And Yet It Moves - In Support of HB 162

Another post by Jenn, Susan's daughter. Susan passed away on April 7th, 2014, eight months after being diagnosed with Stage IV melanoma and seven months after being reunited with her two biological sisters. 

My mom, dad, me and family, a month before her diagnosis

And yet it moves. Eppur si muove. These were the rebellious words uttered by Galileo from prison after he was condemned by the Catholic church for continuing to insist that the earth was not the center of the universe, that it moved around the sun. Many intellectuals of the day also condemned him, so attached were they to their own world views. Galileo, a devout Roman Catholic and an intellectual, cared both about his faith and scientific truth, and it is exactly because of this that he could not be silent in the face of what he knew to be true. And yet it moves. 

My mom, an adoptee, passed away in April of 2014. There are two truths about her death, and I cannot be silent about them. First, she died from melanoma, a (censored) disease that not even the most wonderful oncologist in the world, with the highest level of training, was able to stop. She was diagnosed in July, still feeling wonderful, after finding a small lump in her leg. A week later, knowing what lie ahead but still feeling healthy, she awoke one beautiful Saturday morning at the beach to see that two dark, ugly spots of melanoma had now appeared, one on her toe and one on her face. It was confirmation that this (censored) disease was now coursing through her, maliciously and aggressively. It was horrible. Good people fought valiantly on her behalf. My mom fought valiantly. But in the end, it was not enough.  We lost her. 

My mom also perhaps died, and certainly suffered needlessly, because she was an adoptee. She was blocked by the state (in this case New Jersey) from seeing her original birth certificate because of an antiquated law (now changed), and thus she was blocked from her true and complete medical history (the information the adoption agency released to her was flawed, at best).  She was also blocked from being able to communicate directly with her biological family, and thus from knowing two wonderful sisters for the last 16 years of her life. Not knowing that melanoma was present in her biological family likely contributed to her physician missing the melanoma when her symptoms first occurred.  As with all cancers, timely diagnosis and treatment is crucial for survival.  When she looked into going to court to have her birth certificate unsealed, the lawyer with whom she consulted let her know that she had little chance of winning because she "already had cancer." 

Because of this -- because having her original birth certificate sealed from her was perhaps as responsible for her death as the melanoma itself, and certainly responsible for much unneeded suffering -- it is difficult for me to read about the testimony of the Pennsylvania Catholic Conference and the Administrator of Orphans' Court Services against Pennsylvania House Bill 162, which was passed unanimously by the House in October 2013, then stalled in the Senate without a vote prior to the end of the 2014 term. HB 162 would allow adult adoptees access to their original birth certificates. The ACLU also sent a letter opposing the bill, which was equally difficult for me to read. 

In past years Pennsylvania Catholic Charities has testified -- without any facts to support their arguments -- that unsealing birth certificates would lead to more abortions. The facts support the opposite. Abortion rates in states where records have been unsealed have actually decreased slightly. This year, perhaps recognizing this, the Pennsylvania Catholic Charities' testimony centers more around its "concern" for birthparent privacy. As a Catholic, I find this testimony particularly upsetting, and misleading. Many birthparents have testified in support of this law (and Catholic Charities in other states has actually reversed its position and supported similar laws). Birthparents have a right to privacy from prying public eyes, yes, and from harassment. We all do. This law provides for privacy. It just does not allow for secrecy. Adoptees, on the other hand, currently have to share the most intimate details of their life just to possibly get their birth certificates (by going through an intermediary, or petitioning the court). I have one adopted friend who has never searched simply because when she learned everything she had to go through (for the mutual consent registry), she found it all too daunting. There are many adoptees, and birthparents, like her. 

The Administrator for Orphans' Court Services speaks of "profound and grave consequences" for birthparents if this law is passed based on her "many years of experience doing search services." One only need to look at the many states that have already enacted similar legislation -- where there have been no "profound and grave consequences" -- to realize that this is not the case. As a side note, when I searched on Google for this administrator's name, to learn more about her (why would anyone, especially someone involved in adoption and claiming to care deeply about the welfare of all involved, oppose this law?), the first link that appeared was one detailing the fees charged for "Adoption Search Inquiries" ($50 for non-identifying information, $150 if you want more -- and this is only after the court approves your petition). As a non-adoptee, I could get my birth certificate easily for $20. 

And the ACLU? Andy Hoover, ACLU of Pennsylvania legislative director, said in an open letter earlier this month: "HB 162 upends the respect for privacy in adoption procedures. Pennsylvania law already allows adoptees' access to important medical and social information of their biological parents without disrupting the privacy of the birth parents' identifying information." No, it does not. Adoptees are suffering, and yes, even dying, because the current system does not work for them. Many, many adoptees, birthparents, and adoptive parents have testified to this. I lived it with my mom. So let me say it again, emphatically: the current system (registries, mutual consent, etc) does not work. And the law now being considered does allow for birth parent privacy (with the contact preference form). I have not once heard of an adoptee taking out a billboard to reveal to the world the identity of her biological parents. We are talking about a person's right to know his or her true identity. It is a human right, and the ACLU should know that. Instead, they defend sealed records as an extension of a woman's right to reproductive health, equating an adoptee to an abortion. I may not have a law degree, but I can see the glaring fallacies in this argument from afar. 

