CHAPTER 1

My Grief Story

I was born into grief in July of 1959 in Syracuse, New York. Mymother was unmarried and 18 years old when she gave birth to me.It was unheard of in 1959 for a woman to have a baby out of wedlockand keep it, so my mother gave me up for adoption. It would disgracethe entire family if she were to keep me and try to raise me as a singleparent. Two days later, my mother would drive to Rochester, New Yorkwith the social worker and place me in the Foster Care system.

I consider myself one of the lucky adoptees. After my birth, my mothernamed me Theresa Marie after Saint Theresa of Avila. I actually wasgiven a name which is more than what most other adoptees I've methave had. Before she placed me into the Foster Care system, she pinnedtwo medals to my tiny body. One was of Saint Theresa, and the otherwas the Divine Mother Mary which would be my protectors as I beganmy new adopted life. These medals along with a little yellow blanket wasall I took with me at 2 days old to a foster home that was as foreign tome as being on the planet earth. The abandonment, grief and loss of mymother began at 2 days old.

I lived in the foster home for a little more than 3 months. I have a letterwritten by the foster care mother who took care of me during that time.She included my habits, my schedule and some history on the way I wascared for. She noted that I wasn't called a name during that time andonly picked up and held at certain times of the day. A very strict schedulewas followed for food, baths and sleep with minimal intimacy. A childborn to its mother who stays with its mother never feels this separationfrom mother and the familiar, safe surroundings and familiar smellsand voices.

Never quite feeling these comforting and familiar surroundings createsan immediate crisis and trauma for the adopted child. I believe ouradoption system should be changed to give a birth mother and childa chance to be together for at least 8 weeks and then slowly integratethe adoptive parents into the child's life. This would give the biologicalmother time and opportunity to make an informed decision aboutrelinquishing her baby, a decision which would affect her and her childfor the rest of their lives. It would give the adopted baby time to havethe comfort and support of the familiar mother who carried the childfor 9 months. After 8 weeks, the baby would feel safe and supported,and the slow transition to the adoptive mother could be made in a lesstraumatizing way to the baby. The birth mother would have time toheal her body, emotions and mind as she relinquished her child withcertainty. In the animal world, we don't remove offspring from themother for 6 to 8 weeks or the offspring may die. This leads me to askthe question: Why do we do that to human babies?

I was adopted by a good German/Italian family on November 5th, 1959.Again, I was one of the lucky ones who had found a home with a motherand father. I was told early on at the age of 5 years old that I was, "pickedfrom all the other babies in the nursery" because I was a special child.When I was told that I was adopted at 5 years old, the only thing Iremember thinking is, I'm different somehow. I did look different thanthe rest of my family, so I believed I was a child who was special butdifferent. I began to see the differences more than the similarities as Itried to fit in and play the role of the chameleon adoptee who can fit intoany surrounding. However, by playing that role, it was the beginning oflosing myself and who I really was in the process at a time in a child'slife when it's so important to know the truth of who you are. As a child,I tried to please everyone around me; then in entering the adolescentyears, I started to rebel as a teenager.

There are two types of adoptees: the good adoptee and the bad adoptee.I was the rebel who was in search of myself at any cost and doing it myway. Therefore, I was the "bad" adoptee. I ran away from home, skippedschool on a regular basis and my friends became my family of choice.That is until I met the love of my life at 15. During this time, I wouldlearn that the only mother I had ever known had breast cancer. Thesetwo events would change my life forever.

This was the perfect combination of love and loss woven together. Thelove from my soon-to-be husband would support me through the loss ofthe mother I loved. I married Duane Peter Ruggles on July 31, 1977 oneweek after my 18th birthday. Duane was the first man I truly loved otherthan my adoptive father—and I needed him. I got pregnant with ourfirst child right away, and in April, 1978, our son Adam was born, just8 months before the death of my mother. I appreciated that my motherwas able to plan and attend my wedding and welcome the arrival of herfirst grandchild before she died. My mother battled breast cancer forabout 4 years and then lost the battle on December 10, 1978.

I was 19 when my mother died at a time in my life when I needed herthe most. I was just married with a new baby and had no idea how totake care of an infant, be a wife and grieve the loss of my mother allat the same time. I was the oldest child with an adopted brother whowas 7 years younger than me and 12 at the time of our mother's death.At 19 and a wife and new mother, I now had to step into the role ofsubstitute mother for my 12-year-old brother. Not only did I take onthe responsibility of my...