An Adoptee Reflects on National Adoption Month

November is National Adoption Month, and although it’s almost over, it’s been a busy and emotional month for me covering adoption issues. As an adoptee, adoptive mother, and a person who knew her birth parent, I come with a unique and rounded perspective.

National Adoption Month was created to focus attention on adoption and the needs of young people in the foster care system awaiting homes. Adoptees are also using the month to raise awareness of the issues adoptees face themselves – the struggle of connecting, confusion about identify, hidden health issues, adults without citizenship, suicide ideation, or today, the joy of finding a new community. Adoptees are no longer alone.

I used this month to write an essay about my birth mother, examining the impact that having a child out of wedlock in the 1960s had on her, how it changed her entire life, how hard she worked to get me back into it, but how that in itself, retraumatized for her.

Additionally, to kick off the month, I was asked to write and read a poem to honor an adoptee murdered by his or her adoptive parents at a virtual vigil on October 30, Adoptee Remembrance Day. This was both an honor and a challenge because of the subject matter.

The latter part of the month brought a dinner date with my nephew who is also adopted. We had a conversation about dating, relationships, and love, and out of that came another poem sparked by two writing prompts he gave me.

Please click on the link https://open.substack.com/pub/janellstrube/p/an-adoptee-reflects-on-national-adoption?r=2hmh2m&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web to read my longer essay reflecting on birth mothers, adoptive people and their challenges, and to learn about Landon, the little boy who lost his life at the hands of his adoptive parents. Below are the two poems I wrote during National Adoption Month. I’d love to hear what you think.

For Landon, A Little Boy

Perhaps you would
    have grown up
                   to be a –

Truckdriver
  Country singer
      Michelin starred chef
          Drag queen
               War hero

You hadn’t done much yet
to love anything
but playing with monster
trucks, singing
and eating pickles

    Had you tried them fried or homemade?
Did you know a gherkin from a dill?

Did you ever know the touch
of a loving mother’s hand?

You were
                   only five

Your pain
                   Your abuse
                               Your bashed-in brain

fells me
                                  to the core

I see your photo
You look at the camera
out of sideways eyes
uncertain smile that says
    you are afraid
    you don’t trust

I cannot breathe
     Knowing you
                                  are not

Precious Landon, seedling
    hacked down
                   by hands
                   that should
                   have nurtured
                                  you

You will live
                   forever

Sheltered in our loving hearts  
                                                                                           
Janell Strube, 2023

Poet’s note: Landon Maloberti was tortured and beaten to death in July 2023. His adoptive parents are charged with his murder.

A Poem in a Poem For M.

We’d had an intense dinner, discussed
things aunts and nephews talk about,
things never ventured between moms and sons.
Adopted aunties and nephews are an island
               together.

I just want to get rid of the hate, you said.
You could not understand
how your ex-wife could just leave you
and go on with her life as though you
                              never existed.

Hate is a poison liquid, I said. You can’t
untangle it from love.
It will turn all your love bitter. But you
were at a loss.

Why don’t you write a poem to your hate?
I asked. My poems are too dark,
you said. Then give me some words, I said.
You gave me
               “to give up” and “to forget.”

Dear Nephew, I wish

Oblivion would steal
into your room, turn
the lights down low
close the drapes
against the dark
put on a gentle
lullaby, lift you
out of your crib
wrap you in
your fuzzy blue
blanket, ease into
the rocking chair
hold you against
her loving breast
and there
in her beating
heart against
your tiny body
you could
relinquish
the cry for the one
who first held you
in her belly wrapped
in her arms rocking
on a journey between
her hips one thousand
miles to America

And I wish

Oblivion’s sweet milk
would take away
the pain
of abandonment
and you would know
that the one
who gave you up
will never forget
                              you.

                                             Janell Strube 11/2023