DON’T GIVE IN TO fear

I’m saddened every day by the number of people who feel they are alone. When depression strikes where do you turn? The sad part is most of us turn inward and that’s the dangerous part. If you’re not expressing your feelings then too quickly they become dark and if we can’t stop the flow of negativity it will build until it’s overwhelming. Depression isn’t a problem for most people and how stunned are we to learn that people die every day from it? Gia Allemand from the Bachelor took her own life. She was beautiful, fun, shy with a perfect smile, her smile hid her distress. And how good are we at hiding our distress? Some of us are very good.

I’ve told this story to my children but it serves to remind me of what fear can do if we let it: When I was in high school my friends and I foolishly played with the Ouija board. We thought it was a game but eventually it was freaking us out. Now I’m not going to say that we were talking to a spirit or some wandering entity but we were talking to something and it scared the crap out of me. One night I was asleep in my bed and I woke to find a black darkness spreading across my bedroom, I turned on the light but the light did no good, the darkness kept coming. I remember I woke screaming in the hallway with my Dad shaking me awake. I had awakened the whole house- my sister said it sounded like I was getting murdered. I’m sure she still remembers that night!

My mother knows me very well (no matter how well I think she doesn’t) she asked me what was wrong and it all came out. Talking it out in the bright light of my bedroom it sounded silly to me but my fear was very real. I’m not sure exactly what she said but the gist of it was, there is only one force on earth that feeds on fear and emotions like it (depression, anger and negativity) and that’s the Devil. He’ll use any weapon he can to turn you away from light. Don’t give in to fear, face them.

That lesson back then is the reason I remain resolute in my decision to fight my fears. Listening to that negative voice in your head telling you that no one will understand, no one will listen to you, no one will be there, no one can ever understand what you’re going through- you’re listening to the Devil and as long as he has your ear the Lord does not.

Families were put on this earth for one thing to support each other and when family isn’t there you have another one. Every parent out there knows that children are only home for a short period of time and then they face the world and unfortunately they don’t face the world with you beside them, they go out on their own so they must be prepared by giving them the absolute best chance for survival. Arm them with everything you can so they are strong against the world because we all know the world can be an Ugly place.  Look at what happened at the Navy Yard and murders and abductions that happen every day.  The Church is your other family. Any church in any city will listen if a stranger walks in and needs to pray. That’s what they are there for, for you in your time of need!

You are Not alone! Don’t give in to fear and doubt! You have angels all around you so stop listening to that voice. I’m here and I- will- listen!

What the past will reveal

My family history has always been a mystery to me. When asked about my medical history I can say ‘I don’t know, I’m adopted’ generally about twice a year. I’ve never known but now I do.  I have gotten more information on my lineage in the past few weeks than I could ever have imagined. My sisters have been supplying the information.

They have been shining a light on our mother’s history and leading me on a path back through time. Knowing who my family is has always been important to me but only recently has the past come to light. I found my family August 22^nd and I have a family tree that goes back hundreds of years. My poster board and markers haven’t even begun to crack the wealth of information my extended family can provide me on who I am.

Some people don’t need a family tree to tell them who they are. Some will never know it and until recently I was one of those people and I can tell you that it didn’t affect me much. I was confident I would never know and that part of my life would go unanswered. How wrong was I? I am working on my family tree but the Indians will know more. My sisters have informed me that the Quapaw have kept a very good genealogy record that one day soon I hope to be added to. I am related to the Quapaw by blood. My mother was half Indian and depending on who my father was will determine how much Indian blood I have.

I have sent away for my original birth certificate. Soon I will the last piece of information needed to become a member of the tribe and my children will be given the same opportunity.  You need two things to obtain membership: an original birth certificate and be able to trace your lineage by name to a full standing member. Meaning you have to be related by blood to someone who has a roll number. My mother has a roll number as did my grandmother.