So shame on you, Pennsylvania Catholic Conference, Orphans' Court Services, and Pennsylvania ACLU. You may talk and talk about the need for sealed records despite mountains of evidence to the contrary -- you may even believe in the sanctity of your cause --  but those who know the truth, who care about life (ALL life) and liberty (ALL liberty) will not be silent. I support them. In time, I believe everyone will.  And yet it moves. Eppur si muove. 

DEAR PENNSYLVANIA FRIENDS, HB 162 WILL BE VOTED ON THIS MONTH OR NEXT. PLEASE, IF YOU CAN, CALL THE MEMBERS OF THE HOUSE COMMITTEE ON CHILDREN AND YOUTH (ESPECIALLY IF IN YOUR DISTRICT - I'VE LISTED LINKS TO OUR AREA BELOW) AND EXPRESS YOUR SUPPORT FOR THE BILL. IF YOU KNEW MY MOM, OR KNOW ME, YOU CAN DO SO IN HER MEMORY. SHE KEPT FIGHTING FOR THIS LAW, EVEN AFTER SHE HAD HER OWN INFORMATION, BECAUSE SHE SO BELIEVED IN ITS IMPORTANCE FOR ALL OTHERS. I BELIEVE IN IT TOO. THANK YOU! -Jenn

Acosta, Leslie (Philadelphia County, District 197)

717-772-2004

Brownlee, Michelle (Philadelphia County, District 195)

717-787-3480

Conklin, Scott, Minority Chair

717-787-9473

DeLissio, Pamela (Philadelphia County -- offices on Ridge Ave!)

717-783-4945

Greiner, Keith

717-783-6422

Hill, Kristin

717-783-8389

Keller, Fred

717-787-3443

Kim, Patty

717-783-9342

Kinsey, Stephen (Philadelphia, 201st District, went to Germantown HS)

717-787-3181

Klunk, Kate

717-787-4790

Lewis, Harry (Chester County)

717-787-1806

Maloney, David (Berks County)

717-260-6161

McCarter, Stephen (Montgomery County)

717-783-1079

Miller, Brett

717-705-7161

Miller, Dan

717-783-1850

Moul, Dan, Vice Chair

717-783-5217

Nesbitt, Tedd

717-783-6438

Parker, David

717-787-3364

Rader, Jack

717-787-7732

Ravenstahl, Adam

717-787-5470

Rozzi, Mark (Berks County)

717-783-3290

Saccone, Rick

717-260-6122

Santarsiero, Steven (Bucks County)

717-787-5475

Santora, James (grew up in Drexel Hill!)

717-783-8808

Stephens, Todd

717-260-6163

Toohil, Tarah

717-260-6136

Watson, Katharine, Chair (Bucks County - went to UPenn)

717-787-5452

All Souls Day and My Mom

Another post by Jenn, Susan's daughter. Susan passed away in April of 2014 eight months after being diagnosed with Stage IV melanoma and seven months after reuniting with her biological sisters.

This morning, on All Souls Day, a day the Catholic Church has traditionally recognized as one to remember and pray for our loved ones who have died, I cleaned out my dresser and put it out on the curb. Our house was burglarized two weeks ago (You can read about it HERE), and the robbers, in their rush to pull out all the drawers and look for treasures, actually broke them (the dresser was an inexpensive Ikea piece that I bought 12 years ago, when I first got married, so no surprise there, just some annoyance). Among my clothes I found some folded pieces of paper, and I discovered, when I opened them, that they were journal entries from last fall, scribbled just after my mom's diagnosis. I wish I could have kept a journal of every day, of everything that happened and everything that we said to each other from her diagnosis in late July to her death in early April, but even now I know that it was impossible. These scraps of paper are all that I could do. Finding them today, it was enough. Here is the first one, from September 4th, two days before I sent a letter to Carol, her biological sister, and five days before she, Carol, and Joanne, her two sisters, were reunited:

I know I wrote "too" wrong in "Because I asked her to(o)!" That is just a reminder of how crazy last year was, trying to be there for my mom, my own children, and my students. "The whole thing cut me to the core." Yes, it did. 

