Stranger Anxiety

Lately Penelope has been going through the “stranger anxiety” phase. If I put her down in the corner of the room, she watches me intently, bobbing her head this way and that way ensuring that she always has a view of Mommy. The second I’m out of sight, she starts sobbing; the second I come back, she’s all smiles. In the arms of a stranger, Penelope cries as though the person’s touch is painful. And in another’s arms for too long, she shakes her fists and alternates holding her breath and screaming.

Of course this is difficult for any parent to deal with — it can be painful, frustrating, annoying, tiring. But Penelope also happens to be roughly the same age I was when I joined my adoptive family in the US. And this adds an extra layer of difficulty for me.

If my story is true — and I say “if” because we can never really know for sure — I was kept at the place where my mother gave birth to me for some time before being sent to an orphanage. From there, I was sent to a foster home and then later I was sent to America. This seems like an awful lot of shuffling around for an infant, and who knows how many caretakers I had at any given place.

I look at the way Penelope clings to me, to what is familiar to her, and I watch other babies her age cling to their mothers and fathers at play groups and play dates. And then I wonder, “What if she were taken from me right now? What if she were relinquished to another family? What if she had a different caretaker every 8 hours? What if every pair of hands that held her were a stranger’s hands?” I can’t imagine how painful and scary it would be for her or how the trauma would affect her. Yet, to some degree, all adoptees have experienced that separation and the uncertainty and fear that go along with it.

Maybe I’m biased because I’M Penelope’s mother, so when she experiences fear or pain, it also affects me. But when I look at her behavior, I can’t help but think, “No wonder so many of us (adoptees) have a difficult time forming attachments to others.” I can’t help but believe that being separated from our birth mothers and shuffled around from one person to another during those very important, impressionable first months — or even years — of life have a significant and negative impact on us lasting way into our adult years.

A Message From Beyond

What happened was both unnatural and unexpected. I don’t remember “the event” so I’m left to wonder: Was it fast or slow? Did I suffer? Did anyone try to save me? And above all else, Why? Why me?

I am a ghost, a lost soul — neither here nor there, for I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready to go.

I can’t go back, but I can’t move on. I exist in perpetual state of disbelief, of confusion and therefore, torment. I want to move beyond to a place of light, but I have unfinished business. So I’m in limbo, stuck somewhere between, ever transparent, ever hollow.

Although I am a waif, people do notice me. Some are intrigued: “I’ve never encountered anything like you!” Others are frightened: “Go back to where you came from!” Some try to save me: “Dear Jesus, please help this troubled soul.” Others simply ignore me.

A few people hunt for me; they want to study me to prove that I am real, that I am valid. They believe that I may have a message worth hearing or lessons worth teaching. “We want to understand you,” they say. “We want to hear your voice.” So I become a stronger presence and give them something to talk about. “Now this,” they say, “this is something!”

But in the midst of it all, I simply want to find peace. But that which will give me peace — my existence, my identity, my life, my birthright — is forever gone. I may acquire a new existence but my original self, that which came before “the event,” is sealed up tight and inaccessible. So I continue to endure my present state — that of a ghost. That of an adoptee.