Unpacking this emotional fuckery

So…something kind of…crazy happened the other day.

First of all, yes, I’m alive. I survived. The hard part isn’t over, not by a long shot…but one day at a time…right?

Secondly…holy shit. Like, actually, holy fucking shit.

On Monday, my sons birthday…I struggled. Of course. I sent the text, the “happy birthday, please give my own child a hug for me since I can’t” text, and that’s when…things got interesting.

Adoptive parents responded…in a really meaningful way. And here’s how that conversation went….

Me: Happy birthday to (birth son)!!! I hope he has a great day today. I can’t believe he’s 8 already! Please give him a hug for me. Love you all 💙💙

Adoptive parent: Hey! We did a little celebration for (birth son) this weekend with some of his cousins! Your presents were the star of the show. Each one was beautifully wrapped and so thoughtful. He loved it! He was so proud of your letter. We adore you so much and are so grateful for the family you gave us.

Me: That’s looks awesome! It looks like he had a great time. I’m so glad he enjoyed his box! Again, thank you for letting us be a part of his life in that way by letting us send him birthday gifts. I’m grateful that you are in our lives.

We continued to chat for a little bit longer, but the most meaningful part is in that one text. That one, simple little paragraph…with so much damn meaning.

He got my presents. Not only that, they were there. At his party. And you can see them in the pictures he sent me!!! You can see them. A big stack of my gifts, right there in the background. A piece of me, a part of us. Actually there for him. And the note I sent? He was PROUD of it???!

Guys…you probably don’t understand this. But holy shit.

I’ve never…I’ve never been a part of him before. I have never known if he’s ever gotten anything I’ve ever sent to him. I don’t know if he’s gotten a single gift or letter or anything.

But now I do. Now I know. I saw it. It was right there in the picture. And in another picture, my gifts were opened, unwrapped, next to him on the table.

On some level, I exist to this boy now. I have some answers I’ve never had before. And that scares the fucking shit out of me. I’m real to him now. I don’t know if I ever was before…but I was there. At his birthday. He thought about me, he cared, and I existed for him.

Do you know how….fucking terrifying that is? I don’t know how to put it into words more eloquently.

It made me feel everything. I’m grateful that I got to be a part of it, that they allow me to exist for him. It’s not enough, it never will be, but it’s still everything.
But it almost hurts more now. Now that I know that I exist in some way for him…it’s just so terrifying. It’s humbling and scary and…he’s my son. And I’m his only mom. And on some level, he does care.

“He was so proud of your letter”
He was proud of it. What does that mean? Proud that I exist? That I love him? That I cared and sent gifts? His whole family was there. Cousins…everything. And he opened my gifts in front of them, with them.
They didn’t hide them, or me. I existed.

I wonder if he picked apart my words like I do theirs, I know I choose them carefully. Honestly, I just hope he felt the love I have for him.
I hope I did enough.
I hope I’m enough.
He’ll never know how much I care. He’ll never know how much I love him. But at least I got to tell him, at least he got my gifts.

If I had any part in his birthday…in making him feel loved and celebrated…thats something I can feel good about.
Even if it makes me feel absolutely horrible and shitty inside.

I have so much more to say, and so much that I’m feeling. We spent 2 hours working through this in therapy last night, and it still wasn’t enough.

I feel like it’s impossible for anyone to understand the gravity of this, and what it means and feels like. I almost cried in therapy last night. Multiple times. I didn’t, but it was right there the whole time. At the end, I think she even said something like “good job almost feeling actual emotion tonight”. So…yeah.

So many questions now. Do I do more? Do I write more letters? Should I send things on days other than birthdays and Christmas so he doesn’t think I only think of think of him twice a year? Do I step back so I don’t get so fucking hurt? AHhHhHhH!!!

It’s big, and it means a lot, and it changes things. It changes everything. And I don’t know what to do with all of this.