under a darkling moon
at the waning of hearts
a bewildered boy-child
conceived in chaos
lacking heritage
moment man
in freefall of frustration
searching for foothold
abandoned nomad
longing for clarity
for a sense of identity
Moon on 2/18/47, my birth night.
~ ~ ~
NOTE: I was born in 1947 in a post WWll Catholic orphanage. Mother unidentified and likely unwed. Father unknown. Having been abandoned from birth was a matter of much confusion for me in my troubled childhood, and into my young adult life. With the birth of my children I stopped looking back, and started looking ahead, finally understanding of, and thankful for the support of my adoptive parents.
Well done… a very sad beginning that carries through into adulthood. I am sure you have made sure your children are loved and cared for…
Fiercely Dwight, fiercely my friend!
This was very moving Rob. It tugged on my heartstrings.
Thank you Christine!
That was very moving Rob. It tugged on my heartstrings.
I appreciate it Christine!
How many bewildered boys and girls must there be in this world, Rob? I’m so glad you look ahead instead of back, although an occasional twist of the head seems to bring everything into perspective, doesn’t it?
Way way too many Kim, and they hurt, they’re confused, they’re desperate, they’re angry — and they need love more than food and water —- and they need tons and oceans of that. They need a gentle healing hand. And they are not all down there, over there, in those neighborhoods far removed and needing our sympathy — NO — they are right here and they need our empathy and a helping hand!
And yes Kim, an occasional glance back is sobering snd motivating! It stirs gratitude! Thank god for that look back!
Makes me tear up and want to HUG that bewildered boy and all like him!
There are many hugs required Lynn, because there are many children who need to feel like they matter, that they belong. Life is difficult enough, but when you begin with the odds stacked against you, only love can help you find safe solid footing. I was fortunate in my adolescence that a very caring couple reached out to lift me up. They were not perfect, but they were angels on earth — the true depth of that fact I came to finally grasp, and fully appreciate, after they were gone. I was one of the lucky ones.
Oh whoa. That image to accompany the sentiment of your poem has a very strong pathos, as if the moon on the night of your birth was hiding your identity, giving you only a sliver of a glimpse to go forth in life. I wish I could be more like you in not dwelling on the unanswerable past. I’ve had kids for five years now, yet the desire to find those answers are stronger than ever. Thank you for this, Rob.
Yes Amaya, that is why I included that image of my actual birth-moon. As I grew up it was a kind of symbol of being born in a “darkness”, but not a complete darkness. I saw it as just enough light to find my way to dawn.
To grow up like that sounds so strange… I do not think there are any orphanages in Sweden any longer… but I do know people who have been adopted from other countries… but they have come as very young, and have had good parents, so I assume it’s only when they see how different they are that they know that somebody abandoned them
I was fortunate Björn, in that I was adopted right at the time my awareness of being an independent “being” had just begun to awaken, so as my memory trove began to accumulate memories most of my earliest were of being in the home of the couple who adopted me, and became my parents. My adoptive father became my hero and my “earth ground” as I grew to manhood. However, I also had accumulated numerous memories of the orphanage, which began to tug at me as I reached the age of reason. This led me to ask questions and eventually to learn I was adopted. For me the floodgates opened about my birth mother and father — who were they, why was I given away, what was wrong with me, all the questions that haunt many orphans, even adopted orphans, when no identity or trace of the natural parents, especially the natural mother, are available. In middle school I had met several other adoptees — 4 in all. There was Gary, Donna, and twins Steve and Sandra. We became close the result of our situation. We would talk about how we felt, never letting our adoptive parents know. We had already had “the talk” with our adoptive parents earlier in our childhood, snd none of us 5 wanted to make them feel badly that we still had curiosity (unresolved feelings) about it all — each to a different degree. It was our secret support group, though that is not how we referred to it, and most of the time we did not talk only about being adopted. We became friends, and we called it our secret club, identifying ourselves as the “Castaways”. The friendships fragmented through high school, college, and marriages, as we moved on and became involved in the rest of our lives. I stayed infrequently in contact with the twins into my early 30’s, losing touch with Sandra first, then Steve. I remain grateful to this day for the comfort and confidence those friends provided at a time when I so needed it.
I was also born in 1947. This is a beautiful poem that explains feelings well….that questioning….that lost feeling. I truly appreciate that when you had children, your feelings changed. You make me realize that the platitude, yes but as an adopted child, we chose you and we chose to love you…..may not be enough at certain times of the child’s life. How wonderful that you had some friends in the same situation and that you formed a “club” — this made me smile. A children’s secret club…so very sweet….but with such secrets that you shared.
