Heart, Mind and Seoul

On Again & Off Again.

"Mom, I have an unknown grandma, don't I?"

"Yes. . .you do."

"And an unknown grandpa, too?"

"Yes.  And maybe unknown uncles, aunts and cousins as well."

"Will I ever get to meet them?"

"I don't know, sweetie.  I honestly don't know."

This conversation I had with my nearly 8 year-old daughter earlier today came about after she remarked aloud how much she looked like both of her parents and how I didn't look at all like either of mine.  She of course knows that I am adopted and knows that I do not have any contact with or information about my Korean family.  It got me thinking back to January 2007, when I first made a decision to start my search.

I starting combing the internet for sites that sought to reunite Korean adoptees and their families.  If memory serves, I think I almost registered with one site in particular, but after scrolling down the hundreds and hundreds of baby referral pictures hoping to be recognized, I felt too overwhelmed, too discouraged that my picture would ever be noticed and just too filled with sorrow from reading the pleas of adult adoptees who were seeking leads that might result in any kind of personal information. 

I contacted the post-adoption branch of the agency that my parents used and got no where fast.  Options such as spending an undetermined amount of time in Korea in hopes to successfully connect with media outlets like KBS (a Korean TV station) to be on their show which spotlights adopted Korean who are searching was well, unfortunately, not an option at that time.  (According to G.O.A.'L, adoptees living outside Korea now may have the opportunity to use KBS to aid their family search efforts by participating live via webcam.)  I communicated with other Korean adoptees and was both flummoxed and appalled by their stories of their own respective adoptive agencies unwillingness to help.  If you don't feel that your adoption agency - the one and only place that holds any and all information pertaining to your history - isn't on your side, just exactly how is one to obtain any kind of information?  The proverbial needle in the haystack started to sound like good odds.  It began to feel more like finding a specific grain of sand along the Jersey Shore.  Could it be done?  Technically yes.  Would it ever actually happen in my lifetime?  Probably not.

I will be the first to admit that I have harbored many a different fantasy about my Korean parents and the circumstances in which I was relinquished.  I've had visions of reunion being marked with open, welcoming arms; where happy tears are shed uncontrollably and long embraces between us all never seem to end.  Images of immediate connections, obstacles of all sorts overcome with the greatest of ease and happily ever afters for everyone around.  Of course I know this to be purely fiction, but I will confess that my mind has indulged these very dreams.

And then I think of the other extreme, where the knowledge of my very existence brings forth nothing but heavy dosages of shame, anger and resentment upon my Korean family.  Where pride, status and even lives would literally be destroyed, all because of me.  After hearing a Korean first mother speak a few years ago at a seminar sponsored by the agency we used to adopt our son, I remember thinking "My God.  What if I actually found my parents and it caused so much disruption, so much grief and angst that my Korean mom ended up killing herself?"  As selfish as it is/was to think, I couldn't help but ask myself if that was something that I could live with for the rest of my life.  Was searching and ultimately finding my Korean parents too much of a risk for them?  Was it something that I could handle, regardless of the outcome?  I didn't know then and I still don't know now.

All this to say, I have not actively searched for my Korean family for quite some time.  I have dug deep within myself to find the answers as to why that is and well, the answers are complex.  My feelings toward resuming a search and the potential (however small) for reunion are fearful, reluctant, optimistic, painful, hopeful, scared, validating and more - so many, many more.

Some may argue that if I really felt strongly about it one way or the other, that I would have done something by now.  Others may sense cowardice.  And yet others may say I just enjoy a good drama every now and again.

All I know is that when it comes to the decision to search, I must be true to myself and honor what it is that I truly want to do.   Without that to guide me, any choice that I make with regards to searching isn't really worthy of being called a choice at all. 

Two Years Ago. . .

It was two years ago today that my husband and I boarded a plane and traveled to Seoul to meet our son.  Reflecting upon that trip on a personal level - my first time back since I left as an infant for the U.S. over 30 years ago - has surprised me in many ways.  Mostly about how much I miss Seoul and how eager I am to return. 

And just how incredibly powerful and utterly mystifying it was to be in a place where I felt both so eerily at home. . .and yet so hauntingly out of place.  Anyway - more about that later.

I thought it'd be fun to share a few favorite pictures of our trip and of the city.

My first time in a Korean restaurant - ever. In Korea.  How cool is that?  Notice the Pringles canister, the bag from Starbucks and the can of Coke.  That's my husband's meal.  :)

                                                                                          

Me pointing to the meal I had just eaten.  I know, it's kind of silly.  Okay. Way silly.

