Recently, I had the honor of attending Hope’s Funeral.

Bonnie Vanessa Hope was my second name (after Baby Jane Doe). This name is significant as this was the name used for my formal adoption to my parents.

When I received the email and learned of a new abandoned baby and that they were dedicating the name Hope, I immediately felt compelled to attend and I flew in a week later. The Garden of Innocence is based in San Diego, CA and provides dignified burials for deceased abandoned babies. These babies who never received the choice of life are laid to rest with dignity and respect. The amazing individuals at the Garden of Innocence pick these babies up from the police and put them back in "god's hands" with careful attention to handmade caskets, formal funeral processions and giving the child a name, which is formally registered and labeled on their tombstone.

Before the Garden of Innocence was formed, abandoned children who died in San Diego County were cremated and scattered at sea or buried in unmarked graves at Mount Hope Cemetery.

As I was dealt the card of life, I felt it was most symbolic to pay it forward. With this said, I am reaching out to you as an ambassador for Hope.

These ceremonies cost approximately $450.00 USD. Any denomination would be greatly appreciated and heartfelt to the brilliant souls at GOI. A little from many can add up and go a long way. Cheques are preferred and can be made payable to "Garden of Innocence San Diego".

To learn more about GOI, please visit:
www.gardenofinnocence.com

I was at a business forum meeting today with a room full of strangers. At the table, we did an exercise of choosing questions from the bowl and then we had to answer them out loud to all the other attendees. I must admit, the first question I received was very easy. I should have known more was coming.

The second question was “What was the most fulfilling and best decision I have ever made?” I absorbed this question for a moment and asked myself; should I answer it professionally in this professional setting, or do I give myself license to open up the floodgates of my ever so honest and bold mouth?

I chose to answer this: “My most fulfilling decision I ever made was deciding to go public; open book; naked; honest to the public and to everyone about my story and my feelings.” I explained my story while the ladies at the table picked up their jaws. It’s not like I sensationalize it or want for this reaction, but people are generally taken back from my story and my honesty.

This decision is something I have very little regret for. Yes, it has unfortunately opened the floodgate for criticism and ignorant comments, and yes, this may have drastically reduced the changes of my biological parents coming forward; but...I will never regret this lesson I taught myself; the confidence that I instilled in myself on this public journey and teaching the world it is ok to be honest and tell people that you were adopted; abandoned; neglected; institutionalized; suffered as a child and young adult; and that deep down inside as much as we are ingrained to believe our adoptions were blessings, there is always a small part of us that simply says; it sucks. And by the way, that is ok too.

I had a dream the other night that I adopted a baby girl from China. It was a quick and dirty freebee with no year long process. I was in China supporting an institution and they felt I would be a good mom for this young child and simply handed me this child, I signed a few papers and was on my way home. What a dream that is!

As I came home, I was beaming, overfilling with excitement and enthusiasm to introduce this new addition to my boys! I arrive at the airport, my boys were somewhat confused, but then unconditionally elated. My boyfriend (mystery man) was not happy and wore a scowl that could kill. He questioned everything; money; paperwork; called this a life-long sentence. He showed jealousy and contempt for this bundle in my arms.

I have pondered this for the last few days, as my “adoption" clock is surging to the forefront. Intellectually, I know it is NOT the right timing as I still want my career and my boys are still too young. Emotionally, I feel like jumping in and fulfilling this life-long dream. However, the deciding factor (and perhaps 10 years down the road) is that I am NOT married. For an international adoption, you must be married to be approved.

I had a lovely lunch with a colleague yesterday and I discussed why I felt this rule was wrong. If they truly took each case by case, then they would approve me, they would know I was fit, educated and perfectly familiar with raising a traumatized child. In a society where the divorce rate is just over 50%, does it really matter anymore?  And when a traumatized child only has the capability to attach to just one parent? Does marriage really matter? And when one sole person can raise this child better than two ill-equipped, naive married folks? Does marriage really matter anymore? I do understand why this rule is in place, but again, if the powers that be truly took it case by case, then I would be on my way to China…

I’ve been out of blogging action as of late, so I apologize.

