I remember when I was about five, I used to go down the hill to Oak Street, to Teddy Loder's house. I remember sitting in his room, listening to records (yes I'm old enough to remember vinyl). We had our own little KISS army back then, and I always liked Peter Criss. Teddy was always into Ace Frehley. Anyway, I can't remember the first time I heard this song (Beth) but I remember listening to it that day, and I remember how it struck a chord in me and I couldn't figure out why. Seven years later, I figured it out. I was twelve, and just beginning my rebellious stage. I remember writing in my diary that I wanted to run away and find my "REAL" mother. May 22, 1981. My adoptive mother sat me down in the kitchen, and told me the most horrible thing any adoptive mother could tell her daughter. Beth, my birthmother, had passed away. Heart failure, she said. A piece of me died right at that moment. I didn't believe her. I told her she was telling me that because she had read my diary and didn't want me to go. I was in denial and disbelief.
Ten years later, I sat on the cold ground in front of her grave, this song you hear played over and over in my head, and I realized that at age 12, four days after my twelfth birthday, I knew then that this song was my tribute to my mother, almost like it was written for us. When you read the story behind my adoption you'll understand why. Mom, wherever you are, this one's for you. I love you and always have...
My mother,
the year before she passed
1968. Season of Love. The Era of the Flower Child. My birthmother was no exception. At age 17, she had had advantages that most people at the age didn't, considering who her family was. Blue-blood. They traveled in the inner society circle, and they knew people. They were upstanding and proper, and "respectable." My mother, the oldest of four girls, was a bit of a "rebel", sort of the black sheep of the family. She was a free spirit, and she traveled frequently, but not the way her family approved of. She came home one day pregnant, and unwed. The shock! The horror! But as if that wasn't bad enough, it was by a BLACK man!! How would this look to their friends? What would this do to their image? It was the late 60's, and in "the" circle, this didn't look good. They had to do something about this.
This is what I understand took place: My grandfather was on the road a lot, traveling, as he was an exceutive. My grandmother fell in love with someone else, and proceeded to tell him that my grandfather was dead, and that she had three daughters, not four. So what did she do? It seems my mother "disappeared" to Canada, and the neighbors, (Ward & June Cleaver) the Morrises, who were my babysitters at the time, became my parents, and they also received a down-payment on the house they now own (which I still find very strange) along with me. I was raised by the "Ingalls" more or less. I had a good upbringing, sans one thing, which we are finding is more and more important. My aparents raised me to be "their" daughter, without embracing where I came from. I still carry scars to this day. It wouldn't be such a conflict if my birthmom and adoptive parents weren't opposite ends of the extreme. But I was raised well. It seems all throughout my life, my birthmom's sister, Dana, had kept in touch with my adopted mother, so they all seemed to know where I was, except for my birthmom of course. When I was 18, I received a letter from my birth-aunt, asking if I wanted to move to Florida. I packed my bags.
Miami, 1989. I met my biological mother's family, and all was well. They accepted me with open arms. Unfortunately, we no longer speak. Why? Well, all was well to begin with, but small disputes arose, over and over. They had expected that I was the daughter I was raised to be, nothing to do with the "bad seed" that my mother must have planted. They had hoped that part of me didn't exist. I disappointed them. Once I was pregnant with my oldest daughter, and decided not to be married but raise her on my own, slowly but surely the ties were cut. The last time I talked to any of them was about three years ago. I had talked to my step-grandmother (who was with my grandfather from the time I was adopted.), and asked for information on my birthfather, if she had anything. She told me it wasn't a good time because my aunt, one of Beth's twin sisters, had been diagnosed with cancer and wasn't doing well. I immediately asked how and where she was. I got a clipped response that said "She's fine," basically and *click*, that was it. I tried vainly to find her, because the last time I had seen her (we had never been close) was the Thanksgiving I was pregnant with Lisa. I went to her house just to say Happy Thanksgiving, and when she answered the door, she had said "Oh no, you're not going to ruin my holiday", and closed the door. I still have no idea why this happened to this day. Now I was fearful she would die with those same negative feelings about me. VERY fearful that she would die hating me. Six months later, I flew up to Jacksonville to visit my mother's gravesite, and almost collapsed when I got there. Next to my mother's grave was a grave reading "Kathleen Reilly". She had passed only a couple of days after my phone call. No one had called to tell me. This was it for me. After something as cold and, in my opinion, evil, as that, I wanted nothing more to do with those kind of people. After all this, I understood entirely why my mother had passed as she did. From what I understand, it was heart failure, but it was an overdose, and according to her sister, her last few days she was depressed and talking about me consistently. Doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what happened. Being that I had spent a lot of time with her family, I can understand entirely. It made a lot of sense. It put a lot of pieces together. It also made me into the person I am today. For a look into my "identity crisis" andhow it affected me, and what caused it
Click here
.As a pagan, I am still very close to my mother's spirit, and truly believe she has been with me ever since and has tried to protect me wherever have gone. When I was a child, I wanted to find her, but I wasn't ready.
Beth, I hear you calling, but I can't come home right now.... me and the boys are playing, and we just can't find the sound.... Just a few more hours, and I'll be right home to you. I think I hear them calling... Oh Beth, what can I do? Beth what can I do? You say you feel so empty, that our house just ain't a home... I'm always somewhere else, and you're always there alone.... Just a few more hours, and I'll be right home to you. I think I hear them calling... oh Beth what can I do? Beth what can I do? Beth I know you're lonely, and I hope you'll be all right, because me and the boys will be playing.. all night..... I love you Mom....
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Home
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Gallery
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My bson's adoption
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The story of my adoption
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Child Protective Services
Finding my birthfamily
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My Reunion
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In Honor of my Birthparents
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Adoptee Identity Crisis
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A Gift of Love webring
ICQ Network for Bmoms
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Webrings
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BirthMother's Day
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Links
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Pink & Blue Ribbon Campaign
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Inspirational Pieces
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