“You cannot find peace by avoiding life.” – Virginia Wolfe
I can run but it finds me.
Kinda like that dog we had as children.
Her name was Brandy. Every dog we had during my childhood was named after the liquor my dad was drinking at the time. This one was Brandy. You do the math. Brandy was female and older than our other dogs. We got her from somewhere. I don’t recall where. But she arrived. Black fur, rusty colored fur, longish. Big brown eyes. Long snout. She was a bit wild. Untamed. Not like our other dogs (that were raised from puppies and had been suitably kicked into submissions by my father).
I don’t know how long Brandy was with us. It wasn’t long. Parents decided her yapping and biting and chewing and hyper nature was too much for our family.
Father took Brandy away one day (the dog, not the drink). He told us that he took her to the pound. Maybe some other family would adopt her. We believed him.
That is until Brandy showed up at our home, weeks later, sickly and parched and weak. I found her on the back porch.
Startled, my siblings and I ran to tell Dad. He did not believe us. Refused to look. After much pleading, he came out side and sure as shit, there was Brandy. I think Dad needed a shot himself at that point. I rarely so my father so well, dismayed.
Turns out my father had not the stomach to take Brandy to the pound where he was quite certain she would be put down. Instead, he drove sixty miles away and let her loose (one could argue the merits of being put down versus put out but let’s not go there right now). Brandy had some how miraculously found her way back to our home. She clearly had a rough trip. Scraped, hungry, apparently a loser in a dog fight. This time Dad took the poor dog to the vet and indeed had her put down and put out of her misery.
My point is that she found us. That we could not deny the dog, we had to do the right thing (and that wasn’t abandoning a dog on the side of a road hoping some cub scout would find her.).
That which we ignore comes back to us as fate.
So lately I have been trying to ignore adoption. I have been away from my blog, from other blogs, from forums. It just hurts to darn much. I get oversaturated and it cripples me. I get buried so deep in the muck and mire of those torched by adoption I cannot function. My head spins with all the pain and my heart bleeds. I simply take on too much pain – even that which is not mine to take on. I don’t know where to draw the boundary, how to distinguish between what is mine and what is yours. I just take it all. I horde it and then it becomes so difficult to digest I must vomit it back up.
So, here I sit today, doing my best to avoid things that trigger me to swallow adoption. I am scheduling my attendance at a Family Constellation Workshop this weekend. (MSP would be so proud of me!) I google some terms and I find this.
“An adopted child who deals with adoption correctly, has 4 parents. Two from whom he got life and two others who supported and nourished him. When the child is able to take life from the biological parents, then he is able to take nourishment from others. If he can’t take life from his biological parents, he can’t get nourishment from others. The child must be in tune with the biological parents who gave him away by saying, "I agree."”
Good lord, leave me the frick alone. Adoption stay away from me. At least for one day. Please? Get the hell out of my head. Give me some peace.
Is it really that rampant or am I that overly sensitive too it? Can I ever really get away from it? Of course I know I cannot. It’s as much a part of me and who I am as my children are. It’s as much me as my fabulous green eyes are. I don’t really want it to go away. I just want a break.
I want a numbing shot of brandy.
And I don’t mean our dog.