Saturday, December 12, 2009

Sealed

It is officially a done deal. The adoption is indefeasible both legally and spiritually.

Today, Roo was sealed to her mommy and daddy. She is theirs for eternity. I think I'm a little jealous, as a matter of fact. I only got her for nine weeks. They get her forever.

I'm not sure what I expected today to be like, but this certainly wasn't it. I thought I'd be happier, for one. And I was happy, at first. In the temple waiting area, I felt peaceful and calm. And when they came out, M holding a white-clad Roo, I couldn't contain my joy.

I don't know why, but my joy was short-lived. Everyone went outside for pictures, and I started to feel strange. I got a few pictures with me and P and M and Roo. I look gigantic in them. I'll admit it, I weigh nearly as much now as I did on my due date. But then, some people started to leave, and M said they'd see me tomorrow for the blessing, and they left. I didn't get to hold Roo at all. I guess I thought I'd get her for a minute or two at least. She looked so cute in her white dress. She had a matching bow on her head. I managed to get a few pictures while one of Roo's aunts held her. She has the most expressive little face.

Everyone left, ostensibly for some sort of family party/lunch. Just like that, it was over. I started to feel like I needn't have bothered coming, which was a rather horrible feeling. My mom headed for the parking lot but I wasn't ready to leave yet. I found a stone bench in front of a bit of desert landscaping - cacti, succulents, and the odd palm tree. I dropped my purse, sat on the bench, and cried for all I was worth. I felt absolutely dreadful, and I was mad at myself for it. How selfish am I that on this wonderful, joyful day, the day when Roo got what I wanted most for her, all I could think of was myself, and how sad and lonely and empty I felt? But feeling so horribly selfish only made me cry harder.

If I'm honest, I felt a bit like I did right after placement - like someone had ripped my guts out, put them in a sack, and beat me with it. I wished very much that the bench I was on would turn me to stone, too, so I didn't have to think and feel anymore. I felt empty - oh, how I felt empty. And desperate and lost and oh so alone.

Finally, the cold got to me, and my mother and I left. I cried in the car, too. When we got home, I curled up on the couch and sobbed. I sent a pathetic-sounding text to S, who called me up. I whined to her for forty minutes. I don't know why it helped, but it did. She didn't say anything much more than, "It sucks, Jill, I know it sucks," but for some reason that made me feel a little better.

I fell asleep on the couch and had strange dreams - I was in a room like the waiting room at the temple, and I'd been there all day - hours and hours. People came and went but no one I knew, no one I was waiting for. I knew I was waiting for someone or something important but who or what it was never appeared.

I felt better when I woke up. Positively delighted, as a matter of fact. I felt fantastic. The feeling lasted an hour or two. Then I went back to feeling like trash. Then back up. Then back down.

My mother took me shopping to try to cheer me up. It had the opposite effect. I'd forgotten until tonight that there's nothing quite like a weekend trip to the mall to destroy your faith in humanity. Salespeople were rude and unhelpful, I'm too fat to shop anywhere, and I kept getting lost in the stupid mall. My feet hurt and my head hurt and I thought that getting Olive Garden to go would help. Until I got home and realized they'd forgotten my breadsticks. And they were closed for the night, so I couldn't go back and get any. And I only ordered salad and breadsticks, which left me with salad for dinner. I didn't just want salad. I only like their salad with their breadsticks. No dinner for me.

That was enough to send me over the edge again, and I've just finished up a nice bout of crying. I am so SICK of crying. If tears cleanse the soul, as my mother says, my soul must be so clean it squeaks. This whole day has just been a strange sort of disaster, and I wish very much that I could go back and repeat it. Or forget it entirely.

I hate that I can't just be happy for Roo. Today was such a special day for her and her parents. Why can't I be happy for them? I love them. They're happy. I should be happy. But instead I am cold and tired and hungry and miserable. Instead, I'm glad they're happy, and I think, gee, it must be nice to be happy. I'm not sure I'd know what that was like.

Roo will be blessed in church tomorrow. I hope tomorrow's a better day. I hope tomorrow I can just be happy about it. I hope that tomorrow I won't feel so devastated, so invisible, so unimportant. I KNOW it's not about me, and that I am not strictly speaking important, so don't bother to tell me that. But I did give my Roo a better life, that's something. Doesn't that make me just the tiniest bit important? I wish I felt that way. I wish I knew how.

Roo is sealed to her family. I am happy for her, and for her parents, I really, truly am. What joy for them! I'd love to have a shot at that kind of joy. I worry I never will.

3 comments:

andemae said...

Oh Jill…I have been following you, and I feel that I cry right along with you. You are an amazing person, Your strangth is stronger than mine. Sometimes as I read I think that maby I should just leave and you can come and be my kids mommie. You sound like you are such a wonderful mommy and has done so much for Roo. Your love for her, and your strength to do what is best for her is amazing. Heavenly Father must be so happy with you. You said that today you fealt unimportant. You also must think if it was not for me their would never have been this beautiful baby. You are a silent hero. But you have become my rolemoddle. If I was half the person that you are I would feel better for my self.

You will have your chance, I know that you will. I pray for you every day, That you can be happy and find that joy you deserve in your life. You sound like an amazing person. Somone who I would love to be friends with. You have tutched my hart with your story, so thank you Jill for sharing.

Lara said...

We were sealed to our daughter on Saturday as well. Thanks for sharing your thoughts. I haven't talked to our baby's birth parents too much about this important step for us because they aren't LDS and I'm not sure if they will get it, not care, or be totally hurt and mad. I understand when you say it's like placement all over again - it kind of feels like that for me too. That same kind of happy and that same kind of guilt for the pain of our birth parents.

Jen said...

Thank you! Thank you for saying this, for owning up to your true feelings. I don't know if you ever feel things like this anymore, but thank you. I've been active in the adoption world around here in the past, and it seems like birth moms always talk about how wonderful and perfect it is, and the great relationship they have with the adoptive families, and feeling like they've gained a second family etc etc. And sometimes, I get hurt and jealous, and feel like my adoptive family doesn't really care about me. Sure, they're grateful and they always will be, but I think they'd rather be grateful at a distance. And it's been four years, and sometimes I STILL feel these awful feelings, and then I feel awful for feeling them.

I know that isn't what you were saying at all. I'm sure you have a much better relationship with your adoptive family than I do. But something you said in this post just rang so true with my feelings, and I had to get that off my chest, and thank you for being honest.