Pulled By the Root -- Guest Blog Post by Heidi Marble
PULLED
Forceps pull my life into the burn of cold air
Turn away so you don’t see the leaving
They whisper “It’s better this way”
You won’t be told if I am a boy or a girl
Anonymous
Lungs full of new breath scream down a hall
My cry reaches under your door
They drug us both silent
Your limp hand signs away our history
Ink on my feet pressed into paper
Sealed and scrubbed to become someone else
A problem
A solution
You are gone, it needs no memory
It is written in the emptiness I carry
If you left why would anyone ever stay?
Everyone wins?
Wounds covered and convinced
I can never part from you
You can never part from me
I have your eyes
I am your daughter
I am her daughter too
The gravity of that experience deserves it’s weight-
Imagine a two-story white brick hospital in Tucson Arizona; it is September 30th, 1965. Saguaros line up like spiky guards, their shadows posed and distorted. My 17-year-old mother has removed her pink polka dot maternity dress in trade for a hospital gown. She lays alone for hours laboring, too drugged to push; they use forceps to finish the job. The act is so intense it leaves a cut on my cheek that meets the bone, leaving me with a scar shaped like the state of California. All she remembers is my cry; she never saw me, touched me or knew if I was a boy or girl until 33 years later. When I found her then she had breast cancer.
A year later I received my own diagnosis, and a death sentence.
In the span of ten years I survived cancer, but she did not. Is this just another sad story? Definitely not, I come from spirited, brave and rebellious women.
Pain in clay in the potter’s hands, to shape, mold and burn into strength.
Pulled By The Root—An Adoptee’s Experience of Healing from Trauma, Shame and Loss is the the book I have been working on for two years now. Until 6 months ago, I lived in the fog of denial that the separation from my mother had not affected my soul. That pain resided in a dark twisted mess at the very base of my being for 55 years. As the pain rises and takes form, I am able to dip into the ink of my soul and write my truth. That truth is a compilation of millions of adoptees who cry out for understanding. The time for adoptee rights is NOW; the pain suffered is one of the most ignored, misunderstood and untreated forms of human suffering. My Pulled By The Root team wants to do our part to give pain relief through our book, podcast, documentary and art collective. Our stories are a gift to each other: our voices have power! Wish us luck as we try to find a home for our book and film!
Author photograph by Stephanie Joy Photography
