James Taylor Made Me Cry

True Story Magazine, pulpy, always a photo on the front of a young woman on the front with a blurb about what she had done for love? True Story had a monthly feature called “My Visit from Beyond”. My high school bestie and I used to love to read those out loud to each other, complete with weird sound effects. The sound effects were used to punctuate the lameness of the stories that consisted of lonely lovelorn women seeing shadows of lovers from past lives in doorways and dead aunts telling them where they had hidden their pearls.

Circa 1985, proving that interesting things only happened to people in soft focus in the ’80s.

I have no doubt my skepticism about all things paranormal spring from this experience. Not only did these experience with the ‘other world’ seem mundane, they were obviously wish fulfillment fantasies.

Now I wonder. This morning I turned on the radio, the first song I heard was James Taylor’s Fire and Rain. I’ve never paid much attention to the 1970’s singer/songwriter types, but being of a certain age, there is no way you don’t know that song. Heck, I had never realized it was about someone dying, it was just something that played in the background a lot when I was a kid.

That song had me in tears before the first chorus. The mixture of grief, realization, self disgust, and finally laughter through tears, at my silliness was intense. Seriously how could I, Addie Pray, be breaking down will listening to James Taylor? Then I figured it out, it was ‘my visit from beyond’, David was haunting me, sending me a message.

Nothing would make him laugh more than seeing me break down over a song like that. It’s so not me, and so David to play a paranormal practical joke on me. God, I loved that man.

I really hope it was him trying to make laugh today.

I’m Not Strong

I’m not strong, I do probably look that way, but it’s an unintentional front. I am gutted, sad, screaming inside. I want my David back. I want to punch the fucking Universe in the face. I cannot fathom that my poor sweet husband had to go through that, he deserved better.

David wasn’t done. He still had so many things he wanted to do. I cry not just for the things we would do together, but the things he would achieve, the things he would make, the stuff he would make work. I cry for the beautiful days he won’t see and the good meals he won’t eat.

Losing him seems to be much too much about me and not nearly enough about him sometimes.

Make no mistake this is about David.

My sweet, smart, curious, and ambitious David.

I’m a Viking, but work is kind of slow these days…..

As I deal with all this damn loss, convinced that the universe is not out to kill me, but something much worse, like a life sentence in solitary confinement, I think of all the years that will come. How long my sentence will be without David, I can’t know, but there it is stretching out in front of me. I’m going to have to do something.

As many of you know, on all aptitude tests, I score very highly as an axe wielding Viking warrior. I do plan to continue my efforts to assemble a horde, but it is, as always, problematic. The coasts of Europe are much better defended these days, and lets face it, most of the countries are broke. Recruiting and exposition costs could far exceed return on pillage. I’ll leave that as a long term goal.

Cat lady is also a possibility. I’d have very low start-up costs. I’ve got the creepy old house on the edge of town, four cats to start with, and let’s face it, I’m a widow. If my town has an opening, my resume will make me a shoe-in. I’ll keep my eye on the local paper for openings, but it’s one of those positions that people keep for life and God only knows how many people already have dibs. I’m not interested in relocating, so this may never happen for me.

I’m thinking I’ll probably just do my best to carry on as I have. Writing, school again in the Fall, finish what I started, then worry about the cushy jobs. There are things out there I need to finish, work that I still feel needs to be done, none of that has changed. It just feels different, satisfying, but not like before. When I achieve something, I won’t get the hug and the words, “I’m proud of you.” from the person that it means the most from. Not physically anyway. That will be bittersweet at best.

Right now, getting through this blog post is difficult. My ability to concentrate has taken a dive from it’s normal low. I’ve been told to expect this along with confusion, forgetfulness, and a general feeling of “wrongness”, and that’s on a good day. As far as I can tell, I’m typical . So forgive me my ramblings.



The Turn Continues

First, thank you everyone for you kind words. No, you can’t say anything to make me feel better, but just that you want to say them means everything. Like so many of the things many of us are way too familiar with, there just isn’t a bright side here. There is a strange comfort in hearing from people who get that.

I cannot tell you how important my adoption friends have been through all of this. Some I know personally, some who are no more than words on the screen, but all real good friends in a much closer sense than even my local friends and  family. People who understand how hard it is to build trust, a life, find a place you feel truly loved, and having that go away might mean.

I feel like I’ve been thrown out alone in the world, but this time there’s not a line of bright successful young couples just dying to give me the new life I deserve. Considering how that worked out last time, it’s probably a good thing.

My family attorney pointed out something that froze me to the bone the other day. I am no longer David’s wife. I don’t belong to him and he doesn’t belong to me. In the legal sense, our relationship ended  with his last breath. Somehow he’s not considered my forever family. I get to keep the name, the ring, his stuff, I’m responsible for his legal disposal, but we are not related. Just as I was made part of a family, I did not choose, by the stroke of an official’s pen, I’ve been taken from one, that I chose, by nothing more than another signature on another certificate.