When my mom's diagnosis was still new, I felt like I couldn't breathe. Sometimes at night I would have to get out of bed and go sit on the front porch to stare at the stars and wonder how we could get out of this. Please, please, please, I would pray. Not my mom. It was during this time that I asked my mom's blessing to write her sister, who didn't know about her (or so we thought). My mom had known about this sister for a few years but hadn't written for many reasons. Her original mother, when my mom had finally found her years before, had told my mom that she was a secret from everyone, even her own daughter, and asked her not to make trouble. My mom was not a trouble maker. Neither was I, really, but the only answer I could discern from all my fervent praying for my mom was Send the letter. It didn't make sense, really, when there were so many other things to be worrying about, but that inner voice, Send the letter, just wouldn't go away. So I sat down late one Thursday night and wrote a letter to my mom's older sister. I tucked in two pictures, one of each of my daughters, to help soften what I imagined would be quite a shock, and included a letter my mom had written herself, several years before, but never sent. I mailed it the next day.

It is strange for me to read "half sister" here, since my mom's older sister, once reunited with her, became a "full sister" in every way, as did her younger sister. 

That weekend, my mom got really sick. My dad called me when I was on the way home from my sister's and asked if I would come over. I did. My mom and I lay in her bed together, the full weight of what she was facing upon us both. We cried a bit, and we laughed, too. Please, please, please, I prayed, Not my mom. I wasn't thinking at all about the letter I had written to her sister. I was thinking about her, and how I wasn't really sure if I could live without her.

This was written two days before talking with my mom's older sister for the first time. "We've been desperately searching for her," my mom's sister told me, when we did talk, explaining that they had found a birth record two weeks before.

Monday was my first day back at school with students, and my first day ever taking Joseph, my then two-year-old, to day care. I had no idea how I was going to get through the day, let alone the week, or the year. And it was at the end of that day, right after I picked up Joseph, that I received the phone call from my mom's older sister (I've written about this day in a previous post -- Click HERE to read). I might as well have had an actual angel come sit down beside me in the car, I felt so comforted. I knew that this was a miracle, and I think that my mom and her sisters did too. They had found each other, despite everything. They had found each other.

The miracle of my mom's reunion with her sisters helped lift my heart, and my mom's heart, at a time when it was needed most. To this day, it helps me keep my faith in a God who is loving and merciful, one who held my mom (and her siblings) in the palm of His hand, and holds her (and them) still. 

My mom was soon speaking with her sisters herself, and they were making the drive down to see her as often as possible. They e-mailed her, too, every single day, with little funny stories, words of encouragement, and words of love. They were my mom's angels. They were mine, too. And I need to hold on to this goodness, this reminder, when I am made crazy by everything else.

Today, on All Souls Day, I did not go to church. I simply couldn't. The Catholic Church has been so adamant in its opposition to allowing adoptees access to their original birth certificates, and so disingenuous in its arguing, that I find it currently impossible to attend, despite the goodness of so many I know who do attend (and usually know nothing about this scandal). Instead, my husband and I ourselves read the story of Mary and Martha mourning the death of their brother Lazarus to our children, and we prayed for the souls of those we have loved. I do not know what we'll do going forward. I can only follow my heart, and my earnest prayers, and do what I believe to be right.

After all of the press about my mom and adoption last year, I have been approached by so many in the adoption triad who have shared their stories with me. I listen very, very carefully. And what I have learned is that most of us would not even survive what birth (original) mothers were made to go through. The very Catholic church that is now using birth mothers as an argument for not allowing adoptees access to their original birth certificates is the one that shamed them (birth mothers) into giving up their children, telling them to "forget about them," in the first place. Women had to pay room and board, and often work, in exchange for their medical care, and then their babies were given away (at a high price) before they ever had a chance to hold them. I cannot begin to imagine the grief.

There is great grief, too, for adoptees, blocked forever from knowing who this mother was. I saw this clearly enough with my own mom, even as she loved and cherished her own adoptive parents. And I know that there is often grief for adoptive parents, before the adoption, as they deal with the excruciating pain of miscarriages and infertility. Please, please, please, we have all prayed at one time, our hearts filled with grief. Sometimes, it feels as if there is no answer. Sometimes, we wonder where God could be. I do too. But I have had it confirmed in my heart, in the deepest seat of my soul, that a God of mercy, and tenderness, and love, and TRUTH, does exist beneath the madness, of which I can still make no sense. In the face of great grief, love and truth are the only answer. Secrecy, shame, and fear are not. Don't you agree, dear Catholic Church? For you are worth so much more to me than an Ikea bedroom dresser, and I would rather not take you to the curb. But if I must choose between Love and Truth and you, I will choose Love and Truth, for that, of course, is God.