My sisters do too and I love the tidbits of Indian everyday life I glean from our conversations. My sister Season tells me she is busy making moccasins and purses and was pleased to know that I loved fry bread (my Mom made fry bread a couple of times growing up, it is good).  Most of what I know about Indians is having known a couple of them throughout my life. It is respectful to give something when you first meet an elder either tobacco, sage, or sweet grass and you never know when you’ll meet an Indian. I met Samuel Holiday, one of the last Navajo Code Talkers, back in 2005. I met Marcy Tiger, Muscogee Creek Nation and his lovely wife, Sandy, last year when I arrived in Washington.

As I said you never know when you’ll meet one so I keep a stash of sweet grass with me at all times. I’m sure if anyone saw it, in the trunk of my car, they would think it was marijuana but no one has ever asked me yet, what the heck is that?!

I think history is as relevant as you want to make it. For instance, you might not want to dwell on history if you happen to uncover a serial killer, but medically it can be really revealing. You might find depression runs in the family. You might find schizophrenia there as well or diabetes or cancer. Things you might not have known were hereditary and therefore you should be watchful of.  My mother died of cancer. My Mom’s family has a history of breast cancer so each year my Mom, my sister and eventually my niece get preventative check-ups.  I will have to do that too.

Now not only do I have a medical history but I also have names for unknown faces for family living in and around Oklahoma. My ancestral tree resembles a Redwood! And guess what? It includes a Chief, the last traditional Chief of the Quapaw Nation. How cool is that?

What do you see in Silence?

It is done. I don’t think there are very many times in our lives when we knowingly change our fate. We make decisions willy-nilly often without thinking of the consequences. I think if we really thought about each decision we made before we made it we’d all be very predictable people, Lol.

I am not predictable. I wish I was….sometimes, but more often than not I am content to be just a little off.  If I was twenty years older the term might correctly be ‘eccentric’ but for now I prefer weird. I gripe so often of rigid, narrow-minded, inflexible people that I think I’ve become one without even knowing it.

I’m hard on people and I don’t meant to be. I pray a lot on my own weakness and I try to follow my mother’s advice, if you don’t have anything nice to say don’t say anything at all. I find myself quiet A LOT.

I do try to fit in. I do lunch dates with friends and night at the movies, attend church- you know, all the usual stuff people usually do but then I withdraw. I like going to the movies alone. I don’t mind staying at home and skipping lunch and sometimes I do play hookie from church (btw, it never fails when I do skip church my Mom calls me – sheesh!)  When I was younger, I was never alone.  Is being alone so bad, so taboo that you absolutely need someone with you all the time in order to do things?

I found out something about myself recently, I don’t mind eating alone. I’ve been opposed to eating alone all my life. When you eat alone you look lonely and pathetic. Who wants to be that? But lately I’ve shed a new skin; I am officially one of those people. Why should I miss a good meal just because I don’t have anyone to join me? So Sunday afternoon after not going to church I went to Ruby Tuesday’s and ate alone. It felt good like I’d accomplished something I didn’t even know I was trying to achieve. Was it a test? I don’t know but I sat there and ate a very nice meal.

For me, my life has been a blur. I’ve been going non-stop for so many years that complete silence turned out to be a good thing. The silence put me in tune with the off things I needed to see in myself (and it’s an ongoing process. No one is perfect). Now I have no trouble sitting quietly reading, writing or just drinking a cup of coffee out on the balcony. Silence was a nice change of pace for me from the drama of the last few years.

But I guess I’m made for drama because I’ve done something again that will cause the waters to stir. I just mailed my court order to OKDHS to open my adoption records with the sole purpose of obtaining my original birth certificate. If I don’t do it, I’ll never know and I need to know everything now. It might shed some light on who my father is but for sure I need it to become a member of the Quapaw tribe.

Have you found yourself in the silence? or does the silence hold secrets even you don’t want to hear?

