Truth be told, I have always dreaded my birthday a little, even now, as an adult adoptee...I cringe a little...I cry a little. The sense of dread always seems to creep in a few days before...it's unstoppable and unshakeable. Like a thick fog, rolling slowly up the bay, engulfing the Golden Gate Bridge, until finally the bridge disappears into its "self" for a bit.
The cake, the streamers, the candles, the song. The odd sense of obligation to smile and pretend it's a great day, when really underneath it all, there's an acute awareness of sadness, loss, unrelenting curiousity and a hypersensitivity not felt on most days about being adopted. I have always felt my birthday was never really my own and that it belonged to the parties listed on those "secret" legal documents locked away in a deposit box for "safekeeping". An entity, a loss, a transaction, a celebration....below the surface, it will always be the day that my basic human right (my original birth certificate), was taken away from me by the sweep of a pen, a cashier's check and the loud crack of a judge's gavel. Happy Birthday!! Count to three, make a wish.....
And my wish has always been the same each and every year. It has yet to come true...but there is always hope. The hope that my rights will someday be restored, the hope of open records and the hope for peace within, not just for myself, but for all adoptees.
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