Archive | January 2015

‘ 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 .

Adoption Detective: Memoir of an Adopted Child

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.

“Adoption stories are like bad knees and sore backs!”

Written beautifully by : Judith Land

Adoption Detective: Memoir of an Adopted Child

How good are your listening skills? The best stories and memoirs are those that carry along the personal experiences and ideals of the audience. The most common response to a good story being: “Oh my! But, that’s nothing! Let me tell you my story.” Judith Land, Adoptee

Judith Land | Adoption Detective | Good Listening Skills Speak less, listen more and learn more. Sound waves funnel into the ear via the external ear canal. The bigger our ears, the better we can hear. If our ears were the same size as bats, this is what they would look like. Bats are especially good listeners. They can hear sounds beyond the human range.

“Diddli-squat—wait until you hear about my bad back and artificial knees!” The phenomenon of comparing stories is particularly rampant in retirement communities where half the population has artificial hips and knees, grandkids, and dwindling savings accounts. The idea of trumping one story with another newer story is a common…

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Knock, Knock …. We’re Your Family ….

I miss my niece all year, but around her birthday the cut gets a little deeper. This year was no exception.

Our hands have been so tied for six years, there’s nothing we can do.

Lawyers don’t call us back because they don’t want to hear that this awful thing still exists. I’m sure they want us to just go away. Who wants to answer our questions about HOW my niece was sold away, who wants to try to justify what they all know is wrong?

That is what lawyers get paid top dollar to do: make money, whether the case should be won or lost doesn’t matter. I wonder how many families are ripped to shreds by judges and lawyers in family court. They make a call on where a child should be, and then their job is done. What do they care if the long-term is tragic? They break up siblings and extended families with the bang of a gavel.

Someone you see just once decides your whole life, knowing hardly anything about you personally. I’m really so tired of dealing with high and mighty lawyers and judges. I’m over them thinking they’re better than us and they don’t have time for our complaints. They act like how dare we ask questions, how dare we have these allegations. Meanwhile we’re saying ‘how dare a county clerk do such a thing, how dare this couple do such a thing?’

While we were going through court, we sat outside waiting because the couple wouldn’t allow us, her family, in the courtroom. They wanted my sister alone and scared, right where they had her from day one, making sure she was by herself with no support. They had the choice to let us in, but once again, they did the wrong thing.

We sat there all day and observed people coming out; mothers crying, fathers crying, grandparents crying, everyone came out on edge, group after group. Just sitting there in that family courthouse made me sick, from the look to the feel, it was beyond disturbing.

Well, the lawyers got their checks to pay for their fancy cars and material possessions, the ‘baby buyers’ got their baby by despicable actions, Lupita is still smiling her phony smile at the courthouse, haughty as can be and always was, and our family is left like insignificant trash to dispose of. It really is hard to walk when there are knives stuck in your back.

I still wonder how any of the people involved in all this can even sleep at night. But then again, evil never sleeps, does it?

These past ten years have barely been survivable, it has taken every ounce of strength and faith to make it through each day.

I have felt so incredibly anxious and helpless. Thank God everything else in my life is perfectly in place because one more grain of sand on top of me and I would surely suffocate.

On my niece’s birthday, this one being her tenth and a milestone, I couldn’t just sit back and take it for one more second.

I did the unthinkable.

Being the monster I am, I sent flowers and balloons to my niece’s door.

The card simply read ‘ To our baby girl: we have never forgotten you and you are always with us, one day you’ll know …. Love, Your Awaiting Family…. ‘

Not 24 hours later, this heartless man who calls himself a “father” because he has my niece whom he paid for, had the audacity to call my sister and say my niece was scared that ‘someone was going to come and take her away.’

First of all, I don’t believe they even gave her the balloons or flowers because of what the card said.

Ten years later, they STILL have not told her she is adopted and that she has a family still fighting for her and loving her, wanting her in our lives to stay. So why would she think someone would come take her away if they haven’t even told her?

Someone coming to take her away is THEIR greatest fear. They know that no matter what they do, she will NEVER belong to them and one day very soon, they won’t be able to say one word about our relationship with her. The paperwork they keep flashing will be obsolete. They will not have a place at our table and they will be excluded absolutely from our lives. My niece doesn’t come as a package deal. Everyone that had no place to butt into our family in the first place will finally be shut up and shut out.

I wonder how she is going to feel if they tell her now, that they’ve been lying to her, pretending she’s theirs, for a decade.

I wonder how she’ll feel if they wait until she’s eighteen to tell her, that they’ve been lying to her for her entire life.

