â€œThere are people who put their dreams in a little box and say, "Yes, I’ve got dreams, of course I’ve got dreams." Then they put the box away and bring it out once in awhile to look in it, and yep, they’re still there.â€ – Erma Bombeck
I did a click by of my daughters facebook last night. Oh, my. She had uploaded some new photos. They took my breath away.
Her hair is an amazing red color right now (nearly identical to what mine is – a teenager recently told me I had "dark phoenix" hair) and the pictures were just so, so, well, breathtaking. Not only is she absolutely stunning but she looks so much like me (only MUCH thinner) it is startling to me at times.
I thought about this at length last night. I had a busy day with house staging and I was exhausted. KennyG floated in the air. I lit some candles and did some yoga breathing. My thoughts were with her.
It occurred to me that with the exception of my niece (who happens to have the same name as my daughters amended name), my daughter looks more like me than any other member of my family looks like the family. My brother has a son and a daughter. The daughter looks a bit like my younger sister but not hugely. My older sister has 3 girls and 2 boys. Only one child, the one with the same name as my daughter, resembles my sister. My other sister has 2 boys and one girl. Her oldest son looks like her but the other two look exactly like her husband.
My daughter? Me. All me.
I wonder often if that is comforting or infuriating to her? Does she like that we look so much a like? Or does it make it even harder for her to deny me when she looks at me and sees, well, herself?
I laugh as I remember seeing an adoptee reunion video on youtube where an adoptee who had been denied contact saw pictures of her mother and said to herself "I have seen this woman before. She looks so familiar." The adoptee, on the video, then laughed and said "Yeah, I see her everytime I look in the mirror".
In discussing her and her pictures with my friend R, an adoptee, R suggested that my daughter has put me into a box. I am not real to her. As long as we dont meet, she doesnt talk to me, I am not real and she can avoid me and all the pain that is associated with our situation. Emails can be avoided and marked as spam. But a person you have met? Talked to? Been hugged by? New rules or social order apply and they are not so easily disregarded.
I suspect my friend R might have something there. I can see that possibly being true.
If it is, I wonder if its a pretty emotional box she put me in? Is it a nice strong stable box or is it an ugly worn moldy box?
I dont want to be in a Tiffany box. Too restrictive and stuffy. I would like to be in an ornately, intricately carved wooden box. Or maybe even a cardboard box decorated with jewels and stickers and fabulous colors. Oh, maybe even a puzzle box. Perhaps a puzzle box like that from Hellraiser. Only, instead of opening it and releasing Pinhead and the cenobites, it would release peace and love and healing for both of us.
Boxes, no boxes, similarities or not, I continue to look forward to the day that she and I get to meet again. And man oh man, she is gorgeous.