The Little Digs

It takes a special kind of evil in a person that laughs at another person’s heartbreak. Especially this kind. The kind that has it’s very own category; loss of a child.

Not only did we get thrust into a life-altering ‘thing’ but we’ve had to maintain our composure, which I frankly think we deserve a medal for at this point.

We’ve literally had to explain why we laughed, why we’ve cried…. all the while dealing with individuals that there isn’t a word awful enough to describe. But for the sake of painting an exact picture, think smug.

One by one, the people parading against my family and I shot us looks of death followed by a ‘ we have her ‘ smile.

I mean really, isn’t it enough that we were torn from each other, do we really deserve the ‘ F-U ‘ look? Not only were we breaking down to cry, we did it while under the microscope, looked at like how dare we fight for her. The looks they gave us, that smirk, smug, and intentional. It made me want to go berserk. Even when I think about it today I have to center myself, it irks me tremendously.

Empathy, the failsafe thing that makes you think twice before you hurt someone, none of these people have it. It is significantly missing.

It would have made Lupita not sell a baby away for profit in secret, it would have made that couple not receive a baby under such circumstances. It’s that thing that is supposed to keep you from hurting another person with such force that it leaves nothing but destruction behind it.

No matter what they say, these people don’t have it. In fact after we went through this case I actually said that I’d never encountered such a ruthless, heartless bunch. The attorneys, ever-so-Hollywood, I just rolled my eyes under my dark sunglasses. I was in disbelief. I silently thought to myself, this cannot be happening, this cannot be happening. But it was and it did, and we were left behind like luggage. Left to figure it out, left to hurt, left to suffer. Left to be empty.

When I write about what happened to us and its aftermath, I write it exactly how it happened. I’m trying to paint a vivid picture, nothing is exaggerated. This is a non-fiction account of what we have experienced, it’s a story that tells itself, I don’t sit down and make up what to write. I made an outline and as I’ve explained each detail I intended to, I cross it off and breathe just a little easier knowing it’s on record, it’s addressed. I won’t let anyone else tell our story, I won’t let that be taken from us too.

Those notes in my niece’s lunchbox that she couldn’t  even read, were they really necessary on that particular day?

For our visits, was it necessary to try to implement new rules and contracts more and more?

Was it really a good idea to have our visits at 8am in a freezing park while they sat in their car and watched?

Was it really necessary to have it in writing that we couldn’t call her terms of endearment, we were only allowed to call her the name they gave her?

Does this adoptive ‘father’ have to call my sister and harass her, beating her down over the phone every time she calls to speak to her daughter?

Did the adoptive ‘mother’ really need to come up to me to tell me how hard it had been on THEM? ( I was beside myself, I didn’t even know how to respond to that.)

Did Lupita really get ‘things’ for my niece? (Yes, she did.)

All the little digs made this even more devastating. The things they said and say, did and do, all make it worse than it has to be. This couple is really in a fight with themselves, a fight that consists of hiding my niece hostage in regards to her identity and place in the world. All the little things they did to add onto this already huge thing, shame on them. All I hope is that they get exactly what they gave us, no more, no less.

By Love, By Faith, By Patience ….

Ever since this awful thing happened to us, absolutely nothing surprises me. Nothing people do ever shocks me. Once you’ve had the carpet yanked out from underneath you, everything else is downhill from there.

Thrown into turmoil… check, broken heart, check… fighting for the very fabric of our family, our good names and our emotional stability… check…

I want space from this whole thing. I want everyone that isn’t in our family to stay out of our family.

I feel like this thing pushed me down and I’ve had to look up and go hand over hand to climb through it. I’m thankful that I’ve had my heavy hitters to block me from the everyday craziness of life. I’ve been blessed enough to have traveled the world and seen so many incredible things.

It’s like a double life. Half is so very happy, half is so very hurt.

I cook, clean, work, study, read bedtime stories and give bubble baths, plan birthdays and every other celebration, and I make time for heels, hugs, road trips, and homemade muffins. Everything else in life is a dream, with one nightmare in the middle of it.

All but this one thing, and this one thing is so huge that there’s no getting away from it.

I make the world go round for so many people, then when night falls, I pray and write.

I’ve been asked so often how I get through this and my response is always the same. I get through it by love, by faith, by patience. I love with passion, I  live as righteously as this world will allow, and I’ve learned that I don’t have to wait in misery.

I  don’t deserve  applause for my strength and I don’t need anyone’s approval. My life isn’t up for debate or discussion. I have to keep as much privacy as I can in dealing with something that feels so public.

In short, I face this and I get through it because I have to. My heart won’t let my niece go, and for now all I can do is wait and tell our side of the story.

I’m keeping it together because that’s what I do. Injustice in general is particularly irritating to me and I won’t just sit back while we’re made out to be animals.