My Ikea dresser on the curb

A Simple Piece of Paper: Adult Adoptees Access to Original Birth Certificates

Tomorrow, May 7th, marks one month since my mom, Susan Perry, passed away from melanoma. She was diagnosed in July.  This weekend, for Mother's Day, my dad, my sister, and I are going to the beach together for the first time without her.  We know it will be hard.  Our families our joining us Saturday evening, and we'll have breakfast together, at the house, on Sunday.  Sunday is also the day that filmmaker Jean Strauss' documentary "A Simple Piece of Paper" debuts around the country on PBS.  As New Jersey looks forward to secrecy-free adoptions starting in 2017 and Pennsylvania awaits (hopefully) the passage of HB162, an unrestricted access bill, and as we mourn the loss of my mom, an adoptee, I am pleased to share the words of Jean Strauss about the movie and my mom.

My mom roller-blading with my oldest daughter last spring. It is hard to believe she is no longer here. I will continue to honor her memory by speaking out for adoptees' rights, and I am touched that others are doing so in her name as well. #HonorSusanPerry

By Jean Strauss, director of the documentary A Simple Piece of Paper:

Last June, as I was filming testimony of NJ-CARE members during an Assembly hearing, my primary camera failed. I was filming Susan Perry at the time, and I remember thinking – well, New Jersey isn’t going to pass access legislation while Governor Christie is in office, and Susan Perry is one of the most important voices out there so there will be lots more opportunities.

Susan taught us many things. One of them is, we can never foresee the future.

Shortly after her testimony, she was diagnosed with fourth stage melanoma.  She passed away less than a month ago.  If she had access to her own birth information, it’s quite possible she would still be alive.

And somehow, Governor Christie is finding his way to ‘yes.’  So in May of 2014, New Jersey will see the light at the end of its very long tunnel of adoption reform.  Secrecy in adoption will end – and Susan Perry will have played a significant role in that.  While I don’t think she’d be happy that adult adopted citizens will have to wait until 2017 to access their birth certificates, or that redactions were a necessary compromise for the passage, I have to believe she would be thrilled about eliminating the secrecy for future generations.  Her advocacy alongside the NJ-CARE team will save lives and provide both equality and dignity for adopted citizens going forward.

Susan and I both had cancer scares mid summer 2013.  Mine ended up just being a lot of tests and good news.  Susan’s experience was far different.  I just reread the last emails between us.  As she cheered the good news I’d received, I kept prodding her to consider doing a film. She would have been a natural filmmaker with her storytelling gifts, with her laugh, and with her wisdom.  But Susan was very clear about what she intended to do with her time: spend it with her husband, her daughters, her grandchildren – and her two newly found sisters, who arrived bearing love and kindness last fall.

Mid winter, I sent Susan and Ty the very first copy of my new film, A Simple Piece of Paper, about adoptee access in Illinois.  I don’t know if Susan felt well enough to even watch a few frames – but it made me feel good to know she was its first audience, in spirit.

The film now goes out into the ‘ether’, as it premieres in twenty states on PBS this week, and will hopefully air in every state in the Union through the summer and fall (see www.asimplepieceofpaper.com/find-pbs-screenings.php for the schedule).  I wish she were here so we could talk a bit more about about writing with pictures, and the impact films can have.  She had the most important gift of any storyteller: an intense passion coupled with a compassionate mind. I am imaging the films she would have made, stamped with her own special wisdom and wit.  I will always regret that I didn’t capture her testimony last June.  Her words were so powerful.  They will always be powerful…

NJ Adoptees Can Get Birth Certificates in 2017: The Possible for the Perfect

This is Jenn, Susan's daughter, posting again on her behalf. As regular readers of this blog know, Susan passed away April 7th, 2014 after an 8-month battle with melanoma. She was an ardent supporter of S873/A1259, aka the Adoptees Birthright Bill, in NJ, and of adoptees' rights everywhere. Today, it was learned that the bill she long supported will be signed into law by Governor Chris Christie, albeit with a compromise (http://tinyurl.com/jwxt783). Although the bill to be signed into law isn't all we would have liked, we know that in politics you often have to sacrifice the "perfect" in order to achieve the "possible."   Susan (my mom) fought hard to achieve a clean bill in NJ and she knew real change was coming in NJ and around the country, if not in her lifetime.   She would have  been ok with this compromise, recognizing how much it achieves for so many.

My mom, Susan Perry, on a trip to Disney with my family in 2010.

My family and I would like to extend our thanks to those who have worked so hard to bring this long overdue change to adoption law in NJ to fruition..... the NJCARE team, Senators Vitale and Allen, Speaker Prieto, those in the adoption triad around the country who have voiced their support, and those behind the scenes who came to recognize this as the basic civil rights issue it is.   Collectively this message got through to Governor Christie and helped allow him to make concessions that he previously wasn't willing to consider.   All in the adoption triad will benefit.   Hopefully those fighting for change in other states can use the NJ experience to assist their efforts to pass meaningful reform. 

 

Somehow, it seems fitting to post my dad's words about my mom at her service on April 11th along with this announcement. To me, they captured her perfectly.