I took a well deserved vacation to the Dominican Republic, and yes, it was just a family vacation, no side projects – which I must admit felt a bit weird. I am always so used to doing something or assisting in some manner.

I am now trying to narrow down my next project – looking at some institutions in rural India. I’ll keep you posted as soon as I know more.

Something light and airy for my first post of 2009:

Last night as I tucked my 6 year old son into bed, he asked me about my story.

He started “So mom, where are you from again?”

Janet: “Well, I don’t really know where I am from, but I was abandoned in Prince Rupert.”

“Oh yes, that’s right, that word abandoned. Yes, you were abandoned.”

Janet: “That’s right, I was left on a back door way of the hospital.”

“Oooh that is not good.”

Janet: “I was not born in a hospital and I know nothing about my biological parents or when I was born. I know nothing.”

“You weren’t born in a hospital?!” He exclaims. “That is crazy!”

Janet: “Yes, that is right. In fact, I don’t know where or exactly when either.”

“Oooh that is not good. I think they didn’t want you so they abandoned you.”

Janet: “Yes, I suppose that could be the reason.”

“Yes, they wanted to have fun and so they couldn’t keep you.”

Janet: “Well, even if they wanted to have fun, they could have made a responsible choice and hired a babysitter.”

“Oh no mom, you are wrong...Prince Rupert does not have those babysitters.”

(My son Harrison in 2002).

Sometimes I think that I put too much power into the negative emotions of my story surrounding my birth date. However, once I think that, I realize that I am diminishing the truth and not validating my pain and feelings towards my abandonment and biological disconnection.

The word forgiveness comes to mind lately. Not forgiveness to my biological parents; I have already walked through that…but forgiveness to give myself permission to walk passed this pain, and thus walking by my story and shelving it. I suppose I feel if I did that completely then I would feel guilty for turning my back or worrying that I was simply avoiding it.

So I wonder to myself; is there a balance? And will there ever be a balance on my birth date? By the end of this day, the emotions are running high. I am tired, I am weakened by each passing hour and truth be told, tired from avoiding anything emotional. It was easy to avoid. Nobody here knew it was my birth date, except some weird front desk guy at the hotel as they take a copy of your passport when you check in. I avoided this morning by sleeping in, eating breakfast late with an empty restaurant, and wrestling with my computer / Tunisian internet issues for 3 hours. I avoided by  lying on the beach with a book which I wasn’t particularly reading and easily distracted by the people nearby. I avoided by watching CNN over and over, jumping rope in my room (to substitute for jogging) and then going to dinner; walking through the new Medina and coming back at 10pm.

I believe in giving myself permission to grieve and surrender to these hollow depths of this day, but this year it feels different. I am in a transition of realizing that I should celebrate my birthday, but I am incredibly frightful and feel awkward at the true notion of doing it.
 
As I sat by the beach this afternoon, I wrote some notes to analyze my decision to be alone on this birth date (yes, what can I say - doing some self therapy), and I wrote; why celebrate my life? I could not fill it in. I could not think of one reason. So if I can’t learn from myself, then how about others?

And so I wrote; why do others celebrate? I listed four reasons why. Then I wrote, my goals for the day, which were very limited, including simply getting up and dressed.

What aspirations I foresaw for this day! Not exactly pushing the limits now, is it?

It’s apparent I need to study birthdays for dummies, but I also need much more before I take that leap. I need to decide once and for all if I can forgive myself and not feel guilty to celebrate the worst anniversary of my life. I'm also not looking for a pity party here, but just wanted to share my emotions and intimacy of this day.

It’s now the last few minutes of the 13th I am now sitting along in my room and listening to Enya, A day without Rain. Hmm, how fitting.