One day, I won’t have to deal with this anymore, and I anxiously await the time I can set this bag of cement blocks down. I will smile until then, I will let love rain over me, I won’t feel guilty for being joyous…. 

Love, faith, patience…. Love, faith, patience, and round and round we go….

Wrapping Up Book One ….

Looking across the room on my writing desk, I see 450 printed pages of book one in the series of books written to my niece over the last ten years. The answers to questions I’m sure she’ll have, hopes and prayers, page after page of raw emotion, there it sits, just waiting to be published and read.

I had to be certain the truth was told, I needed to make sure that I explained ‘our side’ in great detail. I refused to let anyone bash us further, I was adamant about telling our story in hopes it will help in reuniting and mending our family, and maybe sharing our story will prevent another family from suffering the same fate.

Had I not written this book, I do believe I, and perhaps my sister, would have suffered a nervous breakdown or maybe something worse. I look at those printed pages and think that those were just a small fraction of the thoughts that are rolling around in my mind. If I didn’t write out everything I need to, I’d never get any rest. I’d constantly be thinking it out until I wrote it out.

As I check off topics from my book’s outline, I feel such a relief. I feel a little more free with each  part as it all comes together. I feel a little more peace.

In writing, I’m doing all any of us can do at this point. I won’t allow justice to escape us forever, one day those responsible will be held accountable under God. The ‘court’ of my niece’s opinion, and the court of ‘public opinion’ are what’s important. Judges and lawyers will always manipulate and confuse the facts, and they find ways to justify their behaviors and actions. They find every loophole they can slither through.

The way I’ve put this case together with reports, depositions, appointment information, I’ve made ‘A’ so obviously point to ‘B’. So now, I wait. I write Book 2, and wait some more.

As I stare at the 3-ring binder, I’m so thankful that I was able to get out all that I wrote about. It’s down on paper, it’s a record of this horrible thing we have been forced to survive. This book quite simply means less spinning thoughts, less restless nights ….


‘ But, You’re Just Her Sister ….’

Ahhhh, the joys of having to make a battle plan after a secret adoption ruined your life.

Just typing that out is awkward and hard to swallow.

When you’re party to a court case, there are a million things you have to do.

You have to make phone calls, you have to write letters and complaints to send by certified mail to attorneys, the judges involved, the adoption agencies, and make sure to file a couple of copies to keep. You have to keep track of everything meticulously because if you miss one detail, you miss the whole point.

I have dealt with so many people along this confusing journey, and I have to start at the beginning over and over again because with each person I speak with, I obviously have to tell them what happened from the beginning. There’s no time for chit-chat, I just get right into the facts and fabrications.

Nine-out-of-ten people I have dealt with have been so sincere, helpful, and understanding. Then there’s that one-out-of-ten person who is just being rude because they don’t believe what I’m telling them. They give me the ‘ no one could do such a thing ‘ attitude.

But this is by far the most hurtful and annoying thing I ever hear. ‘ Well, you’re just her sister, why isn’t she calling? ‘

First of all, she’s still way too fragile to handle this beast by herself. That’s a big sister’s job. People that have absolutely no relation to my sister were allowed to make appointments, phone calls and arrangements, they were all up in her personal business and were allowed to navigate and drive the speeding car that was her life, right off the cliff. She didn’t handle any part of this adoption herself. Everything was done by Lupita, all communication was through her. All paperwork went through her, all gifts were given to her.

The adoptive couple made themselves look to be the sweet couple, they had every advantage and had no problem putting on a show until all paperwork was in place. I had never seen two more phony people in my life, besides Lupita, than this shiny little couple.

So all these people with the same agenda were allowed to make decisions and be in control, and though I’m ‘ just her sister ‘ I am the only one besides my sister and parents whose place it was to make decisions about our family and the newborn intended for us, but sold away by Lupita, and happily accepted by this childless couple.

Secondly, as her ‘ big sister ‘ it was, and is my job to be there for her, to protect her, look out for her, and give her love and support. Isn’t it customary that the older sibling looks out for the younger ones? Don’t you go up to bat when your sibling is in trouble?

So, yes, I’m ‘ just ‘ Samantha’s sister; I’m ‘ just ‘ Nevaeh’s auntie.

I’m ‘ just ‘ trying to cope with this sickening reality. How dare so many people overstep their bounds and intrude in our family and then look at us like we have no right? If it’s not your family, stay out of it, you have no place barging in.

I’m ‘ just ‘ a big sister, protecting my baby sister. I write the words that are so hard for her to say. She can rely on my strength to have the voice she never had. That’s what big sisters and big brothers are for, to take care of the little ones. When someone bullies them, they stand up for them. When they need advice, they guide them in the right direction.

Yes, I’m ‘ just her sister ‘ , and they’re all ‘ just ‘ wrong, have no place, and need to ‘ just ‘ get a clue. It’s ‘ just ‘ OUR family !






“Adoption—picking up the pieces from here on after”


By: Judith Land … This is really how it feels .