   

   

According to my file, I was found in a box on the steps of a police station.  I have no idea at which police station - and taking this arbitrary picture probably makes absolutely no sense to most people.  But to me, this picture represents at least a tangible visual of something that connects me to part of my past.  However seemingly random this picture of this particular police station may appear (as on a cognitive level, I know this is in all likelihood not the station where I was found), it is significant to me because it gives voice and validation to help me rightfully claim part of my beginnings.

They Say. . .

They say I was just a baby, what possibly could I know?

They say I was just a baby, what possibly could I feel?

They say I was just a baby, what possibly could I remember?

They say I was just a baby, how much would I really lose?

They say I was just a baby, and that I wouldn't really notice.

They say I was just a baby, and that I wouldn't really care.

They say I was just a baby, and that it wouldn't really matter.

They say I was just a baby, and that she could be replaced.

They say I was just a baby, and that I wouldn't crave her touch.

They say I was just a baby, and that I wouldn't miss her love.

They say I was just a baby, and that time will heal all wounds.

They say I was just a baby, and that I'd never know any different.

They say I was just a baby, and that life would go on as planned.

They say I was just a baby, and that the pain could be loved away.

They say I was just a baby, and that I'd never feel as if I'd ever lost her.

Dear Umma: 

Today, on the day of my birth, I celebrate and honor you, my mother; first, forever and always.  I promise to return to our country as soon as I can to try and find you.  Please do not listen to what they say, umma.  I love and miss you so very much. 

My Two Mothers

There is a woman I know of who is about my age - mid 30s - and is a mother to two young children, ages 9 months and 3 years.  This woman was recently diagnosed with terminal brain cancer and has been given approximately 6 months to live.  She says that her biggest fear is not of dying or death itself, but instead knowing that her oldest will have vague memories, at best, of their time together, and that her youngest will have no recollection of her whatsoever.  She is their mother and she does not want to be forgotten by her own children.

Our children are ages 2 1/2 and just days shy of 5 years old.  I know that if I were to die while they were still young that my husband, my parents, and the rest of our family would do their best to keep my memory alive for the sake of our children.  I am their mother.  And I, too, would not want to be forgotten by my own children.

I could never presume to speak for our son's mother in Korea.  But we do speak of her often, even though our son does not fully comprehend the content of our conversations about her.  For she, too, is his mother, and we do not want her ever to be forgotten.

This post is not meant as any personal attack or criticism on any one person or any particular group, but rather as an observation from lurking on various adoption forums, from reading assorted blogs, especially those of exiled mothers, and talking to people in general about adoption as well as talking with them about my own adoption experiences, including their thoughts and feelings about my mother in Korea.

And I have to say much of what I see, read and hear out there hurts.  It hurts beyond measure.  It hurts to see people treat first mothers as if they don't have the capacity to ache, love, mourn or experience various feelings the same way we do.  It hurts to see people reduce them to "BMs" (short for birth mothers, another term I take issue with).  It hurts to see people blame them, judge them or question their life altering decision - a decision that made it possible for they themselves to become a mother to their child.  It hurts to see such a lack of empathy and sympathy for the loss and pain they have incurred and continue to endure each passing day.  And it hurts most of all to see virtually no mention of them at all.  As if these children just miraculously appeared as "ours" now to claim as our own; and for us to take such liberties to pronounce ourselves as the "only" or the "real" or the "one true" mother.

It hurts because in my heart I believe that no mother wants to be forgotten.  For so long I've felt that society has disregarded my mother as "less than" or too unimportant to even be remembered because she did not raise me.   

But I say to them now, "If you cannot see my mother in me, then you are not truly seeing me." 

And perhaps that is how the voices of first mothers and adoptees alike have become diminished and virtually pushed out of the picture.  Because I believe it is the exception, not the rule, for people to see an adoptee in his or her whole totality, inclusive of their first parents.  Based on my own observations, most people do not see or acknowledge an adoptee's first parents in the adoptee.  I feel many do not want to see or acknowledge their parents in them.

Some say they "forget our son was adopted".   Now if I were to pass and my husband were to remarry, I sincerely doubt that people would accept it if his new wife were to say, "I always forget that K. and D. aren't my own.  I forget that Paula ever existed and gave birth to K. and that she and S. adopted D.  They belong to me now.  It was so hard to wait for them!  What sheer torture I went through to be able to finally call them my own!  In fact, I can barely remember a time when they weren't my own children and I wasn't their mother.  No need to harbor on the past and depress everyone talking about how they lost their mother.  After all, I'm the mother now - the only mother who matters anyway.  We'll just call her the BM from now on so no one gets confused that I'm their real mom.  What an insult to me, anyway for anyone to suggest that I'm NOT their real mother!  I mean, really.  How selfish of anyone to try and deny my rightful claim to be their mother?!"

