I was blessed to have them, so blessed! Even though I had them, as anyone who is a birth mother knows, it was hard to move on with life. The road ahead was going to be hard, I knew that. And since I had placed my daughter a couple of years earlier I figured that I would have a good grasp on what I had to do to heal. Well, every juncure in life has it's own demons to overcome and these particular demons that I was facing were the worst. They were the worst because these demons were inside me, inside my own head. I was my own worst enenmy. I was almost manic ... happy and content one minute, depressed and lost the next. I really thought that I could heal from my broken heart so much easier because I had been through it before, I knew what was in store. I was wrong, so VERY wong.

My man noticed that I was not happy. He tried everything to help me. He held me while I cried, he smiled with me when I spoke of the twins, he made me laugh when I really did not feel like laughing. He encouraged me to do what would make me happy, whether it was driving in my car listening to Tool at loud volumes, shopping for books to forget my worries, taking a long stroll through our favorite park in Kirkwood or just laying around watching some favorite movies. He tried so hard to make me forget the gigantic hole that was in my heart. He told me that I needed to asses what it would take to make me move on, to get past the initial loss and start to heal. He did not make suggestions, just pushed me to look within and find what it was that would help me get over that first hump in healing. I thought about it for weeks, trying to find a way to put it all behind me, to find something that would help me move on. I was at a loss for so long, but then, one day, I figured out what I thought would help me.

My birthday was coming up in a month and I thought of the perfect present that would help me: a tattoo. "What?" you say. "A tattoo will help you?" you are thinking. Yes. IT would. IN my mind, mothers did not have tattoos. Tattoos were reserved for those that were rebels, wild childs that were showing their angst against what was the norm in society. All the people that I saw with tattoos were mysterious, intriguing, looked like they had a good story to tell. Keep in mind that this was the early 90's, before it was so acceptable to have a tattoo. We see them all the time now, case in point ... watch a basketball game game for two minutes and you will see 100 tats, no lie! But back then, they were far and few between. They were for real hard people who lived hard lives and you had to have a good reason to have a tattoo. not to mention, you had to have a lot of balls to be a girl and get a tattoo. Well, I had balls. I had was a rebel. I was a wild child. I was in a point in my life when I had angst against the norm in society. In my head, a tattoo would remove me from being a mother. Moms did not have tattoos then. If I got one, I would not see myself as a mother. I would see the rebelious self that I was, the strong and hard person that I was, the non-mom that I was.

I told Bruce what I wanted and he loved it. I did not explain that I thought I could pshycologically remove myself from my children with the injection of ink into my skin. I just told him that I wanted one. We went on my actual birthday to a place that was recommended by a rocker friend. It was a small building that stood by itself on the side of the road, nothing special. We walked in and they assumed that he was the one that wanted the ink. I told them that I was the one who was there to get the tattoo and I knew what I wanted. A little surprised, one of the artists said, "Well what do you want blondie...and where?" He had a mass of hair that was wild and curly, dark and a little slimey. He himself had two full sleeves and a long stroke of something that swirled up the side of his neck. He looked a little shifty, but I did not care. At that moment I was ready to do it, ready to mark myself to remove my pain. I told him that I wanted a moon with clouds around it and I brought my favorite necklace to show him that it would be a cresent with a man on the moon face in the middle of it.  I then told him that I wanted it on my ankle. He took the necklace and told me to have a seat, he would be back in five minutes with a drawing. We sat in silence, listening to the television that was on in the back. I could tell from the voices and conversation that it was "The Karate Kid" starring Ralph Machio and Elisabeth Shue. When the artist returned he had a great drawing of the moon, sans the clouds. "Let's do this, and then I can add the clouds after. Let's just feel it..." he said. Okay guy, let's feel it. I think he might have smoked a doobie while he was back there. I sat in his chair and he on his stool. He took my foot and placed the paper on my ankle. We discussed the placement, and he transfered the outline onto my skin, right over my ankle bone.

