My mom could not biologically have children, something wrong with her insides. My older brother and I were adopted. The family I was raised in as a boy, a chosen/created family, was so ideal, so full of love and warmth and care, so connected and dedicated that I never really questioned my belonging. But I knew friends who’s families were anything but warm, anything but actively, outwardly loving. Those were biological families. I met my biological mother, it was surreal, and I would love to write a book about it, about the strange feeling of magnetic connection, a blood awareness…which was and is not love, and how that contrasts with what a family requires to BE a family.
I would like to discuss with the world someday how so many so called “natural” families are full of hatred and violence and disgust. How when you cannot produce children with a loved one, but go through the rigors of the adoption process, you really appreciate that little life, and cherish it, and realize it’s preciousness and rareness. You understand this, don’t you?
My own sexual identity has always been ambivalent at best. I just love. I always assumed I would find someone who took my heart and filled it with hope and faith and joy, and that person would become my partner. Well, it happened and it happened to be a woman. We may or may not bring new life into this world, we may or may not adopt a child. But the point is, what if I had ended up with a man? A different path, a different realization and definition of self, should I be excluded from what I consider to be MOST important, family?Ask yourself, if you were in that position…Why should you be denied? Why? And so why should anyone else? Family is built on loving bonds, not blood. The capacity to heartfully love is not exclusive to the way you express that love with your adult partner, or if you can procreate life. It is the daily expression of love that is required to build a strong, healthy family, and anybody who is capable of breathing is capable of that.
What you have said about meeting your biological mother is so very true. I was adopted at age two in 1966. I met my birth mom in 1983. At her age of 67 she died this year. I only knew her for 26 years. I agree there was a connection but not the deep love I have for my family that raised me. By the way – I am the mom that has a son with your name! He is currently in Iraq missing his own wife and child here in Wisconsin.