Originally posted on Adoption Detective | A True Story by Judith Land:

Judith Land | Adoption Detective | Martin Hudacek For those who suffer the heartaches, barrenness and desolation of parent-child separation, life is about pain, mercy and forgiveness. Sculpture by Martin Hudacek.

Some adoptees are like glass—opaque, darkened, and difficult to see through. The past is mysterious, paradoxical and unfathomable to them. Their lives are confusing, ambiguous and semi-transparent. Relationships are perplexing and contradictory and events of yesteryear are obscure and incomprehensible because the truth has been hidden from them. Incongruity creates confusion and a solicitous sense of abandonment.

They stand by the window forlornly looking through the pane (pain) on an overly melancholic kind of day, wondering if the raw feelings of spiritual emptiness that plagues their soul will ever wane. Their memories are cloaked in haziness and mist. They shroud and veil their sense of being and hide their unfeigned emotions about the pivotal events in the springtime of their life because the memories of the earliest…

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Please Just Let Me Feel Whatever It Is That I Feel ….

People always have advice, but sometimes they need to just be quietly supportive. The only thing worse than being heartbroken is being told not to be. Being told I have to ‘not let it get to me so much.’ Simply put, if you haven’t lost a child through unjust adoption, you’ll never fully understand it, and that’s okay. You’re lucky to have avoided such a mess in your life.

I’ve been to hell and back, and back around again with this bloody adoption, so if I’m feeling overwhelmed, it’s really okay. If I’m having trouble trusting anyone since this happened, it’s understandable. If I can’t help but cry myself to sleep because of my niece’s absence, please let me just get it out. It doesn’t mean I’m weak, it means I live and love with passion, a rare combination these days. I don’t want to sweep my feelings under the rug, I want them out, and if people don’t want to hear it, then they should’ve never overstepped their bounds by intruding in our family affairs. You don’t take a child by despicable means and expect nothing bad to happen. God may take a while to punish those responsible, but I know that no one escapes judgment.

Console me without telling me it will get better because how do you know it will?  Be there for me by letting me know I’m not alone and it’s okay to not always be the strong one. It’s okay to cry when you’ve been hurt so deeply. It’s excusable that I shut down and secure the perimeter because I’m so skeptical of ‘good intentions’ and smiling faces. I’m always after ‘the motive’ and always on high-alert.

I’m so tapped-out by this adoption, it doesn’t go away no matter what I do, and I positively hate that it is one of the major things that defines me. Thrust into a whirlwind of emotions, I pray incessantly that evil will not triumph over good. I pray that all these extra people will get out of our family and our family business because none of them should have meddled where they didn’t belong in the first place. To this day, their sheer nerve baffles me. It was no one’s place to barge into our family and make decisions who stayed or went. That was for us to decide. Not a conniving neighbor, not a desperately childless couple, not a judge sitting on his pretend throne.

An ugly adoption, there’s no way to sugar coat it to make it look nice. Something very wrong happened here, and I blatantly refuse to stop asking questions and demanding answers. This is my baby sister and my first niece we’re speaking of, it’s my job to stand up for them and protect them. I have the right to know why and how this happened. Paperwork signed by Buddha himself still wouldn’t make my niece not be my niece. And though this couple keeps waving their ‘exhibits’ in our faces, very soon it won’t mean anything.

If anything is going to come out of this, it’s going to be me getting closer to God, reevaluation of my life and the people I keep close to me, and being as loving and kind as I can be. I’ll keep the faith that my niece will come home one day and no one can stop her. I’m holding on to the love I feel for her, I’ll cherish the memories I have of her. I’ll pray with unwavering faith and I know it won’t always be like this.

Having said all that, I’m defending my right to be angry, my right to be sad, and my right to wait in joy and not sorrow. I will allow myself to be happy again because God is always working on this. I don’t have to ‘prove’ how much this is all hurting me, He knows. Just because I’m not crying every single moment doesn’t mean I don’t want to. Just because I wear a lot of makeup and 4-inch heals doesn’t mean I’m suffering any less.

So for those that have had to personally get me through this ‘tragic’ mess, thank you. And for those demanding me to ‘get better’ or ‘get over it’ , I want you to go out, lose a child then come back and talk to me. For those that have put me down for fighting so hard, I feel sorry for your relatives because you would fold like a lawn chair if push came to shove. It’s weird how much people are jealous of my strength and courage.

I just want the freedom of being able to feel whatever it is I want to feel without judgment. If I want to lounge all day and take a mental break, that should be alright. Let me grieve the only ways I know how, be patient and let me get through each day in whatever way is best for me. Just be empathetic, and don’t put rules and restrictions on my feelings. Let me hurt because it hurts, let me hope because I’m still allowed to dream. They’re my feelings, I’m entitled to them, good or bad.

The loss of a child means all bets are of …. logic, well there is none.