‘Silence might be a foreign land to you but sometimes it is good to leap into the unknown. Practice leaping’- Macrina Wiederkehr

Higher!

If you have crazy friends like I do you’ll understand this. I’m a little melodramatic. I’ve been stuck the last few days wondering if the recent events in my life forewarned an early grave.  I’m 42 years old, fairly healthy – I don’t know, I don’t go to doctors but I did go to the doctor for a full check-up about two years ago. I had to, I lost hearing in my left ear. After that I decided to get a complete physical, just in case.  It turned out to be an earache, nothing major, but I had built it up in my mind to this horrible possibility; I thought I had a tumor. I see clouds and I think it’s a storm where others simply see rain.

Friends sometimes take these short depraved opportunities in my life and run with it and depending on which friend it is will determine where I end up. Like the friend who propels your fear even further – it’s not a tumor, it could be a blood clot. Really? Or the friend who instills fear when you didn’t have any to begin with.

I worked as an intern for the Kansas City Zoo back when I was in college those two short years in the cornfields of Iowa. I got to work with each section of the zoo behind the scenes cutting  up food and cleaning cages. The fun stuff. There was this camel, a Bactrian, named Richard. He was beautiful and BIG. He was so tall and majestic, he could see me coming from any point in the zoo. He was beautiful. He was in a large enclosure but there was a part that only had electric wire between us. I met with Richard every day.

Camels grind their teeth and he would grind his teeth and grumble deep in his chest when I was near him and I just stared at him in awe. I was so close I often reached out and stroked his hair, shaggy and scratchy. I was told later that I shouldn’t go near him. Richard had bitten someone and he was considered dangerous. The next day I went to meet him and I felt something I hadn’t before, I was afraid of him and I wouldn’t have been if nothing was ever said. An incredible connection was broken and it really bothered me (as you can tell, I’m retelling this story 22 years after it happened!).

The good friends are the ones that encourage you. They aren’t at the bottom of the ravine yelling Jump Jump Jump, they stand beside you and jump with you. I have one such friend. Where I saw the end of my wish list, she saw the beginning and she felt so sure of this new venture in my life that she shared my blog on her Facebook and tagged You haven’t seen anything yet!

Her kind of support is dangerous. If she had my wish list, Las Vegas would be at the very top. She encourages me to fly and when I do she’s shouting at me to go higher, to break the ties of gravity and see just how high up in the sky I can go. I love her for that.

So I’m scrubbing my list and starting a new one. Am I going to Las Vegas, doubt it. I think I’ll land somewhere between Arkansas and Texas. I’m going home.

 

Where is my Voice of Reason?

Take my advice and Don’t self-diagnose with the Internet!  I am now manic-depressive, bi-polar with a touch of schizophrenia (haha my ex might agree). I’m sure I’m not any of those things but I definitely have some mixed up feelings. But that’s what I get for tooling around on the Internet drinking a 44 oz Big Gulp of Mt. Dew and crashing around midnight. My eyes feel like Berber.

I was trying to read about other adopted children and the feelings they might be going through after they found their family. The process is called ‘post adoption’ and feelings range from indifference to total acceptance of their new-found family. I am holding back, I know I am and asked myself for real, what is wrong. I feel disloyal to the family that raised me. My sister said something that I remember, she said my biological mother is just the woman that birthed me, she had no part in raising me or making me the person I am today.  I think my adopted mother would disagree. I know for a fact she’s said a time or two, this is not my daughter and she’s probably wondered why I am the way I am.

Sometimes answers aren’t definite, Yes means Maybe and sometimes Maybe means No (but always, always No means No- don’t get confused!). One thing I know is true, life is not black and white. Feelings aren’t easily defined and I don’t know why I’ve wanted to reconnect with my biological family, I just do.

Are my feelings disloyal? Does my mother want me to find these answers or would she be happier if I put this behind me? And if I can’t, will this affect my family. Just like my daughter said, I don’t want my family to change and I don’t want to hurt my mother or father by pursuing this (and my sister too, can’t forget about her).

