Not knowing my grandmother’s name, I addressed a letter to her as my mother’s mother. If my divination readings are accurate, my grandmother is the only other person besides my mother who knows of my existence. She purportedly contacted the adoption agency, asking about me. However, she was turned away and apparently told it’s better no one contacts me. Better for whom?
A Letter as a Last Resort
I would not have had to write to my grandmother had my mother responded to my letters. Regardless, my grandmother is most likely at an advanced age, where the possibility of connecting with her is growing dimmer each year.
I was very close to my adoptive maternal grandmother, much to the dismay of my adoptive mother. Their relationship wasn’t particularly close and I believe there has been an underlying resentment towards me due to the relationship with my grandmother.
If biological and adoptive families have bonded karma, it would make sense that my Korean grandmother wanted to contact me. While I am unsure if she ever met me, there is still a connection. While my mother may not want contact with me, there is a chance my grandmother does. Even with the smallest of chances, there remains hope.
Acrimony, Thy Name is Ms. Jang
The non-existent relationship with my mother has been surprisingly acrimonious. How one can have this type of relationship with someone they can’t remember is perplexing, yet here I am. Her steadfast refusal to acknowledge me has left me undeterred.
She may hope I eventually give up but fails to realize her lack of acknowledgment only strengthens my resolve. I have not set out to dismantle the image that she’s created of herself or her family. But I am also not the keeper of her secrets.
You Choose Your Choice
We all make choices. Her choice to keep my existence a secret from her husband, from her children, is hers alone. Since she is not an adoptee, she cannot truly understand what it’s like. It isn’t asking a lot for respect, although in this instance it almost seems like it is asking too much.
Putting her on some sort of pedestal made the reality of our non-existent relationship more difficult than it had to be. While she is neither the heroine nor the villain in my story, she is who she is. And she is still my mother. Maybe if I say it enough times, I will start believing it, too.