Blackpool Rock

Lotty asks 'how excited are you to be a grandad between 0 and 100? 0 is not bothered and 100 is total loss of control with excitement.'

I pause, this could be a potential trick, there may be a right answer.

'67?'

She comes straight back, 'Ok, I'm 92 at being an aunty'

We are all anticipating the imminent addition to the family, little girls chattering with excitement at being aunties, giddy about what they're going go do and the plans they have. Generally fizzing.  Conversations turn to birth, how long, when will it start and what will happen.

I tell the story of my brother's birth, then of mine and we talk about the friend who gave birth in a police van we go on and on. All the stories are lapped up.

But then the conversation stops. The stories I want to tell aren't there, their stories. I can't tell if they are thinking the same.

I know dates, weights and locations. No more. I can't join those dots to make a story though. I've some photos for some of these little aunties to be, but not much. I feel robbed of the story of their arrival into this world, the drama, the excitement.
I look at the Giddy Aunts and feel a deep sadness for the lost days. I didn't make a panic dash to hospital, or get a call to come now.  That I didn't walk nervously our of hospital with them, hold them close in the first hours of life, nervously worrying about what lay ahead. Those joys and fears belong to strangers, they're all lost to us, they're lost to them. We've no stories to share and their absence is louder than ever today. I'm not sure they see the gap, not today anyway.

A missing story seems sadder than a sad story.

Like words in Blackpool rock there sometimes seems to be sadness running through our lives that cannot be extracted.

National Adoption Week - Bunkers and Bunting

Well, it came round again National Adoption Week(NAW) - #supportadoption 

Scrolling my timelines and feeds my fingers sometimes speed up when I see NAW hashtags and posts, sometimes my finger slows. It depends on the day, time and circumstance.

I have to say it's a funny old week, I usually get my blood up and have a profound thought, or witty blog to roll out. Not this week. I've been busy so felt in some ways it's just happened. In my early years as an adopter I was the first to put up the bunting*. In the dark years I've retreated to my thought bunker and listened to the distant sound of happiness while gnashing my teeth. 

This year I had planned do something interesting, get three or four guest posts from adult adoptees. I tried but other than one smashing post I had no takers, I didn't want to labour the point so I didn't push too hard. Perhaps I didn't get the message out, perhaps my motives were doubted,  perhaps the Flip the Script movement hasn't got the traction in the UK that it has elsewhere. Perhaps this or perhaps that. 

National Adoption Week is what it is. 

'Marketing, recruitment, reinforcing popular misconceptions!' I hear you cry. Yes, I suppose that is something you could shout at politicians and professionals. 

But I hear others 'Joy, family, love!',  to not listen to those voices feels disingenuous.

I'm feeling pragmatic this year, I can hold both of those in tension. 

So this week I stayed in my bunker and came out when I felt safe to get snacks and have a little look at the bunting. Some people were enjoying themselves and I joined in for a bit, had a little moan,  then went back to my bunker. 

My finger scrolls fast my finger scrolls slow.

 

 *In 2000 I went to an event where David Bellamy planted a tree.