I know I should live closer to home because only the people who really know you can tell you something you should already know.  My friend, who shall be nameless (F R A N C E S), told me to talk to my mother. She said, she is your voice of reason and dang it – it’s true. Whenever I know I should be doing something I can always count on that little voice in the back of my mind to speak up and blast it all, that voice is my mothers.

Where is my voice of reason? She’s in the north country. My parents have been on a six month expedition to Alaska but I believe they come home today.  I hate to admit that I can’t work through my feelings on my own and it takes a good friend / friendS to help me out.

I need my Mom. I need to talk to her and I absolutely need her guidance in my life. My mother is my mother and she is now the only mother I’ll ever have.

When does Alaska Air land? Anyone know? I’m off.

The Countdown has begun

It has been nine days since I was reunited with my biological family! It started with a comment posted on my blog, this blog, and things are getting real. I told a friend of mine it has been the most amazing few days but the adjective I should have used was MIND BLOWING!

It hasn’t been without heartbreak. My mother, whom I dreamt about all my life, is gone. I’ll never look into her eyes, never say the words I’ve wanted to say all my life. Only an adopted child who was given away and unable to express their deepest most profound desire to stay can understand my feelings. Please keep me. Don’t let me go.

For every lost child still out there searching, keep going. Don’t give up. Even if you never find who you’re looking for, you’re here for a reason – Believe it!

My biological family is out there and they hold the key to another part of my life gone unexplored, my Indian side. I am at least a fourth Quapaw Indian. I may be more. Right now, we don’t know for sure who my father is but my sisters and I have decided to get DNA testing. My older sister, separated by only nine months, may be my whole sister. It really doesn’t matter what the DNA tests prove. We all know we have one thing in common, our mother.

Belonging has always been key with me. One of the most important bonds I’ve ever established was with my fellow soldiers in the Army. MP 1992-1997 changed my life. For all the years I underscored myself I knew I could be better.  It enabled me to see my potential.  And like the Army, I want to belong to the Quapaw tribe. They have always been a part of me because if I couldn’t have my biological family, I could have them. Sort of like a substitute family. However my letters to the Quapaw council went unanswered. I wrote them several letters throughout the years and I understand their silent response. They could not give me the answers I was seeking even if they knew my lineage. I harbor only a small grievance. Any kind of response would have been appreciated. Thank you for interest in becoming a member however you do not meet the requirements. Here’s a Quapaw pin and a tribal tattoo. Have a good day! I couldn’t make the requirement. I need my original birth certificate. I petitioned the courts once before, I decided to petition again.

The other day, I called OKDHS and inquired what I needed to open my adoption record. They need a court order and then it might not happen. So just to see what they would say, I called the country clerk’s office in the county where I was born and told them what I wanted. They took my information, didn’t ask a lot of questions and said someone would call me back. I didn’t expect a phone call. I for sure didn’t expect the letter I got in the mail today.

The Comanche County Courthouse mailed my a court order to open my adoption records. How astounding is that?!

So the countdown has begun. The doorway to my heritage is in sight. Let’s see if I can open that door!

How it all started

Like any opening liner, it all stated back in 1970………..

I grew up knowing I was adopted. My parents told me I was part Kiowa and Quapaw Indian and that my biological mother looked like an Indian princess. Back in the 70’s they were still trying to integrate Indians into society and I was adopted by white parents. Today the courts try to keep the tribes together to maintain the Indian heritage. It was a culture I sadly missed out on.

Over the years people told me to get involved with the Indians. Don’t be a stranger, get to know them. Go to powwows’ (powwows’ are dances put on American Indians – some people don’t know that…my daughter didn’t and she’s one of the reason’s I’m writing this blog) anyway, everyone said get involved. Well, I do…to an extend.

