As I glanced at my Romanian pendant,
The light had caught it,
Making it appear to look like
A bee stuck inside amber.
Now I realize,
Is a bee sting.
Hurting my soul
Is the constant reminder
Of what I will always miss,
And never be able to name.
I was at my sister’s house, but she isn’t really my sister. She is the second daughter of the man who adopted me and she is from his first marriage. I was adopted by him and his second wife, so we are not related in any way except through the legal system. I was in her house, and I have not been there for years because we have not spoken in years. None the less, I was walking through the entryway and went directly to the back porch, which I would have done normally. Once I got back there, I noticed several changes, such as a roof on the patio that had not been there before. It was almost closed up, and I didn’t like the claustrophobic feeling. Then I noticed that people from my past were there such as my ex husband and a friend from my high school. In real life, none of these people had met any of the others. I left the patio and came inside the house, and went directly into the garage but my ex familiars had followed me in there too. I left the garage and was heading into the spare bedroom in order to be alone when I encountered my Russian brother. He was adopted a couple years after I was and by the same couple. Since I am from Romania and was very young when I came to the US, and my brother was much older, we didn’t get to know each other very well. He is 6 years older than me and only lived in the same house as me for 3 years before he turned 18 and moved out on his own. He stopped me in the hall and berated me about my legal name change. I had taken my Romanian name back and he didn’t like it. He kept telling me that my Romanian name is not my name! He said that the name the people who adopted us had changed my name to was my real name. He stated that he would only call me by what he knew me to be, and refused to acknowledge my coming home to self. I started to scream at him for not accepting me, and then I woke up from my dream.
I had this dream on Mother’s Day (in the United States). I was trying to write a list about the qualities that make up the perfect mother. In real life, I have two mothers or even much more than two because I have had several parental figures in my life. I have the woman who adopted me, who is not my mother, who I refuse to call my mother, and who the law states is in fact my only mother. Adoption is a strange thing. I had a mother before the woman who adopted me became “mom;” I was swiftly taken away from my mother at four years old and she was given the future title of being my “birth mother, biological mother, natural mother” or any other term society wants to throw onto her. I refuse to do that to her. She was and always will be my mother to me regardless of what names society calls her. It’s quite confusing to know and have memories of my mother and being forced to call the new woman who started raising me “mom.” I always wondered why I had to lose my mother and why I could no longer see her. So, I wrote my list, or attempted to write my list of what makes the perfect mother, but all the details I wrote down didn’t make any sense. There were so many details missing that I could not, by any means, finish the compare and contrast list of the qualities needed to be a “good” mother.
Personal photograph of my Romanian coin necklace
I have a special necklace that I wear. It is a replica of a Romanian 1924 “penny.” I have a friend in New Jersey who has the same replica. We are both adopted from Romania, and this pendant is very special to both of us. Hers was a gift from her adoptive father, while I found mine online and purchased it. In my dream however, I had lost this necklace. I never take the necklace off and I wear it all of the time, but it had fallen from my neck and I couldn’t find it. I couldn’t find it anywhere. Romania was lost.