There are not many memories I can recall of my childhood, and of the memories I recall, one stands alone as being the most profound.
I was nearly five years old when my mother became pregnant, she told me I was going to be a sister. With three brothers the idea of a sister was exciting enough to fantasize about. The next memory of my mother's pregnancy was the night my brothers and I were in the living room and my parents were arguing in the back bedroom. The anger was frightening and we children would look at each other with questioning eyes.
My mother was screaming as she ran down the hallway, I watched my father chase her with a knife. He was yelling, "get the hell out!" She frantically opened the front door, I watched as she stumbled …show more content…
For the next twenty-two years, I would think often of the sister that died.
At age twenty-seven I became employed by the County of Santa Barbara and assigned to the Adoption Agency as the administrative support for six social workers. After a few months on the job, I was alphabetically filing a case folder that had the first three letters of my own last name. There was no way to not notice a few files back my last name spelled out in black bold lettering.
My heart was racing when I pulled the file out and as I read the notes it became clear my baby sister was born alive and healthy. The report read that and hour after her birth my sister was handed over to a social worker who took her away as was planned she would be put up for adoption. Just as disturbing as learning my sister was adopted by a Jewish family from Michigan was that my mother also had put my brothers and me into foster homes. The report stated that she returned to the adoption agency a week later stating she had changed her mind and wanted us back. I have no memory of being in a foster home or ever being separated from my brothers. I was disgusted by the knowledge yet knowing how dysfunctional my life had been the facts perfectly
I was nearly five years old when my mother became pregnant, she told me I was going to be a sister. With three brothers the idea of a sister was exciting enough to fantasize about. The next memory of my mother's pregnancy was the night my brothers and I were in the living room and my parents were arguing in the back bedroom. The anger was frightening and we children would look at each other with questioning eyes.
My mother was screaming as she ran down the hallway, I watched my father chase her with a knife. He was yelling, "get the hell out!" She frantically opened the front door, I watched as she stumbled …show more content…
For the next twenty-two years, I would think often of the sister that died.
At age twenty-seven I became employed by the County of Santa Barbara and assigned to the Adoption Agency as the administrative support for six social workers. After a few months on the job, I was alphabetically filing a case folder that had the first three letters of my own last name. There was no way to not notice a few files back my last name spelled out in black bold lettering.
My heart was racing when I pulled the file out and as I read the notes it became clear my baby sister was born alive and healthy. The report read that and hour after her birth my sister was handed over to a social worker who took her away as was planned she would be put up for adoption. Just as disturbing as learning my sister was adopted by a Jewish family from Michigan was that my mother also had put my brothers and me into foster homes. The report stated that she returned to the adoption agency a week later stating she had changed her mind and wanted us back. I have no memory of being in a foster home or ever being separated from my brothers. I was disgusted by the knowledge yet knowing how dysfunctional my life had been the facts perfectly