David (or at least the smashed-up bone fragments that constitute his “ashes”) are on their way back to me. I’ll carry out his last wish by burying them under the same tree where our dogs and cats have found their rest early next week. He’ll be home forever. I think I’ll miss him more for being so close.


This Blog Is About To Take a Turn

My life took quite a dive last week, one that isn’t really adoption related, but I’m sure that will play into it. Right now I’m  numb and don’t know exactly where I’m at with any of it. Only that I’m sad, lonely, and my life is forever changed. I lost the love of my life, my partner in crime, and husband of twenty-eight years last week.

I’m still in shock and there are a lot of (not literally) bloody details, I’m not ready to go into. I just need to write about this.

I’ll completely understand if you aren’t up for this journey, I know it’s not going to be an easy one.

I’ve got through the memorial service, starting on all the lawyer crap today, and feel like I’m getting farther and farther from him every second. People are staying with me, not sure if I’m suicide watch or not, though I know I’m not suicidal. My friends, especially my bastard friends, have bee wonderful, my greatest comfort in all of this. There are no word to thank them.

I’m going to try to write here often, and details will emerge, but for now let’s just say, I’m more alone that I think I have ever been, but I don’t feel abandoned, he didn’t want to go, he didn’t leave leave me. He chose me, sure, but he never tried to change me. He made me feel right and good. I don’t know what I am without him.

Photos Of Adoption

This is for the Grown In My Heart Blog Carnival.  If you’d like to share just head right there and they’ll hook you up.

Me, I’d love to share.  But I don’t have much.  Being adopted and all.  Here’s a pic of my mom as a child…

That’s her standing in the middle.

Here’s a photo of me at about the same age…


That’s all I got.


Too Much Sugar?

Something was brought up  about conversations with your inner child not long ago.  I hate that shit.  What in the world would I have to say to my inner child?  I can just imagine how that conversation would go.

Big Me:  Hey, how’s it going?

Inner Child:  Do you have any pixie sticks?  I like Pixie Sticks?

Big Me:  Fresh out of Pixie Sticks, sorry.

Inner Child:  I like Pixie Sticks, just not the grape ones.

Big Me:  I’ll keep that in mind. Are you getting along alright?

Inner Child:  I hate Kathy.  She has a doll house with lights that work, all I have is a piece of shit Fisher-Price doll house.  I want a Barbie House too.

Big Me: Do you ever think about anything serious?

Inner Child: This is serious.

Big Me:  How so?

Inner Child:  I have my needs to think about.

Big Me: It won’t make any difference in 20 years.

Inner Child: It makes a difference now.  I’ll think about serious stuff when I get older.  Right now I want a Pixie Stick and a decent doll house.  Alright?

Big Me:  Alright.

I believe that you never know when you are in the middle of something until it’s over.  When I was a child I didn’t have a reference point to know what was going on.  I can’t go back and change anything.  Then as now, all I’ve got is mt experience up until this moment.  For all I know I’m fucking up royally at this very moment.

The only difference between then and now is that now I feel I have some responsibility for my actions.  I have more experience.  Back then I was pretty much flying by the seat of my pants.  I can’t change that.  There are no do-overs in life.  If there were we would never get anywhere.

Can you imagine actually being able to go back to childhood knowing what you know now?  How would you deal with knowing that your best friend in the first grade was going to die of a drug overdose in her late twenties, that your uncle was going to get lung cancer, or your dog was going to get hit in the road?  Even if you could stop these things, could you actually pick a better path for yourself?  I not sure that I wouldn’t be more conflicted, and as a result really screw things up, if I had that kind of knowledge.  Imagine the pressure.

I wouldn’t want to go through life considering every move based on where I find myself now.  As I said before, you never really know how you’re doing at the moment anyway.  I could fuck things up way worse.

I’m going to go and have a Pixie Stick now.

Ten Things I Wish I Knew Before I Was Touched By Adoption

This is my contribution to the Grown In My Heart Adoption Carnival.  Get in on it too, right here.  Use the Mr. Linky thing.

Go on, you know you want to.

First, I wasn’t touched by adoption.  The only folks ‘touched by adoption’ are random viewers of Adoption Stories or some other heart-tugging-ain’t-adoption- great TV show.  People are touched by the stories of others, or possibly an uncle, but not adoption.  Adoption consumes, completely immerses, one drowns in adoption.

Since I did not have the ability to speak before I was touched, threw into, drown by, adoption, I am going to take on the persona of an annoying talking babies in those god awful John Travolta-Kristie Alley movies.  I’m sure some folks found those touching too.