I don't mean to alarm anyone by suggesting that I might die soon, or that I'm seemingly obsessed with death.  I use this analogy to illustrate the point that often the mothers and fathers of adopted persons are so easily forgotten.  So easily pushed aside to make room for the wants and needs of others.  So easily disregarded to serve the best interest of everyone else but the adopted person. 

Why does it not make others squeamish, uncomfortable and ill at ease for me to gush endlessly about my mother who raised me?  Most are only more than happy for me to proclaim my undying love for her, and love to hear my desire to know her better.  Most will listen to me with open ears and open hearts if I give incessant accolades of gratitude to her for being my mother and honor her the way a mother should be honored.  Many have even commended me for doing so in the past.  So why then are they so unaccepting of the same things to be said about my mother who actually gave me life?  The woman who actually made it possible for me to be with the mother who raised me?

I have two mothers.  Two mothers I love.  Two mothers of whom I am fiercely protective.  One I saw just earlier today, who I was able to hug and tell her in person that I love her.  The other I am hoping against hope to find and pray to meet again in this lifetime so that I may say the same to her.  Both of them are my mothers.  Both deserve to be remembered. 

If anyone is ever really able to see the real me, they must be able to acknowledge and honor how real both of them are to me. 

To each of my mothers: You will never be forgotten.    

Longing. Wanting. Craving.

Earlier this week I met with a group of women from our church for our weekly Lenten gathering.  One of the women brought her baby girl who is about 6 months old.  Baby S. was awake for a short while, ate a little bit and then spent most of the night sleeping in her mother's arms.  At one point during our meeting, I looked over at M. holding her baby and was mesmerized by how content and at peace baby S. seemed to be, secure in her mother's arms.  And surprisingly - catching me a bit off guard - my thoughts immediately went to my mother in Korea.  As I looked at baby S., I couldn't help but wonder: Did I ever have the chance to be cradled in my mother's arms the way baby S. was by her mother?  Was I ever rocked and held tightly against my mother's chest with the melody of her heartbeat soothing me to sleep?  Did I at one time have the chance to burrow my little face in the small of my mother's neck to nestle in while I soaked up her scent?  Did I ever get to feel her breath on my face as she held me, stroking my head, all the while watching the rise and fall of my body with each breath I took?

They say that no matter what our age, our inner child will never cease to exist.  The inner child in us who wants one thing, and one thing only - our mother's love.  Yes, I have a mom who has raised me and loves me unconditionally.  I do not dispute the power or influence of her love in my life.  I love her dearly and she knows this.  But her boundless love for me cannot fill the area of my heart, my body, and my spirit that knows only my Korean mother.  The part of me that wants her, craves her and yearns only for her in a way that a baby instinctively knows how to gravitate towards the woman that is her mother.

I find it disconcerting at best at how we as a society often grossly undervalue and underestimate the profound and enduring effects that can occur when a child is separated from her mother.  That primal instinct - that inherent desire to be nourished, held, touched and loved by the woman who carried her.  Whose voice she heard as she developed into a being herself.  Whose body she knew intimately and depended upon to sustain her existence.  A bond that I argue can never be replicated or replaced. 

I truly believe that over time, our bodies will reveal our truths.  Our mind may be gullible enough to fall prey into believing the disguises we cloak our realities in, but not our physical being.  There are times now that when I'm thinking of my mother in Korea, writing to her, praying for her or just daydreaming about her that my body will react like it never has before.  The intense craving - the insatiable desire I have to know her, to touch her, to be held by her and only her - is now so deeply embedded in my body that I can literally feel the sense of longing for her in my being.  My entire being.  Down to the deepest cavity in my stomach to the most obscure part of my mind.  And into the utmost depths of my heart. 

Always, always, in my heart.

Dear Umma

My Dearest Umma:

This is your daughter, Kim Ok Soon.  I am so sorry that this is my first letter to you.  Please forgive me.  How I wish I knew where you were so that I could send this to you and know that you would receive it.  I wish you could know that I am alive, healthy and am doing well.  I wish I could tell you how very much I love you, and how especially on days like today, how very much I miss you.

Dear umma, there are so many things that I want to share with you!  So many things in my life that I wish that you could know about me.  I think you would be proud of the person that I have become.  I know so much of who I am today is because of you.

