“At BEST, adoption is a tragedy and not something to be celebrated.”
This was my first experience with an anti-adoption advocate. My gut reaction was instantly defensive. This eventually led to a Reddit rabbit hole and TikTok time suck about the adoptee experience and the ethics of adoption. This was not my first foray into understanding the long-term effects of adoption. But this was the first time I’d heard of adoption being considered altogether unethical.
One year ago this week, we learned that a family was breaking apart and that a little girl was in need of a home. Since then, among many other things, I have been learning how to cohabitate in the world we were introduced to with Adelaide and the one we are living in now with Strawbaby. And, well, it’s complicated.
An errant elbow to my back jolted me awake. Before adrenaline could rush to every extremity, I remembered bringing Strawbaby into our bed hours earlier after she’d woken from a nightmare. I not so secretly love having her in bed with Miguel and I. Jackson has never been one to ask to sleep in our bed and while I often slept in Adelaide’s bed with her, she rarely slept with us.
Well, I survived another year of the most difficult Adelaide anniversaries. It was a cumulatively exhausting week and I’m still recovering. Leading up to this hell week I had tried to remain open to any and all emotions: including being ok – and sometimes I was. Except for Monday. Monday was a shit show. Still, I remain in awe how each year these anniversaries hit me differently.
Jenny and I didn’t grow up together or share debaucherous nights in college. She wasn’t in my wedding or at the birth of my children and we never shared an office. Yet, I feel like I’ve known her forever. Some people come into our lives when we need them most with the exact kind of support we need and looking for the exact kind of compassion we can offer in return.
Once again, Hell week is upon me: the anniversary of Adelaide’s passing on the 12th followed by her birthday on the 17th. This year these dates are hitting a little different as I find myself in, dare I say, a happier and more balanced place in my life. In order to reconcile where I am with where I’ve been I am learning to relinquish and reclaim. Oh, and to make space for grace because this shit is hard.
In honor of CURE Epilepsy’s virtual event, “Unite to CURE Epilepsy” I wanted to share a personal story from our epilepsy community. Tracy Molnar responded to my call for guest blogger submissions, and I am thrilled to share her experience with her daughter, Lemon. Her vulnerable essay is a sincere reminder of what we are fighting for and how important this community is to each other.
I’m always eager for the opportunity to catch up with Chicago friends, so when Wendy told me she was speaking at the Forbes Power Women's Summit in NYC, naturally I invited myself along. I was excited to see Wendy, and at such a star-studded event, though what I took from the day is not what I expected:
1. I am super glad my book doesn’t come out for another year.
2. I have a crush on Bobbi Brown
Sometimes life takes a massive dump right where you are walking and you either step right in the middle of it or somehow manage to skirt it at the last second. Sometimes you can see the steaming pile in front of you a mile away but the guard rails are up and there is no exit ramp in sight. But sometimes – sometimes – the worst doesn’t happen. Sometimes, a collection of moments turns out ok. Maybe even better than ok, maybe they are even beautiful.
My brother is getting married this weekend!!! I am so freaking excited and cannot wait for the celebration to kick-off. However, it dawned on me this week that I had been pushing down some difficult and contradictory emotions that will inevitably rise to the surface. I am walking into another major family event without Adelaide and even though Strawbaby will be a flower girl, Adelaide will not. Somehow, I need to reconcile all of this because I want to make sure this weekend is about my brother and his beautiful bride… not my grief.
This weekend, Miguel and I had the honor of attending The Nora Project’s annual gala and it was altogether perspective-changing. I think a lot of us get on our soapbox of choice and talk about disability and inclusion but often fall short of fully executing… myself included. On Sunday evening, I was able to see what a truly inclusive event can look like. Which got me thinking (not for the first time) about the emotional toll our exclusive society can take on those with disabilities.
…And that’s when Linda Beresford’s email entered my inbox.
Four years ago, August 2018, I posted my first blog on InchstonesByKC.com. I realized this week that is longer than Adelaide was alive. Proof, I guess, of the power of legacy… or at least that’s what I’m going with because I’m not ready to dive into that wormhole yet. ANYWAY, 186 blogs later, I’m still going strong. When I started, I had all these thoughts swimming around in my head and it was getting loud and crowded and hot in there. Like when you’re at a concert or a bar and you just need to step outside for fresh air. That, for me, was the blog: a place where I could air out my sweaty brain mush.