1. Mom, I’ll never see you again.  Once you let go of me, I’ll be gone forever.  When you sign those papers I’ll be an orphan.  You certainly have more faith in this world than I do.

2. Mom, I’m going to look a bit like you.  It would be really nice to have that reference point as I’m growing up.  I’m never going to see anyone in real life that looks remotely like me until I’m almost 40 years old.  My confidence is going to be effected by this.

3. Mom, I’m never going to know who my dad is.  It’s  kind of  a  big deal for me.  You said you wanted to give me up to save me from “the stain of illegitimacy”, that doesn’t bother me as much as not even knowing who’s bastard I am.  BTW, everybody is going to assume I’m stained by illegitimacy as soon as they know I’m adopted for the rest of my life.  You aren’t saving me from anything.

4. Mom, I’m going to be spending ever summer Sunday for a couple of years about a mile from where you live, in about 33 years.  I wonder if you’ll see my picture in the local paper with my racing trophies?

5. New Mom and Dad, I’m not a blank slate.  Sorry.  Just wanting me to be like you won’t change a thing.  I am what I am.

6. New Mom and Dad, I do not have colic.  I just want to go home, where ever that is.

7. New Mom and Dad, You are going to have other children in a few years.  Children of your own.  Children that will be like you.  Do you still want to go through with this?  There is a whole list of other folks who will take me.  I won’t be hurt.

8. Lawyer, You might want to put a note in my file that this stuff will be “of use” to me in the future.  Your son, who will be the judge in this district someday, is going to tell me that there is “nothing of use to me in this file”.  He is going to be wrong.  Besides, I’ll find out anyway.

9. Governor, make my records available to me.  I am in the care of your state now.  You are going to see that I’m given to people to raise me to adulthood.  I’m going to pay taxes and vote for your successors.  I deserve to know what is going on now.

10. Mom, New Mom and Dad, Lawyer, Governor, Everybody Else, I am going to be alright.  A bit worse for the wear of all this, but alright.  It would have been a lot easier on me if you had listened to me now.

I’m Not Avoiding Anything

I’m not avoiding anything, goddammit.

So what have I been up to lately?

Well I haven’t been avoiding stuff, that’s for sure.

I roasted and froze 48 quarts of tomatoes.

I did a complete repositioning of a category of items at work.

My laundry is caught up.

I did this to my lawn mower….


My house is clean

I finished all 3 books I was reading.

But I’m not avoiding anything.

I’m headed down to the city tomorrow for full day of distraction.  Art show, car show, dinner at my favorite restaurant.  Heck, I don’t even have time to think.

And that’s good.

Because I just don’t want to think about how I felt as sat in this very chair 2 years ago.  I don’t want to think about how I felt the very next day when I knew I’d never be anything but the little difficulty that went away.

I don’t want to think about why I waited too long.  I don’t want to think about why I’m still sitting here, waiting again.

I’m going to have to think about it soon.

But not today.

I Met Michael Jackson. Really. I Did.

It was back when he wasn’t too big a deal.  After the Jackson 5 had kind of cooled off and before Michael’s career as a solo artist really took off.  It must have been 1974.

My family was on vacation at Disney World, we were staying in the Royal Palace Hotel.  Michael and at least some of his brothers were also staying there.  We wouls see them by the pool. One evening my sister and I, being bored with the pool, ventured into the game room to see what was going on.  This was before video games, so about all there were pinball machines and a Foosball table.

There were a few other kids around.  All of us wet from the pool and undoubtedly overstimulated from our day at the theme park.  There was one kid who was taller than the rest of us, other than that, he seemed just like the rest of us.  Just another kid passing some time in the game room with the other kids.  He asked if anybody wanted to play Foosball.

Several of us gathered around and we played a couple of games.  Nothing special.  I knew who he was.  I’d seen him on TV and even had a couple of his records.  One kid did ask if he was Michael Jackson, he said yes, and everyone left it at that.  I think it was because we were in the realm of kids.  You know, away from adults, going by the unspoken, but well understood rules, of kids gathered together.  We were playing and that’s all.

After a couple of games, Michael left.  He thanked us for playing with him and he was off.

Nothing was said among us kids after he left.  We just kept playing Foosball.

Not long after this Michael Jackson would become the pop icon everybody is remembering today.  All the fame, all the craziness, an existence beyond the imagining of most of us.

I was only a casual fan of his music.  I appreciate good pop, but it’s just not my thing.  When I would see him on television, especially in recent years, with all the surgery, all the strangeness, I would wonder what exactly happened.  He really was, at least sometimes, very much like a normal person once.

Today I’m remebering the kid I played foosball with.  He was alright.