My mom and dad in Spain this summer, before her diagnosis.

Good morning.

A few weeks ago when Kate and Jenn were talking with Susan about what they might say at her service, I piped in that I too planned to speak at the service.  Without hesitation Susan, knowing me so well,  responded,  “That’s not a good idea!”  So here I go, defying her for one of the very few times over the past nearly 45 years! 

And it was nearly 45 years ago, in the spring and early summer of 1971 that we would stand on her front steps and practice the lines from ee cummings’ poems that we planned to recite to each other on our wedding day along with the verses from 1st Corinthians 13 that so many millions have spoken over the years. Of course Susan had made the selections!  Most nights we couldn’t get through the lines without one of us cracking up in laughter! My lines were these:  

Here is the deepest secret that nobody knows

                                    

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud 

                                    

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life, which grows

                                    

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

                                    

and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

 

I carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

Of course then I was confident about just about everything, and Susan would tell you unjustly so.  Now as I reflect on the lines from 1st Corinthians.... “for now we see in a mirror dimly,” I realize that perhaps Susan was right, and I didn’t quite have all the answers!  

Susan and the first family dog, Ranger

But I do now see some things “face to face”.... and find for the first time a wonderful connection between the words in Corinthians, "...so faith, hope, and love, these three abide, and the greatest of these is love,” and the lines in cummings' poem.   For faith, hope, and love are all emotions of the heart..... they are just there; you feel them or you don’t.    Susan and I worked hard to come to an understanding of our faith, as elusive as that often was for us, and over these past eight months we all were challenged by a hope that would keep sneaking into our hearts despite all evidence to the contrary.   And of course love, the emotion that welled up in our hearts all those many years ago, and has only deepened as we shared our life together.  

Together.... Susan and I did just about everything together.... and from the start, it was she who introduced me to just about everything we did:  

Water skiing, for it was watching her in the water trying to teach my brother Tom how to ski (one of the few things in her life she wasn’t successful achieving!) that the spark of love first was felt in my heart,

Tennis, and as best she could, teaching me how to hit a backhand. Did you know she had a great backhand?  One of my favorite things was to just be on the court working on our strokes together. And, of course, we could never leave until Susan felt she had hit the perfect stroke or left me sprawling at the net reaching for her passing shot, 

Snow skiing,  and the wonderful feeling of carving a turn in soft powder,  

Sailing, the joy of being up on a plane in our little sunfish flying across the bay, just the two of us;

After "Splash Mountain" in Disney together

Kayaking around the island at the end of our cove, stopping to swim in the same spot where we had both grown up swimming,

Biking to both ends of LBI and for many years our bike trip from Haddonfield to the shore, 

Gardening, a joy she found with the woodland garden at our new home, and at the beach house.   Already I am struggling to recall which pots go in which location.   

And just this past summer, the new adventure of stand up paddle boarding.  

And though it will be tough to see Susan’s skis in the closet, her bike, kayak, and sunfish in the garage, her tennis racket..... all of these things, because of her,  Kate and Jenn have taken up and now Grace, Emma, Genevieve, Eddie, Tyson, and Joseph also have come to learn from their Nana.   For it was Susan who taught Grace and Genevieve how to ski,  Susan who held their hands to build courage going in the surf,  Susan who cheered as they rode their first waves.  

Susan with the girls in LBI

Susan was a voracious reader, so it is no wonder that Emma is working her way through her 5th Harry Potter book.   And together Susan and Genevieve worked on drawing, an activity Susan turned to when she no longer could be physically active.   

When Susan took care of Grace, Genevieve, and most recently Joseph several days each week, they would exclaim in joy, “It’s a Nana Day!”   And, of course that meant going to Nana’s house..... a term that for a time made me feel somewhat slighted.   But of course  I understood well what they meant and why they said it that way.  And the same was true when all 6 of them would say, “We’re going to Nana’s beach house!”   Poppa Ty just happened to be another guest at Nana’s houses.

So, where do I turn knowing I have lost my best friend?

The answer is elusive, but I will start where Susan has lead me, saying : our grandchildren keep us looking forward and not backwards in time.  

This week I asked Grace and Emma, having known their Nana the longest of our grandchildren, to let me know what stuck out in their minds most vividly about her.  It only took a minute. Grace said, “ Nana always liked to boogie board.  She claimed she was the best even though secretly she knew she was not.  Even though sometimes she would mess up, she would always try again until she got it just right.  Nana especially loved it when her grandchildren did it with her.  She always claimed that she got the best rides even if it only lasted for 5 seconds.  Sometimes she would go deep in the water to get the best rides.  Nana always said that her back was sore after doing it, yet she kept doing it because she was determined and her love for the ocean was strong.”   

All six grandchildren in 2011. They loved their Nana fiercely, and she loved them.

