The ocean vastly spread upon the world, reaching towards the horizon as if beckoning the curious into falling over its edge; is calm today. Families in boats, friends on jet skis fill the space with laughter and play and innocence. It is a good day to play in the ocean.

Clouds grow heavy, shadowed with weight and condensation, looming ever so slowly as not to cause a panic. Thunder, off in the distance roars, yet quietly, as if barely whispering a warning. The laughter goes on, the picnics still flowing, the lovers still gazing fondly, the children still teasing.

Suddenly, too quickly, the boats out at sea begin to toss in ravaged form; women scream and men attempt to silence the panic. Waves rush forceful into shore as if to say rudely, "Did you not listen to the warning we gave?" Children cry and mothers run haphazardly to reach them near the waters edge. Mouths full of sand, sandwiches tossed to the scavengers, lovers forget promises, lifeguards forget training, and the storm rages on.

In the storm fear is born. Everything they thought about and dismissed comes quickly to a head. Didn't you pack the life jackets? Why didn't you bring better shoes? Where is the first aid kit, I can't believe you didn't bring the first aid kit. Don't grab me, I'm fine, let go! C'mon ? hurry up. Don't rush me. What are you doing? I'm doing my best. No you aren't! Hurry! Panic falls hard and heavy, as hard and heavy as the waves crashing in around those who knew of these possibilities yet chose instead to forget.

Such are the storms that fall and rise in our adoptions, arriving when we least expect it, or rather, arriving when we did expect it but are angry that it happened anyway. Suddenly we are faced with who brought what, who is prepared, and how are we going to survive this? Accusations flare in the panic. "You should have known!" Someone hollers. "Why should I have known, why didn't you know?" A reply comes.

Fear festers and born from panic are violent words and frightening realities. Before long, everything is forgotten and each individual begins to save himself alone. One woman, without boat or life-vest swims violently against the waves crashing in around her. She may not make it. Another woman, fifty feet away holds tightly to the rail of her large boat with one hand and with the other grips the buckle of her life vest. The woman in the water cries out, "Why don't you throw me a vest? I'm drowning!" The woman in the boat cries back, "Why didn't you think to wear one in the first place?" She is too afraid to let go of the rail. So she watches and justifies herself by accusing the drowning woman of having should of known better.

In the storm the worst of us is born. Where moments before we were happy, joyful, individuals enjoying the warmth of a good day, now we are violent, angry, and panicked. We try to save ourselves but cannot with our own limited resources. We try to justify ourselves by judging others and their lack of abilities to help themselves. We serve our own needs, we save our own selves.

And then the storm passes.

The drowning woman makes it to shore. Just as she pulls herself from the chilled waters she sees the woman who could have helped her being helped off her boat. They catch one another's eye. A pause. A knowing.

The woman in the boat thinks for one moment that she owes the other woman some sort of apology. Some sort of explanation. Yet she makes no move to do so.

The woman, ravaged and worn, desires nothing more than to go to the woman still tied to her vest, which is dry now, and demand an explanation for the coldness in her eyes.

The woman from the boat arrives home. She puts a kettle on the stove and pulls her tea packets from the cabinet. She wipes several crumbs from the counter, sighs, leans up against it and begins to cry. Soon she is just a heap on her clean kitchen floor, memories of the day her daughter died come crashing in again. The storm, how quickly it came, her panic and anger upon realizing her husband had forgotten the life vests. The boat, tossing and turning, her baby daughter thrown over-board. What else could she do, but jump? What other way was there? Yet it was too late as she swam, salt tearing at her eyes, waves pounding into her body, searching, looking for the little tuft of black curly hair. Gone. Taken under by one of a thousand waves too strong for a mother's hope. Twenty-five years of guilt, of blame, of wondering what would have happened had she just had a life-vest? She would never know. Until the day, this day, she forced herself to go back, go back to the ocean, get back on the boat, and face the demons that had crucified her. She would honor her daughter that day. Yet, it all went wrong somehow. When the storm came, when she saw the woman in the water drowning. She couldn't move, she couldn't help. She was frozen with fear as she looked out into the waters, angry, helpless.

The woman who had nearly drowned is helped ashore and is embraced by her loved ones who immediately began questioning why she had been swimming so far out into the ocean. Why would she have done such a ludicrous thing? She falls weary into the wet sand beneath her and sobs. Her husband, torn with fear begs from her just one word, one word from her so that he knows she's okay. He hadn't meant for her to get out of his sight. He'd known that this day was one of chasing ghosts, redemption, and quelling a lifetime fear that had kept her from any kind of waters. He understood that she needed to go to the ocean and make peace with her fears, with her losses. How could he have let her out of his site? What had he done? "Please honey, tell me what happened?" The young woman, twenty-seven years old, looks up into his eyes and says, "Twenty five years ago I almost drowned and never again had I been in the water. I had to do it honey. I had to go in. I didn't know the storm was coming. I didn't expect it to happen. And then, the strangest thing ? there was a woman in a boat who looked right at me. Her eyes looked right into me and I called out to her to save me, but she didn't. It was almost as if she couldn't. And the worst part of all ? she looked just like my mother before she jumped to her death to save me all those years ago."

The storms of our adoptions are often violent and full of fear and panic and doubt. Remember, as you flair upon the ocean or stand at the realm of your boat frozen in fear, that sometimes the only one you can save is yourself. But other times, in saving someone else you just might happen to do both. You may shout out angry accusations at someone who might seem to be a stranger. You may offer your hand to someone in need only to have them cut it off. In the storm, you never know what will happen. Or who may be looking on.

So the next time you listen to someone justify themselves, provide reason, or opinion in ways that cause you to grow angry and resentful ? remember that they may just be drowning at sea or standing in a boat facing demons of their own.

Throw them a life vest. You may learn something from them that could very well change your life and the outcome of the storms still to come.

***

If you are a birthmother who has been, or currently is, angry or fearful of adoptive parents yet have made an effort to reach out or to understand adoptive parents, and you would like to share your story, please contact me.

If you are an adoptive parent and have dealt with similar feelings about birthmothers, or your child's birthmother, and yet have made an effort to reach out or understand her in ways that changed how you felt, and would like to share how you did that, please contact me also.

 

Copyright © 2003 Courtney Frey - Do not use without permission

www.Lifemothers.com              Respect Author's Copyright!             www.Lifemothers.com