Listening to conversation between Rosie O'Donnell and Molly Shannon on XMRadio today. Each of these women lost her mother at an early age—Molly at 4 and Rosie at 10. Rosie said her friends have said to her that it is the defining incident in her life. No matter what success she achieves, no matter how happy her life is, she still and always comes back to "My mother died when I was 10. I lost my mother. I was a motherless child."
My life experiences stretch far and wide. Marriages, jobs, talent. Experiences.
But the central theme, in my mind, is Adoption. It seems every thought goes back to being adopted, to being abandoned and—in my mind—tentatively retrieved. Every word is weighed to ensure it will not cause someone to abandon me again. It's a sickness.
I will say that having a wonderful man in my life—a man who loves me and cares tenderly for me through any apparent craziness—is the best medicine for my adoption sickness. With each day that passes in this affirming relationship, I feel more settled and less abandoned.
Maybe definitions can change.
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