You are now a halmoni!  My husband and I have two beautiful children.  I know you would love and adore them both.  They have the smiles and voices of angels and such gentle and loving hearts.  I often wonder if your granddaughter looks like you or has your hands or perhaps your smile.  Our son is from our birth country.  We adopted him when he was an infant, too, and he is beautiful, affectionate and the true light in our family.  My husband is man of great character and integrity.  He is kind, compassionate, incredibly supportive, an amazing father and he is my best friend.  I know that you would love him, too.  I pray that one day you will be able to meet them. 

I'm so sorry, umma.  So sorry that I didn't include you more in my life when I was growing up.  Please know that my parents have always spoken of you with the utmost honor and highest regard.  You are my mother, too, and they have always acknowledged that.  You, the woman who knew and loved me first, will always be my mother.  Please know my heart has and always will have a special place that only you can fill.  With as much love as I have in my life and in my heart today, the love and honor for you, my first mother, can never be replaced.  And the bond we have as mother and daughter will remain with both of us forever.   

Umma, I am trying to find you.  It is so hard because I am afraid that I might cause pain or inflict harm to you or your family if I am able to locate you, but I feel that I must at least try. I know virtually nothing about you umma, but feel as if you are my everything.  I would love nothing more than for us to be able to sit beside one another and hold your hands in mine  - to look into your eyes and tell you how much I've missed you and how I have loved you.  Always, always, umma, I have loved you.  And in my heart, always I have known that you have loved me, too.   

Umma, I have to be honest with myself and know there is a very real chance I won't be able to find you.  And I don't know if you would be able to find me.  And so if we are not able to meet again in this lifetime, I need you to know that I want so much for you to be happy.  It has been hard being away from you, but please know that I have never blamed you, nor ever questioned you for our separation.  I understand, umma.  Really I do.  Both my mind and my heart understand.  Please be kind to yourself and know that I have never been angry or upset at you for our parting so many years ago.  Yes, my heart has grieved and has been heavy, but only because I have not been able to be with you.  I miss you so much, umma.  I hope you know how much I really, really have missed you.

Be well, my dearest umma.  I hope and pray so very much to be able to find you soon.

Until we meet again.

Your loving daughter,

Kim Ok Soon

A Very, Very Good Day

Today I told my parents that I will be starting the search for my mother and father in Korea.  So many times I had rehearsed in my head what choice of words to use, exactly when to say it (I told them over lunch in a restaurant) and just how to say it.  I made sure to prepare myself for a number of different reactions. 

Deep down, I was 99.9% positive that my parents would be supportive.  I feel that I know them well enough to know that they would honor my desire to seek out my origins, my family, my history and the two people who even they refer to as my parents.  And yet, I couldn't help but feel scared.  I couldn't help but think that there might be the possibility that they would be threatened, scared, or worst of all, upset.  They've given me no reason to ever believe that any of those reactions would be amongst the prospects of responses, but the anxiousness and trepidation I felt about sharing this news with them could not be ignored. 

Personally, I think this fear of hurting my parents goes back to the message that has been entrenched in me by society and the general public that because I was adopted, I "owe" my parents my enduring and constant loyalty. To honor and obey them and to covet no other parents, even if they are my own. To sing their praises and silence any criticism because after all, THEY were the ones who saved ME.  And for that, I should be eternally grateful.  My parents never once uttered those words to me, but somehow that is how I internalized the act of adoption.   

And though cognitively I knew I had every right to declare my wish to find my parents in Korea, my heart was so afraid of hurting the two people whom I have loved the longest in my life. 

There were many tears shed, by all of us, as I told them about my desires to find my parents.  The looks on their faces told me that they understood.  The look of happiness at the possibility that I might one day know and find my parents, and the look of sadness that I had lost them to begin with.

My mom and dad both acknowledged that no matter how much they loved me, there was always going to be a void in my life from not knowing my parents or having them in my life.  That the loss of my country, my history, my origins, and my entire FAMILY couldn't help but leave a hole in my heart.  To hear my parents, in no uncertain terms, validate these feelings of loss and isolation and lonliness I had felt at various points throughout my life, despite all of the joy and love I am surrounded by in family and friends, was exactly what I wanted and needed to hear. Their validation, throughout my life, but especially today, has absolutely been the most valuable gift they have ever given me. 

My mom told me she could only imagine the longing I have to know where I came from and to know all the parts of my life that everyone else has and takes for granted.  I think as parents themselves, they unmistakenly understood why any child would want to know their mother and father.  Not in the least bit threatened or disheartened, they told me they hope and pray that I will be able to find them.