Growing up the only Indian for 300 miles or it could have been 30 miles but I don’t know..I never knew any other Indians growing up, it was just me. So I was never part of a culture that knew anything about them. I was not one of them and yet I didn’t feel I was one of the ones around me, they were white and I didn’t look white. No offense, it’s just how I felt at the time. I guess knowing I didn’t even belong to the family I was in made me insecure about everything.

Growing up Indian was like growing up a troll. You never saw any trolls around. You ‘hear’ they lived in Oklahoma or Arizona or some far off state you never visited until one day you do and then you’re like, there they are. And I’m thinking looking at them, looking at their beautiful dark faces and dark skin and brown eyes, these are my people. I should dance, I should sing but I don’t.  They’re Indian and I’m a troll – I just never fit in.

Truthfully, I never wanted to be one of those sad people. You know the ones with blond hair and fair skin wearing buckskin and beads claiming they are Indian, desperately trying to fit in. I shouldn’t be too hard on them because they were walking around with tribal roll numbers and here I am still numberless. Blue eyes are able to prove their Indian ancestry and I can’t prove a thing. I don’t attend powwows’ because I feel like an imposter. I also feel extremely frustrated trying to determine my identity. Oklahoma basically makes it impossible. This is what happened.

I lived fairly comfortable with the life I had made for myself and then things started going wrong. I wasn’t happy in my marriage; I was more indentured slave than wife and work was going great. Why do I list that as a bad thing? Because it ultimately ended my marriage. My ex probably never figured I’d ever amount too much (heck, me neither) but once I entered Federal Service, I was a rock star. I loved it but he didn’t. I was working late, taking on more responsibilities and everyone including me glorified my new position but we started fighting and it all just went downhill. I won’t bore you with those details.

It was during this time the urge to find my family became profound. The urge had always been a small voice I had learned to ignore over the years but the little voice was now shouting and I decided to do something about it.

I wrote Oklahoma’s Department of Family Services and asked for all “non-identifying” information on my family. For those of you who don’t know you can do this you can IF your adoption was state approved. They are required to give you everything they know, everything but names. I received a five-page letter telling me tons of information. I’ll go over it in detail later. Among the many pieces of information I was given, as stated by the social worker who met with my mother over a period of months leading up to my adoption, one piece was that my mother was half Quapaw. My biological father was full-blooded Kiowa.

Armed with this I thought I had quite a bit of convincing material to open my adoption records. I had a leading clue to the ancestry and an Act, the Indian Child Welfare Act (that was established after I was adopted) and proved a useful tool for the courts. I petitioned Oklahoma to open my records but the judge (who shall remain nameless because I might need to petition him again) wrote me a very nice letter back informing me my records were opened but there was nothing in it that verified my claim to being Indian. See? That social worker set me up. Did they completely invent my background, is there some Indian conspiracy at work here?! (you see where my minds goes – I blame that on them too) Anyway along with the letter came several pages; a document correcting my name, a parental relinquishment paper and a document correcting my mother’s name.  Apparently the county clerk was drunk.  Probably not but makes you think, why all the mistakes?

 

It was quite a bit of information and it really answered a lot of my questions and really wish I would have had the information 30 years ago. It would have saved me a LOT of heartache. But those are lessons learned and I’ve had tons of them. My life is a cautionary tale. I’m a cautionary tale. My blog should be named “Deborah, cautionary tale” but I like to think I have more to leave behind than just a tale or two and I’m working on them. I’m an author. Not a well-known or even a very well-written author (can’t afford a good editor) but I’ve written a couple of books. “One Step Closer” details the last five miserable years of my life in a character named Lara Martin. Check her out. She’s not bad.

I am a struggling writer, a struggling mother, a struggling Christian and doing this daily journal (daily blog) I think I’ll find the answers I’m looking for. You’re the couch and I’m the patient and like any good psychology will tell you, ‘all you need to do is talk and I’ll listen’. Well, I’m going to talk and at the end of the day maybe someone will be listening.