Either way, I imagine the very sticky situation they are going to have to try to slither their way through. How do you explain that you purposely would not allow her to be with her family, or even see them? How do you explain that they played with her like a doll, dressing her up and making her what they wanted her to be. They deliberately bury her heritage and refuse to even let us call her by terms of endearment, common in most families. They continuously keep the jabs coming. The little digs, as if we’re not suffering enough. They want us to suffer to maximum capacity.  

How do you explain why you put your happiness above hers by taking away and altering her very identity?

There’s no way they told her about those balloons and flowers, because then they would have to explain that she has a family out there that is anxiously awaiting her return.

Once again, they get to lie and manipulate the situation.

But when she turns eighteen,  what are they going to say then? Call the police, her family is here and there’s no more strings and stipulations?

Call the judge to get an extension on making her an adult? It will be then that they are backed into a corner. What are they going to say when we’re all there, and she wants to know us and know what happened?

I cannot wait for the day when that couple doesn’t have the right to even be in the equation. I wonder how much love and respect my niece will have for them when she finds out what’s what.

So we’ll pray without worry, and the moment she turns eighteen, we’ll be there. We’re her family, not this ‘poor couple’ that unfortunately had everything but the ability to conceive.

Family is everything, and we are here for her with open, loving arms. We’re waiting, we’re hoping, we’re praying that God will bring us back together. One day we’ll be at the door, literally saying ‘knock, knock, we’re your family’ ….

Sabali …. Sabali …. Sabali ….

This song brings me solace …. patience …. not as easy as it seems …. It cuts like a dull knife ….



This page is dedicated with so much love to my cousin Big B ….

We stayed up until 5 am this morning talking it all out; two fun, loud, and Boss Puerto Ricans. Music playing, figuring life out, asking questions, finding answers. I let go of hurts I didn’t need and decided what I would allow to get to me or hurt me from here on. We reminisced about  people and places that made us feel so good, just for one last time so we could move forward with force right up the middle.

We told story after story. We talk on the real …. charismatic survivors, stomping through the Bay Area living life to the fullest, happy to be alive as we remembered those that were taken from us way too soon.

I needed rest and I took this past week off. I made myself sit still. Four days this week, I blasted music until 4 or 5 am, ( Sorry and thank you to my non-complaining neighbors ), releasing my pain by floating away into the lyrics and beats. I just wanted to numb out the sharp sting of my niece’s absence.

The more I pray, the more I feel hope and usually that’s what I hang on to, but this week was just so hard for me to get through and I needed some rejuvenation. This never-ending fight for justice and vindication literally makes me scream out loud.

My cousin and I have always had each other’s backs and we get each other through the impossible with laughter, loyalty, and love.

He knew how badly I was hurting and just like he always does, he pulled me out of despair. My relationship with him is vital, and I am so grateful to have a person with such great love and character to make me laugh no matter how despondent I may be.

So Big B, this is for you …. for all your tender, loving care and because I couldn’t live without you. I love you so much. Thank you for always being on my team and being my right hand man, protecting my ailing heart and reminding me that things always fall into place …. It just takes faith and patience ….


Sabali …. Sabali …. Sabali ….

How Far Would You Go? …. Would You ‘Just Quit?’ …. Or Would You Fight To Your Dying Day ? ….

Tired …. But I’ll never quit.

Helpless …. So I close my eyes and pray.

Infuriated …. I breathe slowly, craving peace.

Distraught …. I write to get it out.

Emotional …. Nothing like the loss of a child.

Focused …. Retaining millions of details.

Confused …. But not surprised they got away with it. (For Now)

Hopeful …. Love will lead her home.

Drained …. Fulfilled only by the dream of her return.

Guarded …. Try to take what’s mine again.


As I looked at the binder that my writing has gone into; over 400 pages, and now starting to fill a new binder because there’s no room in the other one, I took a moment to just look at it from across the room.

I realized how much of my life I have given, how much it took.

I said out loud ” look at how many thoughts would be racing in my brain if I didn’t write it all out. “

I looked at it and said to myself  ‘ until Right is Right, I will keep doing whatever it takes. ‘

I write in the middle of the night so no one can hear me cry, I write in the car, parked on the hill overlooking the city, I write at the library with people staring at me in my dark glasses and headphones, lost in my own world, typing furiously as if they’re not watching and wondering what I could possibly be writing about.

Every page I write brings comfort, strength …. although written with tears streaming down.

If I didn’t write this out for myself and my family, I don’t know how I would be able to cope. Just getting through one day is a small miracle.

I’m glad I’m able to tell our own story, because I refuse to let all those other liars tell it …. Period.