My Mother and My Mom
My Mother and My Mom Contributed by: Donna Nordone Heaney "Do you know what it means to be adopted?" the judge asked. "Yes, it means you are special," I answered. And I was special. I was chosen. I was ten years old. For my little sister and me, the adoption process had been a very long road. At five years old, I had stopped calling my parents "aunt and uncle" and they became "Mom and Dad." That was when I began to feel special. I remember sitting in the judge's chambers and thinking that the whole process was a big waste of time. I didn't need approval from a judge to know who my parents were. They were my Mom and Dad and whether it was official or not, they were my family. At the same time, I must admit, it was kind of nice knowing that we officially belonged together.
It took me a long time before I would even acknowledge to anyone, especially myself, that I ever had a "biological" family. It was as if my life really began when my parents brought my sister and me into their home. My family has always been just that. My family. My biological mother died when I was eight years old and I never really knew her. I knew of her. I knew her as "Ellen," "the alcoholic," "the woman who gave birth to me." She was "my mother's sister" and "the woman who abandoned us" - I never considered her my Mother. My limited memories of her were painful and I tried my best to disregard them. I did not cry when I found out she had died. She was no one to me. She was certainly not my Mother.
As I evolved into my own role as a mother, I gradually began an understanding of who "Ellen" really was to me. I had grown up hearing from the adults in my life that "Ellen had problems," she was "sick," she was "weak" and "couldn't handle things." She had been abused by her first husband and resorted to alcohol to heal her wounds. Once she started, she couldn't stop. As a kid, I would hear the words but never really had the understanding of the path that Ellen's short life took. My own adult life often paralleled Ellen's. We were both victims of abuse in our marriage. We both struggled with weakness. We were both mothers. I never knew Ellen, but years later, I was dealing with similar life lessons. During this difficult time in my life, the persona of "Ellen" was always present in the back of my mind. It was as if my life was mirroring hers and I was constantly threatened by her weaknesses. Whenever I felt as if I were giving in to the pressures of life, Ellen's spirit would propel me forward. I would not allow myself to become like her. I would not let my mothering pattern hers. I was not weak, I was strong and I would survive to become a mother to my children.
Next: Coming to Terms with my Mother
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