Don’t know if you happened to read the article on parents and marriage in June 2009’s Redbook magazine. If not, check it out–yours truly (moi) and my hubby are one of the couples that were interviewed. (Giada DeLaurentis is on the cover, but it will soon be replaced with July’s issue so hurry if you want to check it out).
The question was, “How did your parent’s marriage effect yours?”
I have two parental marriages to consider–and both had an impact on me for very different reasons. My birth parent’s marriage impacted my life because well, it fell apart and I had to be adopted. It’s a big deal when a family fails to the point of the child needing to be adopted. That means neither parent could parent the child–and neither could any of the rest of the family.
My birth mother was schizophrenic and my birth father was an addict–he was addicted to alcohol, gambling, and my mother’s trust fund. Their inability to parent me altered the course of my life.
I’m at peace with that now–after many years of not being. It’s tough to have to figure all that out–to get over the hurt, betrayal, rejection. To wonder why you weren’t wanted. I spent many years literally in a soul-knot and through much love, support, counseling, journaling, self-help and literally wearing the thing out, I came to a deep sense of trust that I am and have been exactly where I need to be–then and now.
My adoptive family was…a lot of things. I was adored. My parents were in their 50s when they adopted me. They were deeply, deeply religious and with that comes a zealousness that is both alluring and a little dangerous. I was raised old-school Southern, fundamentalist, and on top of that, my mother was a minister in the denomination and (I’ll try to put this delicately), if she got mad, she could make living inside the walls of a tornado seem like a safe place to be.
But one thing I do know. My adoptive parents loved each other. They were quite different–he was quiet, contemplative, loyal and wise. She was vivacious, unpredictable, funny, and could suck the air out of a room with her presence.
I enjoyed their banter, their ability to be such strong individuals, their affection and tenderness toward each other–and how much they respected each other. Each were like strong pillars that flanked my life. A more sensitive, less smart-mouthed, spunky child might not have been able to stand it, but I’m now ironically grateful for all that has happened to me (mostly, maybe not all).
So when it came down to caregiving, I could say I had no choice. I could say I wouldn’t have done it any other way. I could say it was easy, but that would have been a lie even I couldn’t tell with a straight face.
What I can tell you is that my parent’s devotion to me and to one another and to their faith has taught me so much–about sticking it out, going the distance, forgiveness, and sifting for the good. Even when my mother was lost in Alzheimer’s, I held on. I knew they’d hold onto me, onto each other.
Marriage for me, is now a landscape. It’s everything we’ve celebrated and everything we’ve endured–and all the quiet days that on in between.
Don’t know if you happened to read the article on parents and marriage in June 2009’s Redbook magazine. If not, check it out–yours truly (moi) and my hubby are one of the couples that were interviewed. (Giada DeLaurentis is on the cover, but it will soon be replaced with July’s issue so hurry if you want to check it out).
The question was, “How did your parent’s marriage effect yours?”
I have two parental marriages to consider–and both had an impact on me for very different reasons. My birth parent’s marriage impacted my life because well, it fell apart and I had to be adopted. It’s a big deal when a family fails to the point of the child needing to be adopted. That means neither parent could parent the child–and neither could any of the rest of the family.
My birth mother was schizophrenic and my birth father was an addict–he was addicted to alcohol, gambling, and my mother’s trust fund. Their inability to parent me altered the course of my life.
I’m at peace with that now–after many years of not being. It’s tough to have to figure all that out–to get over the hurt, betrayal, rejection. To wonder why you weren’t wanted. I spent many years literally in a soul-knot and through much love, support, counseling, journaling, self-help and literally wearing the thing out, I came to a deep sense of trust that I am and have been exactly where I need to be–then and now.
My adoptive family was…a lot of things. I was adored. My parents were in their 50s when they adopted me. They were deeply, deeply religious and with that comes a zealousness that is both alluring and a little dangerous. I was raised old-school Southern, fundamentalist, and on top of that, my mother was a minister in the denomination and (I’ll try to put this delicately), if she got mad, she could make living inside the walls of a tornado seem like a safe place to be.
But one thing I do know. My adoptive parents loved each other. They were quite different–he was quiet, contemplative, loyal and wise. She was vivacious, unpredictable, funny, and could suck the air out of a room with her presence.
I enjoyed their banter, their ability to be such strong individuals, their affection and tenderness toward each other–and how much they respected each other. Each were like strong pillars that flanked my life. A more sensitive, less smart-mouthed, spunky child might not have been able to stand it, but I’m now ironically grateful for all that has happened to me (mostly, maybe not all).
So when it came down to caregiving, I could say I had no choice. I could say I wouldn’t have done it any other way. I could say it was easy, but that would have been a lie even I couldn’t tell with a straight face.
What I can tell you is that my parent’s devotion to me and to one another and to their faith has taught me so much–about sticking it out, going the distance, forgiveness, and sifting for the good. Even when my mother was lost in Alzheimer’s, I held on. I knew they’d hold onto me, onto each other.
Marriage for me, is now a landscape. It’s everything we’ve celebrated and everything we’ve endured–and all the quiet days that on in between.