I lived in Manhattan most of my adult life. I was on the Upper West Side on 9/11. My mother fell to her death in October, 2001. The two worst events in my life happened within 33 days of each other. I decided that I wasn't going to put off my life dreams any longer. I first began writing for publication that spring.
I'm torn between saying that I was born lucky and that I was born cursed.
In 2002, I knew nothing about nonverbal learning disorder (NLD). I knew that I had problems but nobody seemed to think they were important. Apparently I had been sabotaging my own success for years. ( My version of humor.)
In a weird way I was lucky that year and for awhile had a column in a new newsweekly that quickly became known for its all-around excellence. I decided to write about my meeting with my birth mother. We had met 15 years earlier. Until I began writing the article I forgot that she called me "my mistake" throughout the weekend. Remembering that made me sad; sadder still was the fact that I no longer had my mother (adoptive) to provide solace.
I'm supposed to be more mature than that? And your expertise is in....? You know this because....? (I will be writing a post on mourning somebody who died in New York after 9/11. Many considered it to be unseemly and wrong.)
You're never too old to mourn your mommy. And apparently you're never too old to be confused by two mommys. Not as in Heather Has Two Mommies but in the mess called: "This is not a reality show. However it is your life."
About a year before I met my birth mother I had extensive testing. The testing didn't give me a diagnosis but the tester said I failed every test and shouldn't have been a functional human being. He was shocked that I had not only functioned but thrived much of the time. I went for the testing not to basically be told I was retarded, excuse me, intellectually challenged, but to find out what I was weak at so I could improve.
It hurt. OK. It really hurt. If I were as damaged as he said I was how could I have graduated college and graduate school and excelled? Worked as a project manager? Been married to somebody who actually loved and respected me? Lived with other terrific men afterwards, including one who had a doctorate in Artificial Intelligence and a law degree? Had many intelligent incredible friends?
I decided to forget everything that the tester had said but the damage had been done. Much damage had been done when I was nine and saw my first therapist. He insisted that I hated being adopted. He kept trying to make me play dolls with him. How could I play dolls with a man who had crumpled clothes, tobacco-stained teeth, Coke-bottle glasses, and no understanding that I adored my family?
I understand that I exhibited "many of the problems of an adoptee," as in ADHD, acting out to my parents and little sister, but even at nine I couldn't understand how being clumsy, having a bad handwriting, not being able to learn math and other physical coordination problems had anything to do with being adopted.
People with NLD aren't supposed to read nonverbal cues and are supposed to be socially inappropriate. I could read many cues and wasn't socially inappropriate. Though I didn't know about NLD, I could tell that I frustrated the testing psychologist. He so wanted to put me in one category.
I went about my life and found my birth mother. Going to a lecture, sitting through it and then asking my then- unknown cousin for his aunt's phone number was one of the hardest things I have ever done. I felt I had no choice but to play this out as finding his name (the last name is unique) was kismet.
Meeting my birth mother wasn't easy but again I felt I had no choice but to go through with the meeting even if she wouldn't compromise on a place to meet and then didn't want to be seen with me. I understood that she still felt the shame of giving birth when unmarried. I couldn't help but feel that she was ashamed of me, the person. My sister recently told me a story of a meeting that didn't go well. But the birth mother in that story said: "I'm proud of you." I, who almost never cry, broke down after my sister told me that. My birth mother never once said she was proud of me. I didn't expect her to say she loved me but I guess I wanted her to be proud. I guess that she felt there was nothing to be proud of.
She didn't reject me overtly but it was obvious that she really didn't want anything to do with me. I know, I know people with NLD aren't supposed to pick up on subtle cues. I can't when it involves a man being interested in me, but generally I'm pretty good at knowing when I'm being rejected. Sometimes I assume it until proven otherwise.
My birth mother had a niece and nephew. About a month ago my cousin, female, called to tell me that my birth mother died. She wasn't young when she had me so she lived a long life. I have spoken to both my cousins since. They're incredible.
I found out that I was right; she had rejected me. I found out some more things. This past month has been amazing. It's stirred up a whirlwind of feelings. My cousin, male, said I perfectly captured her essence in my article. They read it years ago and tried contacting me but I had changed all my addresses.
Vindicated, yes I feel vindicated for until I knew about NLD the things I trusted most about myself were my instincts and my judgment. When I learned about NLD I became convinced that I had no instincts and had very poor judgment. I don't want to consider my birth mother important to my life but she was. I don't hate her or even dislike her. I feel sad that she felt so much shame.
I feel both sad that I didn't get to know my cousins and happy that we will have an opportunity to know each other now.
In my birth mother's last years, I'm told, she wanted a relationship with me. When I visited her I brought my baby book. It had hair from my first haircut. She asked for some and kept it until she died along with a letter that I wrote her.
I have been told more and been offered even more information. Some of it might be what people want my beginnings to have been. Apparently she wore my birth father's ring until she died as she was in love with him all those years.
Sorting through this and determining what is true and what isn't seems overwhelming right now. I'm never out of words but for the last month could barely put fingers to keyboard.
.Last January on the day I was offered this blog I googled her for the first time in years and stared at her picture in a newsletter. I wouldn't have been adverse to knowing her. Oh sweet irony that is life!
© 2011 Pia Savage
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