And Emma added: “Nana had the best laugh.  She always giggled with us about her past, and when she was lying in her bed, she could not talk much but she laughed at our stories.  Nana had a great sense of humor.  Nana literally might have had the best and loudest laugh on the planet.   She had the habit of laughing at herself, even when no one else did.   We all loved Nana terribly and always will.”

We have a tradition in the summer of extending each day by gathering on the beach, getting in a twilight swim and having a glass of wine as the sun sets with those we love the most circled around us.  These were some of our favorite times together.

 

So, I will take to heart Susan’s words to me saying that she knew I will be OK without her.   She has been right about every important thing in our life together, so I will trust that with time I will see she is right about this too. 

 Susan, I say thank you,  for I will carry your heart, with faith, hope, and an unending love, I will carry it in my heart forever.

My Mom and the Truth: Adoption and Otherwise

My mom, Susan Perry, passed away on Monday, April 7th, 2014. Words fall short as to how much we all miss her. I will continue to guest post on this site. We are still hoping that Governor Christie will sign S873/A1259 (The Adoptees Birthright Bill) into law in New Jersey, and that other states will pass similar legislation as well. For now, I am sharing what I said at my mom's service on Friday April 11th (my uncle, my sister, my dad and I all spoke), which is more about her than about the advocacy, though I talk about how my mom always spoke the truth (adoption or otherwise). I cannot express how strongly I feel about the need for reform and justice for adoptees everywhere. My mom might still be here if it were not for the outdated and antiquated laws in NJ (please see her past post as to why the intermediary system doesn't work). But more on that later. For now, my mom:

Mom

I love this picture of my mom with my niece Emma, taken this summer in LBI the weekend after her diagnosois. My mom's t-shirt reads "Life is good."

In addition to thanking my mom for everything that my sister Kate just spoke of, and for thanking all of you for being here today, I would like to thank her for one more thing as well: her commitment to telling the truth, always.

One of those truths was how she really felt about cooking, exemplified by her “I Hate to Cook Cookbook,” given to her by her mother. That cookbook is still on my mom’s shelf, the “Chilly-night Chili” recipe marked with a bookmark and her unmistakable handwriting. I ate that chili many times, along with a few other trademark recipes that my mom had mastered. Still, I loved cooking with my mom when I was younger, even if it was a birthday cake made from the box. I especially remember baking carrot cake with cream cheese frosting with her many times when I was a little girl. And when my sister committed to eating healthier in high school, my mom subscribed to the magazine “Cooking Light” and prepared many of its complicated recipes for us. At the time, I didn’t think much of it. Yet over the last 8 months, as we were able to reflect with my mom about her life, my sister and I thanked her often for what a wonderful mom she had been to us. Once, we reminded her about how much we had both loved the tradition of bringing up the card table from the basement each year to roll out the homemade dough for Christmas cookies. It was a process that took hours. Without missing a beat my mom replied, “Yes, and now that you’re older and know better, you can see what a sacrifice of love that was!” We all burst out laughing. Yes, I can see.

Another, related truth my mom told, however, was that eating good food, especially with loved ones, is one of the great pleasures of life. “I love when you cook,” she would tell me or Kate or my dad, or perhaps Kate’s brother in law Rod, but most often my husband Anthony or Kate’s husband Ed, “so I’ll clean up after you cook. I’m happy to clean up so I don’t need to cook.” Then she would rave so much about the meal, with every bite, that any effort would be well worth it. We spent almost every one of her birthdays for the last 15 years like that, enjoying seafood feasts at the shore. 

Another truth my mom  passed on to all of us is that heated competition is one of life’s great activities, especially when you win, but even when you don’t. But especially when you win.  Now, my Uncle Ken does tell a story about how he stopped by one time when Kate and I were young and he was concerned because we were playing “The Whale Game,” a game with no winners or losers designed to foster cooperative play, a game apparently so boring that when I mentioned it to Kate she didn’t even remember playing (she did remember jumping on the Parcheesi board and smashing it when she was losing once, though -- an action that, despite my mom’s love of competition, was quickly addressed. She cared about sportsmanship). The whale game phase was a quick one though, and my mom soon moved on to coaching our softball teams to victory and teaching us the delights of Pictionary, Parcheesi, and Sorry. As Kate spoke about, my mom was competitive in the best way in her own life, too. When I was little our basement was lined with trophies from when my parents won the married couples tennis tournament at the Field Club. The few times they lost they did so in a tie breaker, and it was my dad’s fault, and I know this because my mom told my dad, often. Usually, she told my dad the next year, while they were playing, as in, “Ok, this year, don’t blow it.” 

My mom loved skiing, swimming, body surfing, sailing, and maybe even playing golf (though she claimed not to, we all knew when she had a great round). When she was little, she and her brother had such heated wrestling competitions, setting up in separate corners of the bed as though they were in a real ring,  that they often broke the bed, much to my grandmother’s chagrin.

