Invisible >adjective - unable to be seen, either by nature or because concealed. treated as if unable to be seen; ignored.

Ok, so just how do I know anything about the birthfamily perspective, and how it feels to be invisible in the adoption scenario? Well, hang with me here, I can explain.

Sometime back I shared that not only am I am adoptive mom, but I am also a birthfamily member. Several (yes several) of my middle brother’s kids were all placed in closed adoptions. Well, three were closed foster care adoptions, but the oldest, his first born, was adopted by the man who married his ex-girlfriend (the mother) when the baby was just about 6 mons age. That “baby” is now 18 years old. My niece is 18 years old, except that she does not even know who I am, or that I am her aunt. Ouch, I admit that hurts.

I remember back to when she was born, and it was the only time that I had with her, and was able to be her aunt. We knew before she was born that my brother would not be included in her life. Her mother’s family wanted it that way, and rightly so because he was young and irresponsible, and uninterested. But the rest of us? Well I never have figured out what was so awful about the rest of our family, that we could not even be allowed the luxury of a picture and some word that she was doing ok over the years, but we weren’t.

By some stroke of luck, and after some pleading on my part, they allowed me to drive my mother over to see her first grandchild, when she was just a few weeks old. We were allowed to hold her for a moment, take a few photos, and then make our pledge never to interfere again. And so on went this child’s life, without this aunt and grandmother after that day. I saw her once, when she was ten, leaving the local Walmart with her family. My husband and I just stood by and watched her laughing with her brothers until they buckled into their car and vanished from the lot. Gone again. There is nothing to really describe that feeling, even though I promised to in my post title. The closest I can come is to say that aside from all the feelings of grief, loss, and longing, add in the humiliation of being not worthy enough to be known. That it hurts, just grazes the surface.

Then today, I saw her! Well not actually her, but her picture. I heard that she might be working at a local eatery, so I drove by just to sort of see. I figured she is 18, an adult, so it might be ok, finally. I told the girl who waited on me that I was a “friend” of the family, wanting to say hello, asked if she was there. She let me know that my niece (although she did not know my connection) no longer worked there, but that she was a good friend of hers, and then she flipped out her cell phone and showed me a picture. Not only that but she showed me another of my niece’s pregnant belly! It seems she will be having her first baby in about a month! A great aunt, when I have not even been able to be an aunt yet! I was in a bit of a daze to say the least.

The worst thing about all of this, is that as of yet I am still invisible to her. As far as I know, she has never been told she was adopted, and never told of me or my family’s existence. I am not sure if I do finally encounter her myself, that I should share who I am. I should not be the one to break the news of her adoption to her, her parents should have. It is something she should know, in my opinion. How does not knowing what to do feel? Beyond awful, because for me it means even more waiting to become “visible.” Perhaps that is why I have always been so adamant about keeping the birthfamilies of my own children, important, involved, and visible. Those who choose not to be, are through their own choice, and not because I have relegated them there for an undetermined amount of eternity. And why do I preach so much about adoptive families just giving honest and compassionate consideration to birthfamily contact? Because I know how it feels to be invisible.

Hidden Birthfamily Loss


Photo: © 2007 Deb Donatti