I don’t like to “write angry” which is why I have a writing ritual. I light candles, put music on and simply hope I can write without being fueled with a meanness that only this situation brings out of me. I am forced to take breaks because I don’t want the rage I feel to transfer onto the paper. I have to be rational when I feel anything but.
There’s really no nice way to put it: A secret adoption, a couple unable to conceive willing to do whatever it took to “get a baby.”
My niece; sold away by our neighbor, taken, bought, smiles to our faces, lies behind our backs ….WHAT ????
How is it possible that this happened ?
I am beside myself in disbelief and ever since this fiasco about the balloons and flowers I sent on her tenth birthday, I feel like once again we are being beaten down. Who knew that sending balloons and flowers would cause such an uproar? My sister was immediately called to be bullied and ‘ told off.’
It’s one more time we have to pick ourselves up and it’s another little jab on their part. I was never told I couldn’t send anything, I just never did. I save things for her instead to be certain that she will actually get the things I have put away for her. I knew what their reaction would be and it was spot on.
They are still playing house, happily lying to my niece about her identity, ethnicity, family, her adoption and the circumstances of events. I am really just so tired of being so helpless that I had to do something. I couldn’t just keep sitting here taking this injustice.
We are the victims in this mess, and they feel it is the other way around. Not so. The judge himself said he was going to “do what was in the best interest of the child.” They changed judges immediately because they knew they did not fix that description, why else would they change judges only after he made that particular statement?
Try to put yourself in our shoes.
Think about what you would do, how you would feel, how your world would be turned upside down in an instant. So blind-sided, confused, putting your hands over your eyes because it can’t be real. It just can’t.
Now for a moment, imagine us.
Think about how we feel.
Our baby girl, with strangers living a made-up life.
Our hands tied for another seven years; seven years that will seem to screech by.
Hurting, anxious, betrayed, pointing the finger at us, when the finger should be pointed at them. Can you blame me for being adamant about making sure my niece knows the truth?
Other than this, I live a very blessed life. I’m so close to God, in love with everyone in my life, well-traveled, well-read, it’s said that I take care of everyone and my dear friend recently told me that I’m a doter, which I never realized I was.
Before I write, I have to pray for a calmness. I have to sit amongst beautiful things, in a cozy place, so that my spirit is as relaxed as possible. I pray for God to give me the wisdom to write the right words so that I can not only tell our story, but hopefully reach the heart of the reader. I hope I reach my niece’s heart.
Now here is a huge dilemma.
How do you sugarcoat an ugly and awful truth?
It worries me sick when I think about how my niece is going to feel when she hears their version of events, and how she is going to feel when she learns the real truth.
The real truth being: this adoption was immoral, unethical, and quite possibly illegal. I wonder how my niece will feel knowing that.
Ever since the moment I found out that my niece has no idea she’s adopted, something has changed in me. I am so hurt and I’m so mad there isn’t a word that is big enough that I could use to describe it.
Ten years, and this little girl has no idea how these people got her in the first place. She has no clue that her life is one big, phony set-up. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; money cannot buy children …. their hearts, I mean.
It hurts me immensely that the adoptive “parents” would take such advantage of a scared and vulnerable young girl, simply to fix their infertility. I think it bothers me even more because we, my niece’s natural family, are the kind of people who would do anything to help and lend a hand.
I live my life on a tightrope because of this adoption. I walk along smoothly for a bit, then I’m emotionally thrown down, have to get back up and keep going.
When you are dealing with what I call a “living nightmare,” nothing is normal and nothing is as easy as it used to be. Everything takes more effort. It takes a lot to even get out of bed.
Just because I’m not writing every single day doesn’t mean I’m not working on other things pertaining to our case, which is why I decided to keep a monthly calendar so that everything I do is documented even further. The calls I make, the letters I send, the questions I refuse to stop asking.
The people who have my niece may be able to lie and say we never thought about her and never cared about her; but this book, the journals, the scrapbooks, the legal struggle, the phone calls, the constant efforts made to try to bring her home to her rightful place, will be right there for her to see. My niece will see court documents, depositions, complaints letters; they may have their deceiving smiles but we have paperwork in black and white that says this was a red-flag adoption. My niece will see that she was robbed of her rightful family and rightful place in the world, all so this “poor infertile couple” could be “parents.”
My niece will see that her mom, her real mom, Samantha, was deceived, distraught, and duped. She and her family were treated like utter filth, enemies they had to throw every weapon at. There was no loophole they didn’t take advantage of, there’s no tricky tactics they didn’t use.
There was no limit on their manipulations, they had every advantage, their high-priced, heartless lawyer, cold as ice, just like this despicable couple treated us. None of them cared who they hurt along the way, as long as they got what they wanted. I can’t say a baby was the one thing their money couldn’t buy, because their money did buy a baby.
She was worth Tiffany & Co. jewelry, plane tickets, nice dinners, how incredibly pathetic. They treated Lupita like royalty because that is exactly who gave them my sister’s baby. Why else was Lupita given anything?
There is a saying, “follow the money,” well it leads straight to Lupita like tracks in the snow.
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I’m really only writing this book for one person, my niece. It is dedicated with love and it is written in all honesty. After having had something so devastating happen to you and your family, especially when it is involving the loss of a child, it changes you whether you want it to, or not.
I’m also writing this book to ease my family’s sadness by not allowing the secret to remain as such. Finally our story will be told, our voices will be heard and no one can take that from us.
This book is also dedicated to anyone who has gone through what we have and never had a voice either. I wonder how many times this happens, how many families are broken apart, how many young moms were lied to and treated like royalty until their babies were removed from their arms. It makes me sigh.
If I am able to help just one person or family by telling our painful story, which I would much rather forget than tell, it would really touch my heart and I would simply say …. ” Thank God. “
I believe with my whole heart that one day my niece will come home and all this anguish and suffering will be gone. We’ll be able to move forward together in love and happiness ….
LOVEFORGRACE.ORG 
I can relate to your quandary. Blank page syndrome can happen to a writer at any point in time, regardless of previous career successes. Many famous people have reported difficulty incubating a thought leading to write’s block as a documented problem, as well as their struggles to overcome this affliction, including F. Scott Fitzgerald and cartoonist Charles Schulz. Neurologists claim that literary creativity is a function of specific areas of the brain. When we are under stress the brain shifts control from the cerebral cortex to the limbic system which hinders the creative process leading to a disruption and blocking of brain activity in those areas. Often unaware of the change, the drive to write diminishes. Some of the easiest things to do, in addition to addressing the causes of stress, are to change your schedule and the time of day you choose to write, setting deadlines, quiet meditation, and lowing expectations.
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