Reflections - Chpater 2

Hearing that door close and lock behind me was, one of only 2 times in my life where I have been truly terrified. The other being in the delivery room for the birth of my first child. I knew the minute that I heard the lock turn over in the tumbler that my live was never going to be the same. I had "run away from home" several times in the 6 years since I had been adopted but I had always known that I had the opportunity to come home, and I would be welcomed with open arms. Now that was no longer an option and I just stood there for what felt like an eternity wondering exactly what I was going to do and where I was going to go. I guess here would be a good opportunity to discuss with you at least a part of my childhood. And with that I mean my adoption and the situation surrounding it.

I had spent the better part of my earlier life from birth till July 12th, 1989 when I went to live with my "new family" either in one foster home or another, or with my mom and her new husband (not my father) who was an abusive narcissistic, deadbeat who could not hold a job to save his own life. The sad part is as much as I hate to admit it even with his failings, he was marginally better than my birth father, the only real difference between the two though was, my birth father abused bot my mom as well as me and my younger brother, my stepfather only really abused me.

Now I am one of the more fortunate children, (it’s weird to say that even after everything my parents did to me and being separated for almost 20 years from my younger brother, coupled with the abuse and trauma I had suffered pretty much from the day I was born thill the day I was adopted, that I was fortunate, but there are a lot of children in Canada that have had it much worse... Residential School System I'm looking at you!!) But to be honest I was. On July 12th, 1989, I was picked up from the foster home I was in and taken to begin my new life with my new family, that just happened to be my mother’s Aunt and Uncle. I now had something I had been dreaming of since the day my brother and I had been separated. I had 2 older brothers and I had 2 loving parents that cared for me, and they chose me, I was not being forced on them, they were not being paid to care for me, they wanted me for me. I was too young to understand exactly what that meant at the time but in retrospect and After having a family of my own, Blood does not always mean they are the best family for you, sometimes the best family is the family you choose.

Nevertheless, the position I was at now I felt a twinge of hopelessness, a dash of loneliness, a pinch of confusion and a whole, ton of rage. I mean hopelessness and loneliness I was honestly used to my entire life it had been pretty much my default setting, but the rage I was feeling was not just directed at them the only thought running through my head was that I had been conned. "how dare they throw me out, they promised me that they would love me forever and would never abandon me like everyone else in my life had, how could I have been so stupid, I should have known it was all just bullshit and that they only wanted me when it was convenient for them."

So after only 6 years of knowing what it was like to feel loved and respected, I was once again on my own, but this time even though I didn't know it at the time I was armed with one of the greatest gifts they could have ever given me, a moral compass. I just started walking I had no idea where I was going, I really didn't even have a direction in mind, I just walked, I was half in a daze when my youth pastor had pulled up beside me and asked me to get in his car, my mom had called him, and he was going to take me somewhere that could help. He drove me to a local youth shelter and helped me explain to them the situation I was in and get be booked in. I was in a daze and I remember to this day the whole thing kind of feeling like a dream. It was so surreal; it was almost like there was a fog over everything and I was watching it from afar almost like it was happening on a screen and I was the viewer watching from the comfort of my couch. It had been many years but that night I cried myself to sleep like I had so many times as a child. even though I was much older and more intelligent, I still felt like the 5-year-old child that had just been taken from his family and was sleeping in a new house full of strange people he did not know.

I found out at a very young age that I was resilient and would probably be able to make it through anything. My initial due date Was November 17th, 1979, I was born on September 3rd, 1979, (Labor Day that year. go figure) which put me at almost 2 months premature, I was born with an issue where my lungs were not as developed as they needed to be for that time so I was put into an incubator and rushed to sick kids’ hospital in Toronto where I would spend the next almost 9 months in the NICU. My first night home, I stopped breathing and had to be rushed into the hospital, where once again I was admitted and spent the better part of the next year in an oxygen tent, my parents were wondering if I was ever going to be able to come home. Not like it mattered, I don't remember any of this time, but I know from my own experiences later that I do remember that I was safer in the hospital than I was at home with my parents.

Both of my birth parents were real pieces of work, my mother was a 16-year-old drug addict, my father was 26 and her dealer. He was also an alcoholic and connected in different ways to various biker organizations that supplied him his drugs.

I do not exactly know how old I was when I was finally able to come home from the hospital, but what I know from talking to various family members is I was not expected to live and by this point my mom was also pregnant with my little brother. Now unfortunately for him he had many of the same complications at both that I did, and he spent a large amount of time in and out of the hospital as a baby as well.

The first memory that I can consciously recall I all of us in our little shack on Dundas Street in Barrie, (The city where I was born). This shack was literally a garage that someone had renovated and rented out. It was decrepit and falling apart, it may at one point have been a nice place but by the time I lived there It probably should have been torn down. At the time of writing this I am happy to say that it is no longer standing and will never again be the place that nightmares are born. I could not have been more than 3 and a half or 4 years old; I know this because my little brother was still in a crib and very young. We had just had a relatively uneventful family evening I had been sitting at the kitchen/dining room table playing cards (or more watching my parents play cards) My dad had been drinking although he always drank, and my mom told me it was time to go and get ready for bed. I did as I was told and went to my brothers and my shared room and got my pajamas to get my mom to help me get dressed for bed as I walked back out of the room with my bedtime wear in hand, I was horrified to see my mother’s head shoved right through the drywall partition between our dining nook and the kitchen and she was screaming.

Now pretty much anyone that I consider a friend knows this story as it is quite possibly one of the defining moments of my life which is why I had to put this in here as we move along the journey of me.