And my mom passed this love of competition on to her grandchildren. She loved watching them play, and came to nearly every one of my daughter Grace’s travel soccer games this fall, and many of her travel basketball games this winter, despite how she was feeling. Just two months ago she was at a heated basketball game of Grace’s, as both of the teams were undefeated coming into it. The other team was extremely rough, and a little obnoxious, and the ref wasn’t calling anything. Finally, when the ref didn’t call perhaps the 5th time that a girl on the other team blatantly pushed down one of Grace’s teammates, my mom couldn’t hold it in any longer: “Come on ref!” she screamed, “Call the foul!” Later, we would laugh about this moment (Grace confirmed, "Nana, you were loud!”) but at the time she just couldn’t be silent. As I said, she loved to win, but she was ok if she lost -- the game just had to be fair.

Speaking of fairness, another truth my mom spoke was the truth about adoption. Even as she spoke of the deep love of her adoptive family, including her brother Doug, and her wonderful childhood, and the sweetness of her reunion with Carol and Jo, she was never quiet, and she never backed down, when faced with powerful interests who bent the truth. Her calm, clear voice was, and is, more powerful than those interests. Eventually, I know, it will prevail.

My mom spoke the truth about cancer, saying that it was not something she had needed to better appreciate her life -- she already appreciated her life -- and that it was difficult, and that it made her mad, as her body failed, and that it was tough, some days, to be hopeful ... But at the same time she squeezed out every bit of possible life since last July, body surfing with all of us that first weekend after the diagnosis, paddle boarding with her friends, walking, and then, as the treatment and the cancer took their toll, enjoying music, and movies, and learning how to draw - I love thinking of her sitting down with my daughter Genevieve to draw the  birds at the feeder out her living room window, and finally, in these last two months,  talking,  laughing, then only smiling. Honest and funny to the end, just last week as my Dad and sister and I helped her with one of the indignities that cancer brings upon you, and she said, “I’m so sorry,” to us, my sister answered, “Mom, you are NOT allowed to apologize. We are so happy just to be here with you.” Mom again didn’t miss a beat: “I highly doubt that,” she said, and again, we all laughed, even when it felt that laughter wasn’t possible. That’s what my mom did for us, and for so many who loved her.

My mom spoke the truth about love, telling me when I was younger that flowers and candles were nice but what was really nice was when you could marry your best friend, as she had. At the time, I thought that was so unromantic, but as I’ve grown older I’ve seen the beauty and romance of my parents' relationship, and marriage. My mom also told me that I wouldn’t understand how much she loved me until I had children of my own, and she was right. And when her mother, my Nana, died, she told me how much she would miss her. “Nobody loves you like your mom,” she said. That is so true. I know that I will miss that love the rest of my life.

Finally, there is one truth that I have learned that I would share with my mom if she were here today, and that I want to share with all of you. It involves a story that my mom and I have told and retold for years, laughing every time. We were at the beach one hot August day when I was about 7 years old, and the waves were huge. Though I was no stranger to the ocean, my mom wouldn’t let me in unless I held her hand. Sure enough, a huge wave broke not too far out and I braced myself for its impact, as did my mom. She must have been a bit in front of me because it knocked her down first, and under we went, still holding hands, not knowing which way was up and which way was down. Still, she never let go. Our hands clasped, we finally emerged from the wave, hair in our faces, sand in our suits, salt in our throats. Later, we would laugh and talk about here she was trying to protect me and she pulled me under, but now, thinking about that story, I see it its bare truth: nothing can break that bond of love. The ocean may send its fiercest wave, but love wins in the end. Love emerges. And though now I feel pulled down, and tossed around, and lost without her, I know that once the wave passes, what remains is love.

Pro-life Ideology and Adoptee Rights

There are some ideologies that simply can't be moved by any amount of data or research.  The pro-life position that an adult adoptee's access to her original birth certificate will somehow lead to more abortions seems to be just such an ideology.

Recently, in response to one of my posts, a commenter wrote this:

"The simple fact is birth mothers (and fathers when involved in this decision) have made a decision, a choice, to give up their child to the adoption process.  Mothers have a right to choose.  In fact, 100% of all birth mothers have the right to choose the amount of openness in the adoptive relationship, and she will select the family that is open to her request.  This has resulted in 67 percent of private adoptions having pre-adoption agreements of at least a semi-open adoption.  The 33% that don't have pre-adoption agreements are at the request of the birth mother.  Don't these mothers have a right to anonymity?  If you take that away, what will be the choice of these mothers?  We don't have to guess.  In states that took away the privacy rights of birth mothers, abortions rose."

Unfortunately, this opinion is rather widespread, even though the facts directly refute what this commenter is saying.  Rather than repeat all the statistics, as I and others in the adoption reform movement have done many times, I'll share the conclusions of several comprehensive studies and refer readers to the original source, when I can.