I’m so glad you posted this, Rob. The longer I am in dVerse, the more I understand the power of writing.
Thank you Lillian. You touched precisely on the point of confusion for, not all, but I feel many adoptees. A child does not fully grasp the “specialness” of being chosen. There is not the ability to understand the courage of the adoptive parents to open their heart and lives to an abandoned child. Selflessness in another is a complex concept for a child to appreciate. In my case, as was the case fir the other 4 adoptees I came to know and treasure — all that was gleaned in “the talk” is that I am not really these people’s, whom I love, not their “real” child. The other two big questions that almost immediately surface are — why was I given away, what is wrong with me? For me this all eventually sorted itself out as I matured. The why and what became thank you. But there are a number of strange and difficult years for many adoptees, when knowing who you can trust with your questions, who is appropriate to talk to, how do you make sure you don’t hurt your adoptive parents by letting them know you are hurting, or confused, or that some kids are making fun and making you feel bad. Again, not all adoptees go through this confusion, but many like me do — and it is a very unsettling and isolating period of life.
This one rolls of the tongue. Wonderful use of language. I disconnected the meanings and just let the sounds work.
Thank you Xan for acknowledging the poetry. I invested myself in the writing of this piece, separate from and beyond the personal situation that was the inspiration.
This is so touching given your context, thank you so much for sharing x
You are most welcome Catherine.
This is incredibly poignant, Rob!
Thank you Sanaa.
I like the conceived in chaos searching for identity.
Thank you Frank.
When I see the sliver of light in your birth moon, and “waning of hearts” in the first stanza it suggests maybe you felt there wasn’t enough love left for a baby between your birth parents? I understand why orphanages have to be careful about identifying the parties involved in adoptions, but the law needs to change that once a child becomes an adult they have the right to know who their birth parents are. Question: if you could change the past, would you have preferred not to have been told you were adopted? Just wondering.
The “waning of hearts” phrase touched on three things. One was close to your conjecture that there was not enough love between my birth parents to keep them together, and my abandonment to the orphanage was a result. Also, perhaps my mother was abandoned by the birth father and she abandoned me out of necessity, before she could allow her love to build. Thirdly, perhaps I was born to an unmarried woman, whose parents could not find the love necessary to help her raise me. There was also the fact that I was born just after Valentine’s Day, in the waning glow of the day of hearts.
Catholic orphanages, even after they were shut down, kept any birth parent strictly locked down. I tried diligently years ago, after my orphanage was shuttered, but the archdiocese of Cincinnati refused over and over, to grant me access to the information.
No, I am glad I-knew. It did eventually shed a better light on some matters I don’t choose to reveal. If I did have the power to change the past, it would have been nice to have never been abandoned by my birth parents — instead, have had a normal family. As a second choice, I would like to have learned who my birth parents were — at least my birth mother.
Beautiful poem, Rob, like all good poetry…it says a lot in just a few words…Jim
Thank you Jim.
Good use of sound. A clean, concise exploration of the journey to that identity.
Thank you Mark.
You’ve expressed your harsh upbringing well .. it probably made you a better parent 🙂
Thank you Kate. I hope it made me a more compassionate man.
such use of tender words and perhaps alliterations to create such melancholic character through poetic lines. this phrase: “conceived in chaos” wow.
Thank you so much Rosemarie!
“longing for clarity / for a sense of identity”
Entirely understandable.
And the middle two stanzas give excellent insight into your mind during those times.
Glad this provided clarity Ken.
Rob, this is heartbreaking yet hopeful as well. I am so happy you have come to terms with your beginnings. It has no doubt made you wiser.
Thank you Linda. I hope I am wiser as the result of all the challenges in my life. I have always tried to eschew bitterness in favor of searching for understanding.
Thank you for sharing your story, Rob. I won’t say I can imagine it, because I really can’t, but I’m so glad that you did have people who cared for you, and that you found peace, and made certain that your own children were loved. I like the phrase “darkling moon,” and the sliver of light–and hope–in the photo.
The “conceived in chaos” makes me think of all the babies conceived in war and post-war situations.
You are most welcome Merril. Having and loving children has been at the heart of my life. I have no heritage to look back upon, so I wanted to create heritage to look forward to. The birth of my only grandchild, my grandson, was a joyous day for me on many levels. Certsinly one of which was to generate lineage.