I knew when I was making a list of 80 memories from the past, that raising children would go on the list. I didn’t know if it would be a category in itself, or have eight subcategories, one for every person in the family. Then my typing fingers got frozen, thinking about what I would say about each of them. My experiences would mean that there is a book to be written about each. Eight of them. Let’s say on the average they are 50 years old. That would be four hundred years of collective experience.
I am working on narrowing those experiences to three or four paragraphs. Frozen, indeed. I remember once that a person who had gone to see a psychologist was tasked with the job of telling what they had learned from each of their children. Now that is something that slides easily off of my fingers. And just one idea might fit in a blog post.
I will start with Kelvin, now listing my kids in no specific order.
What I learned from Kelvin is how fiercely my love a mother can love an adopted child. I had no idea of that depth until he and I had been in a relationship for some time.
I have strong memories of my other children from the minute they were born. And the same is true of Kelvin. I can still describe the drive from Grande Prairie down to Calgary to get him, though I had travelled that road many times before. I can picture the room where I waited for the social worker to bring Kelvin to me.
I can hear her say to me, “Will he do?”
I can still feel her put him in my arms. I can bring up the smell of his clothing, the look of that black swath of hair on his head, his little cheeks drawing on the pacifier, out and in, out and in, and I can feel him nestled on my lap all of the way back to Grande Prairie again.
What I learned from Kelvin in a very few hours is how fierce a mother’s love can be for an adopted child.
Arta
I am working on narrowing those experiences to three or four paragraphs. Frozen, indeed. I remember once that a person who had gone to see a psychologist was tasked with the job of telling what they had learned from each of their children. Now that is something that slides easily off of my fingers. And just one idea might fit in a blog post.
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| Selfie: Kelvin Johnson Freely shared when his siblings asked to see the stitches on his forehead from a fall this winter. |
What I learned from Kelvin is how fiercely my love a mother can love an adopted child. I had no idea of that depth until he and I had been in a relationship for some time.
I have strong memories of my other children from the minute they were born. And the same is true of Kelvin. I can still describe the drive from Grande Prairie down to Calgary to get him, though I had travelled that road many times before. I can picture the room where I waited for the social worker to bring Kelvin to me.
I can hear her say to me, “Will he do?”
I can still feel her put him in my arms. I can bring up the smell of his clothing, the look of that black swath of hair on his head, his little cheeks drawing on the pacifier, out and in, out and in, and I can feel him nestled on my lap all of the way back to Grande Prairie again.
What I learned from Kelvin in a very few hours is how fierce a mother’s love can be for an adopted child.
Arta
agreed. fierce love. and laughter (anyone else remember the classic Kelvin line, "I think not. Therefore, I am not!" :-)
ReplyDeleteWhat I learned from Kelvin as an adult is how fun it is to go out to a blues or jazz bar with him. Also, how a raised eyebrow at just the right moment can be more hilarious than any spoken joke.
ReplyDeleteNo one does a raised eyebrow quite as perfectly as Kelvin.
DeleteI am storing Kelvin's collection of Jazz CD's right now. I am storing them close to my CD player and putting them into use. What I am curious about is how his taste is exactly my taste in blues and jazz. How did that happen?
ReplyDeleteAll three of us have passed The History of Jazz class in the music department. But that wouldn't account for having the same taste. Oh boy! Looking back. A lot of fun! Ta da, ta de, ta dum.
A random memory that popped into my head -- me reading Kelvin's books. He introduced me to Stephen King. I think a few times I bought him books for Christmas knowing that I would get to read them too. I think I even sometimes read my gift to him before he even had the chance. Terrible sister.
ReplyDelete