Guest Blog Post by Hilary Shafran Snow: When you are Adopted, Birthdays are Often Lossdays

I never understood why I loved and hated birthdays all at the same time when I was younger. I mean, what isn't there to love? People buy you things and pay attention to you. Right? 

Well, what if you love flying under the radar and don't love, like or even want the attention? But at the same time, you KNOW that if you aren't acknowledged for your special day that may just be worse than having attention showered on you. Damned if you do and damned if you don't.

I have friends and know people who celebrate their birthday all week long, or all month long. And they let everybody know it. I wish I could do that. Instead, I'm over here kind of hunched over to make myself smaller, to take up less space—less life, and I “act” like my birthday is no big deal. I don't even mention it to many people at all.

Do I think if I make myself smaller that it will bring my birth/first mother back? That I'll somehow get a do-over with her? Do I think by taking up less life that somehow my birthday this year (every damn year) will hurt less? Will crush me less? Will make me feel less lonely? Less ashamed that my birth mother didn't want me? Will I magically feel like I belong? Or should have my birth celebrated? Let's be totally honest here - celebrating my birthday to me equates a death of sorts. The day I was born wasn't celebrated with cigars or baby showers or tears of joy. The day I was born was filled with shame, pain, hurt, grief and probably even relief that now that I was born, I could be “placed” with a nice family. And say the next line with me - “Who will give my baby the life I can't or will never be able to?”

Let's break this down a little more. I have to say that I am grateful I am adopted. Whuh? I can't hear some of you now - gasping in shock and disbelief. “She's grateful she's adopted?”

Yes, a thousand times yes! I. Am. Grateful. I. Am. Adopted. Every. Day. I am grateful I was one of the lucky adoptees that landed in a family that FEELS like home. It FEELS like I am exactly where I should be. I've always said that God is wise, and He placed me with the family I needed to be with. But as I get older, I also realize that I am exactly who my family needed.

What I am NOT grateful for is the baggage that comes with adoption. The bags that I have not been unable to unpack, repack or lose. No matter how I feel about my family, it does not take away the trauma from pre-birth/birth/relinquishment. From what I understand better now; this is part of who I am. I can't go back and unring the adoption bell. I can't go back and change the way my birth mother felt during her pregnancy, or any experience she may have had with my birth father that led to my adoption. It is a part of me, like DNA. In my mind as I type this all I keep hearing is the famous like from Brokeback Mountain, "I can quit you."  And the “you” in this case is my baggage.

I've tried unpacking. I've been through years of therapy. It wasn't until the past few years that I understood the WHY I had the feelings and issues that I did and now that I know; it changes everything and yet it changes nothing.

I met my birth mother. We even were in “reunion” for a short period before I chose to break off contact with her for a myriad of reasons that I'm sure I'll write about at some point. But, back to birthdays.

I dread mine every year. I try to look forward to it. I have always taken great joy in spending my birthday with my mom for lunch. It's like a tradition. And either before or after my birthday there is typically a nice dinner with my parents and maybe my brother.

This year, I was trying so hard to hold onto the tradition. I even took an extended lunch break at work (I normally have a half hour and I marked myself out for 2.5 hours) to be able to go spend lunch with my mom. See, my mom is having some health issues. She doesn't get out as much as it is difficult for her. I was going to pick up some lunch, and she, her caretaker and I would sit around and laugh and have a nice meal together.

Life doesn't exactly work out the way you want all the time. I woke up Wednesday (my birthday) with no voice at all. My work is being on the phone all day with clients and my boss gave me a forced sick day since I couldn't talk. But, I wasn't sick.

I have this thing with my lungs. I have major scarring from an illness as a kid—I have asthma, and I've had a saddle pulmonary embolism. Every 6 months or so, something irritates my lungs and they shut down. It's hard to breathe and I lose my voice. But I'm not sick. I get a prednisone medi dose pack and in a few days I'm back to normal, but with a lovely cough as my lungs open back up.

What this meant for me on my birthday is no time with Mom. I just can't take a chance with her health. So, what did I do on my birthday you ask since I had an unexpected day off??

I sobbed. I wailed. I sobbed some more. Until I was worn ass out.

Part of what makes my birthday special and has been what has gotten me through this day year after year was knowing I got to spend time with my mom. I looked at her as my sunshine on my cloudy day. 

 I remember birthday parties growing up and I remember hating every minute of them. I didn't want the hooplah. I just wanted some quiet time with the people I love.

This birthday will be one I remember for a very long time. Not only because I didn't get to spend time with my mom or family but because the plans I did have with my best friend and her hubs were cancelled due to COVID 19. Hmmm. We are playing it safe, rather than sorry. I know I will have another birthday next year that will once again bring the turmoil and angst. that I can rely on. What I can't rely on is whether I will able to spend time with Mom next year. That. That is what has made this birthday stand out. What if this is my last one with my mom? And I didn't get to see her? Until next year, I will wait, and I will pray.

She makes my birthday a day to celebrate.