When I share that I am adopted... a lot of times it is assumed that I was adopted by White people. However, when I tell them that my parents and my siblings are Black they seem surprised and even taken back by the idea that Black people adopt children. I believe this stems from the idea that ( some ) Black people take care of their own. If the momma cannot be with their children the grandmother will take them in. If the daddy cant be with their children the auntie with make sure the kids have what they need. I am not saying this to assert or assume anything... this is just a thought... even an observation as I have strategically navigated the highs and low of Black family culture or what seems to be “ the norm”.
I was asked if I ever struggled with my identity? Culturally speaking... no. I think there will alway be a “question of identity” when you come to the realization aka “ the truth” of the situation that you are not biologically connected to the person designated to love and raise you as their own. My parents were good parents . I turned out decent... that’s what a lot of people say when I share my story of rising from the ashes of my infancy to now thriving in the accomplishment of my adulthood. They mean well! There was a gaping void in my identity that was not resolved until I met my biological mother. There was no sense of self, no sense of truth until I was actually in the presence of my birth mother. Why? Because, I could look at my mom all day, bask in her love and accept all of the hugs and “ I love your” but it was not enough to penetrate that void. It was not superficial by any means. My mom gave me what she could and I accepted all of that. The void was still there... deep and consuming.
My birth mother’s voice filled that void. The sorrow in her voice and the joy in her eyes tugged on my heart strings. Her truth surged through me and forgiveness allowed our relationship to take flight. It was not overnight but an ongoing healing experience that I do not regret. Her identity is woven into mine. I can see myself with more clarity because I can see her. People ask me “ How do you forgive her... she was not a mother to you?” It took me a few years post reunion to answer this question but I believe I was able to forgive her because I was able to let it go. Those feeling of being unwanted, rejected, abandoned... were all lies. I chose to accept the truth. I listened to my birth mother share her story and I believe her. I believe that she wanted all five of her children. I can tell it in her voice every time I talk with her. Every single time. When I call her and she answers the phone she goes “ Is this my baby girl Aerial?” It’s an elated feeling of gratitude that she is willing and able to be in my life just the way she is.
My momma has come along way in the past ten years. Our relationship is so much better. Mother’s Day just passed and it has always, always, always been a struggle for me. My mom said “ Did you call P. for Mother’s Day” and for a split section the peace that took over in the moment was so nice that I didn’t answer right away. I love them both so much. Even though they have different meanings in my life I wouldn’t change anything.
Thanks for reading!
Peace & Love
~A