We talked about the search options, and how difficult, lengthy and costly the search could potentially be.  I have so little to go on.  Actually, I have less than that.  Even the note my parents in Korea left with me in the cardboard box is gone.  The date of my birth is an estimation, made by the doctor at the orphanage based upon the observation that my umbilical cord was still in tact.  I do not know if I was born in a hospital or a relative's home.  I've known all of this information since I can remember and I am thankful for my parents' 100%, unequivocal honesty regarding any and all information they had about me.  I cannot imagine hearing new, different or "corrected" information at this point in my life without it severely compromising my relationship with my parents. FOREVER. I just honestly cannot imagine, and yet I know it is still happening to adoptees even as I speak.

So today was a very, very good day regarding my adoption.  Actually, most days are good ones.  And some days are really, really hard.  Despite having incredible parents who go beyond just possessing good intentions and actually make an honorable attempt to walk the adoption talk, some days are just terribly unkind.  It's not anybody's fault. It's just the way adoption operates - - at least it is for this adoptee.

I know my search will not be easy.  I know the odds of finding my parents are not on my side.  I know I will have plenty of exceptionally difficult days to come as I search for my parents.  As I search for my history.  As I search for the answers.  And as I search for myself.

Today, I take comfort in knowing that I have the full and unconditional support of my husband and my parents as I begin my search for the answers to the questions that I have finally allowed myself to ask. 

Yes, today was a very, very good day. 

One Child: Four Parents

My parents are, for all intents and purposes, still fairly young.  Although retired, they keep themselves plenty busy with their respective and shared hobbies and a very busy social life.

My dad is very laid back, incredibly easy going and generous almost to a fault - both in time and talent.  My mother possesses a non-stop "Time to lean, time to clean!" mentality, is full-steam ahead even in her sleep, and does not take any crap from anyone. 

I love my parents very much.  We've had our share of struggles at times just like any other family, I suppose.  I consider myself close to each of them, but in different ways.  They are closing in on their 40th wedding anniversary and are very happy together.  They've raised three children (I have two younger brothers), and have 3 (with one on the way - no, it's not us) grandchildren.

Overall, they are a fairly typical, mainstream American couple of their generation.

And as much as I know about my adoptive parents, I can only wonder what my parents in Korea are like.  How old - or young - could they be?  Are they married?  Do they have any other children?  Is it possible that I have a sister?!   Do I have my mother's hands, her eyes?  Is it her button nose that I have?  Does she love to read like I do?  Did I inherit my father's predilection for spicy and salty foods and his fondness of useless trivia?  Do I have his sense of humor? 

So many questions I have about my mother and my father.  And the more I ask, the more I have. 

Somehow it's easier for me to visualize her than it is my father.  But to be honest, when I close my eyes, it's hard to imagine - - to really picture in my mind - - what either of them would look like.  That never really bothered me when I was younger.  Maybe because I never allowed myself to think that deeply about it.  Of course, I knew I had parents in Korea.  But beyond that, I didn't delve as deeply as I do now into wondering and dreaming what my parents are like.

Several of you know that I was found on the steps of a police station in Seoul when I was a few days old.  Wrapped in a blanket and placed in a cardboard box, there were no clues, no identifying information about my parents or about myself.  I know that the chances of locating my parents are almost non-existent.  But that does not mean that I will not try in earnest to find them. 

When we traveled to Seoul almost two years ago to receive our son, I couldn't help but study the faces all around me.  On the subways.  On the streets.  In each and every restaurant and store we visited.  Were my parents within my grasp?  Was a brother or sister drinking tea at the next table, or perhaps shopping for a birthday gift on the same floor of the department store I was in? 

As you can very well imagine, it's virtually impossible to find someone when you have absolutely no idea who are you looking for. And while I harbored no illusions of actually locating them, I still couldn't help but be drawn to the face of every Korean woman who was potentially old enough to be my mother.

Of course the query that dominates and supersedes all of my other inquiries is the looming question of if my parents are still alive.  I don't know if I'm ready to fully accept and deal with the knowledge that they are not.  In fact, I know quite certain that I'm not ready to entertain that scenario right now.  I'll allow myself to take this process one baby step at a time.  And in this very moment, I will operate off the supposition that they are alive.   It is after all, what I believe.  And it is, without a doubt, what my heart wants to be true more than anything in this world.

So here I am, a person with four parents, but two of whom I know nothing about.  Two people who I couldn't pick out in a crowd, but two people from whom I was created.  A woman I can't quite picture.  Yet she is my mother and I am her baby.  And now as a grown woman, it is her face that I wear.  A man who doesn't know me.  But I am his child, and he is my father.  And from the beginning and until the end, it is his blood that runs through me. 

One child. 

Four parents. 

I pray to know them all.