The needle was shiny, and it went deep into my skin. Oh Lord! I wanted to pull my leg away, just thank him right there and leave. But curiously, that pain did exactly what I thought it would. As I looked at his fingers leading the gun to dig the outline into my bone, I felt a strange release in my soul. I watched as the shape of what I wanted came to live on my skin, just as I had watched my belly grow into the family wanting to be born. The pain was shocking, yet so very healing for me. I had wanted to distance myself from motherhood, and watching the tattoo form on my body was doing just that. Once he finished with the coloring, he then said "Let's get those clouds on there." After he dipped the gun into the ink, he sat there holding the buzzing needle over my skin. I was watching his hand, wondering why he was not finishing the job. I looked at him and he was watching the tv. Huge smile on his face, so engaged in the movie he was no longer woking on my tattoo. I cleared my throat trying to get his attention. He then looked at me and said..."Mr. Miagi kicks ass! I love this part!" He did not care that I was there, he just wanted to watch that movie. I looked at the tv and thought of how surreal the situation was. It mirrored the feeling that I had had for the last two years: no one understood but me how important it was to distance myself from my children. More important, no one ever would. This guy finished the tat and we paid and left. I was feeling better, feeling more in control of my life. That one little thing, that small tattoo on my ankle made a huge difference in my healing and how I viewed myself.

When we relocated to California, I had the tat worked on again. I hated the "clouds" that were around my moon, thanks to Mr. Miagi's kick ass ways!, so I went to the renowned female artist Pat Fish in Santa Barbara. I asked her to fix it and add a sun around the moon. What an amazing job she did! That sun was done all free hand and only took her about 20 minutes to complete. I love the tattoo now. I love what it represents to me. It may have helped me distance myself from my grief and pain when I originally got it, but now it is a reminder of how I helped myself  become a better person. A reminder that I am strong. A reminder that if you believe in yourself, and what you are doing in life, you can accomplish unbelieveable things. It is so much more than a tattoo. It is my badge of honor.

Happy Thoughts... #3 ~ A Rose is a Rose

I went to California for my second placing. I had placed my daughter for adoption two years earlier in Missori and it was not a very pleasant experience for me. Now, I was 2,000 miles from home ... away from family, away from friends and away from my boyfriend. I was staying with family and they were wonderful companions at a very difficult time for me. I love being in California, the mountains, the ocean, the laid back way of life. It was a change that I needed, a change that would help me come to terms with my role as a mother at 21. I felt I had found a place that spoke to me, that showed me how beautiful life is, how beautiful the world is. I was removed from all that I had known. It is amazing what you can discover when that happens.

The time came to welcome the twins into the world. Their parents were there for the labor experience.  I am a very pleasant person, likable, funny, smart, in other words ... a lady in every sense of the word.

That is until I am in labor. This wonderful couple was in the hospital room with me as I became a sailor from 1492 spewing curse words that would make Backbeard blush.

I was not only saying them, but at times I was vocalizing across the room in a guteral voice that was straight from the bowels of The Exorcist. It is odd, I am not sure how other women out there handle that kind of dialation, that type of primal pain. It just took me over just as it had done when I had my daughter. The difference was, I was now displaying this barroom broad to folks that were going to raise a little piece of me. I am sure they were shocked, hoping that their child was not born with a mowhawk and Marlboro hanging out of their mouths. The nurse was so nice, she was playing right along with me ... "That's it! Get it out, let it all out." I had no epidural, no assistance with the pain. This was the brilliant plan of my doctor who I know was dictating the labor for very good reasons, but I was not liking the decision to do it all sans drugs. None the less, I buckeld down and delivered them within 10 minutes of each other. Both were healthy, good sized boys. The best part was that their parents were right there by my side to witness the moment that they were in the world.

I have no idea what the adopting parents were doing or the expressions on their faces when the first boy was born, even though they were right there. I was concentrating on pushing my lungs into my colon. The first time I remember seeing their dad was when the nurse was telling the doctor all the info about baby boy1 and I said ..."Go and meet your son." I smiled at him and he looked like an angel, just glowing with happiness. I then looked at her and said ... "Ready Mom?" I then gave birth to a second healthy boy and watched as she saw her dream of a family come true. I got to see the moment that she realized she was once and for all a mom, and it was beautiful. My cousin who was there with me as my coach was also touched, you see she and her husband had just adopted a boy a year earlier. She and her husband were not there when their son was born so for her to also witness the birth of a baby was very special for her. She told me I was amazing, thanking me over and over for asking her to be there with me.

So in that 10 minute period a family was born, a mother was made, a father was proud, another adoptive mother learned the sacrifice that HER birth mother went through and I was rather taken back with the powerful moments of it all. I had touched so many lives in that moment, made so many happy that my feelings of sadness were a little lighter, and I realized that my baby boys would be loved and cared for. I was thinking about the smiles that those boys were going to bring to their parents for so many years to come.