A 2010 study by the Evan B. Donaldson Institute concluded that there is "no discernible relationship between a state's policy on access to OBCs (original birth certificates) and its abortion rate."  The Institute paper noted that abortion rates in Kansas and Alaska, two states that never sealed birth certificates from adoptees, are lower than the national average.  The study likewise shows that those states that have reopened OBCs to adult adoptees have lower abortion rates post-access than pre-access.  When "open" states are compared to states that remain closed, abortion rates vary up and down, but there is no pattern and no statistically-significant trend.  The variations, the authors conclude, are most likely caused by social and cultural factors, as well as accessibility to abortion services.

While the data is limited about any link between a woman's decision to abort as opposed to her decision to place her child for adoption, a 2005 survey of 1,209 women and comprehensive interviews with 38 women about their reasons for choosing abortion failed to uncover one case in which the promise of confidential adoption was a factor (Finer, Frohwith, Dauphinee, Singh and Moore, 2005).

The link between adoption and abortion is further explored in a 2010 article by Jessica Arons entitled "The Adoption Option: Adoption Won't Reduce Abortion but It Will Expand Women's Choices."  Published by the Center for American Progress, Arons' study notes that both adoption and abortion rates have fallen in recent years, even as births to unwed mothers have risen.  After analyzing the current data, Arons concludes: "Abortion has not caused the low rates of adoption in recent years; rather the low placement rates are a direct result of more single women choosing to parent on their own."

During the last legislative cycle, Larry Newman of the New Jersey Coalition for Adoption Reform and Education (NJCARE) prepared a detailed analysis to refute New Jersey Right to Life's claim that adult adoptee access would lead women to choose the abortion option more often.  His study confirms the results of the Evan B. Donaldson Institute research.  Tennessee reinstated adult adoptee access in 1995, Delaware in 1999, and Oregon and Alabama in 2000.  None of these states has seen an increase in abortions post-access, and in fact, several have seen a significant decrease in abortion rates.

Newman also noted that in Oregon, more teenagers chose life over abortion in the years following the passage of OBC legislation than in the years preceding the bill's passage.  His conclusion overall is that adult adoptee access will neither reduce nor increase abortion rates: it will have no effect because similar bills have produced no statistically significant trends.

Unfortunately, we have found that all these statistics do little to assuage the fears of many, but not all, members of the pro-life community.  Catholic Child Welfare Supervisor James L. Gritter saw the light years ago.  In 1995, he wrote, "Closed records turn adoption's boldest and most honorable claim -- that it serves the best interests of children -- into a flagrant and vile lie.  Any system that denies people fundamental information about themselves cannot in good conscience claim to serve them."

The Rev. Thomas F. Brosman, an adoptee himself and a priest at Sacred Heart Roman Catholic Church in Bayside, NY, likewise speaks out for an adoptee's right to know his own truth and history.  Many opponents of adoption reform, he says, are driven by their ideology and  the understandable desire to settle for easy "either-or" answers in a complicated world.  Some pro-lifers do seem to see a complex issue this way:  in their minds, the solution to an unwanted pregnancy is either adoption or abortion.  Adoption is good; abortion is bad.  There is no need to investigate the subject any further to determine whether, in fact, adoption is always good, or whether, in fact, somebody's human rights are being violated.

Some pro-lifers fail to recognize that the child-to-be will in fact become a full-grown human being deserving of all the rights that other human beings enjoy.  She certainly does not deserve to be yoked to a lifetime restraining order preventing her from ever knowing the truth about her own personhood.  For example, as an adult adoptee and a former cancer patient, I was unable to participate in a medical protocol because I had no access to my original family history.  If that is not blatant discrimination, what in the world is?

As I try to explain to adoption reform opponents, I am a part of my original mother's private history, not a separate entity that exists outside of it.  Together, we co-own my birth information, and how we conduct our private business is up to us.  Some pro-lifers seem to jump to the conclusion that if the child knows the truth, everyone will know the truth, and the mother will be unfairly affected.  What do they think -- that I am going to run a newspaper ad or take out a billboard announcing to the world who my original parents are?

My private past is just that -- private, between my original mother and me.  No pro-life advocate, attorney or legislator has the right to interfere with that private relationship.  Like it or not, my original mother is part of me.  The truth is the truth, and genetic links cannot be severed and never addressed again, as if they had no importance.  Science tells us that genes do matter -- and no amount of rationalizing or wishful thinking can alter that basic fact.


Finer, L.B., Frohwith, L.H., Dauphinee, L.A., Singh, S. & Moore, A.M. (2005). Reasons U.S. women have abortions: Quantitative and qualitative perspectives. Perspectives on sexual and reproductive health, 37, 3, 110-118.


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