The next day I awoke from a nap to the most beautiful bouquet of roses I had ever seen. There was a card, so I opened it.
"Thank you for giving my brother a family. You have made me an aunt and I am forever grateful for your kind heart. May you be blessed always..."
I then realized that I had touched so many more than who was in that room with me. I knew that my boys would be so loved in life. I took a deep breathe and the smell of the roses had filled the room.

Everytime I smell a rose, I smell a little longer and think of my boys and it is always accompanied by a smile.

Kelsey Stewart is the Author of The Best For You

Happy Thoughts...#2 _ Words Help Heal the Soul

Several years after my daughter was born, I had the opportunity to spend some time with her and her siblings. I never made requests to see her growing up, the short times I spent with her were always instigated and set up by her parents. I mention this because not everyone has the same circumstances when it comes to open adoption. My terms were: I sent letters and pictures at Christmas and  on her Birthday I sent a card with flowers. Her parents, in turn, would send updates around the same times along with pictures. Only on several occasions, when they found themselves in my hometown, did they arrange physical contact. It was a good compromise for everyone. My daughter knew who I was, she was fine with spending time with me ... in fact she really liked seeing me ... and her parents were just wonderful in their support of me. They always made sure that she knew that I loved her and wanted to know about her.

This day was a warm spring day, beautiful sunshine, great temperature ...  just a perfect spring day. I was meeting her and her family at the home of a relative and the plan was that we would watch her and her brothers while the parents went to the baseball game. My mother came along, I think she was more excited about it than I was!, and we were amazed at how personable my daughter was with us. She was off and running, talking a mile a minute, asking me all kinds of questions. She had just turned 5 and she was the spitting image of me. She would ask me something and then just look at me, really look at me. She would study my face, look at my nose, watch how my mouth moved when I spoke. She was grinning from ear to ear the entire time we were together. We played games with her and her brothers. We did some gymnastics on the wrestling mats that were out on the floor, she tumbled all over that thing like a little bunny, what a wonderful thing to watch! I was on cloud nine, not overly excited but smiling myself just as big as she was. We had some pizza, talked about school and friends and life in her town, she was an incredible communicator and so natural. Not one of us in that house that day had any anxiety, no awkward moments, no shame or odd looks. We were just hanging out, enjoying each other...it was fantastic.

We were taken back into the room with the mats so we could watch more gymnastics, mainly my daughter and her endless energy, and I was sitting on the couch next to her older brother. There was a lot of excitement going on. She was hilarious, totally entertaining everyone in the room. We were laughing and clapping, encouraging her flipping madness. It started to settle down a bit and my mother was on the floor with her talking about things. I was so enjoying watching my mom spend time with her. Some don't think about the parents of the birth parents and what their journey is like. I know it was very difficult for my mother to watch me all those months, years, helpless and yet feeling her own grief. My mother lit up when she talked about me and my daughter, and to watch mom play with her granddaughter was one of the best memories that I have, ever. I felt so happy that she was able to have the opportunity to spend time with her first grandchild. I looked to my left and began to talk to her older brother. School, sports, interests in music were some of the topics we discussed. He was a very pleasant kid, polite and funny. He asked me about what my job was like, what I studied when I was in school and if I had played any sports when I was a kid. We got to know each other just a little bit, and again, it was not uncomfortable or weird. Soon my daughter was up and tumbling again. Like before, she was very entertaining. After a particular tumbling pass, she bowed like she was a star and we started rolling in laughter. It was just the way she did it, believe me, it was funny! I leaned back on the couch and looked at her brother. He was smiling and watching her.

He then looked at me and said ... "Thank you."
I said "For what?"
He was still smiling and he looked at her getting ready to jump and roll again. He then looked back at me and simply said ... "Thank you for my sister."
I wanted to burst into tears. What a wonderful thing to say to me. He was only about 10 years old and I was astounded at his compassion at such a young age. I know he wanted to say so much more, but he didn't. He was looking at me, telling me with his eyes and facial expression that he was sincere. I couldn't talk for a minute, I was fighting back tears of joy. I know they were welling in the bottom of my eyes and I was trying not to let them drop. He smiled, then nodded as if to say 'it's okay'. I took a deep breath and said ... "Thank you for loving her."

My heart was light for months after that. I was so thankful that he had the courage to say that to me. It meant the world to me. I don't know if he remembers saying it. He may not even remember that day. I do. I will always remember that day. It was a huge healing for my spirit, and more proof that I had made the right choice placing her with her family.

I thank you for being such a great brother to her, then and now.