When Do We Start Remembering?

Monday, July 14, 2008

Have you ever wondered at what point in time our memories begin to root in our brains? Generally people have vague, if any, memories before the age of 4 or 5, but does that mean we do not remember anything?

When my younger son, Jeremy, was barely 4 weeks old, I was gravely ill. In the hospital for 11 days, unable to hold him for 6 weeks after that, our early bonding time was seriously interrupted. At first I was so sick I could not even think about holding him, let alone care, but as I healed it pained me greatly to see others cuddling and caring for my boy, when I could merely sit beside him and stroke and talk to him. I longed to hug him.

And since that time, Jeremy has been much more bonded to his father than myself. He goes to daddy when he is crying, he cries for daddy when he wants something, and once in a great while he wants mommy's comfort as well. So Jeremy just turned two, do you think on some level he remembers that early separation? Does he remember that daddy took care of him more? Lately he's coming to me more than before. Is the memory fading and he now realizes that I love him very much and he can rely on me to provide the emotional and physical support he needs?

As an adopted child, I've been told by many that there is no way adoption could have affected me because I was too young to remember. My own mother, a psychologist and a Columbia PhD graduate, insists that adoption has no psychological effect on a child, unless an issue is made of the adoption as the child grows. I just think this is a bunch of bullshit!!!

They have done research that shows that infants recognize their mother's voice over another woman's voice when they are only days old. They have shown that infants respond more to music or specific sounds they heard in-utero than sounds that are new. I remember when I was pregnant with Gabriel reading about a young woman whose parents were classical musicians. The girl grew up playing the cello, the same instrument her mom played. In her early 20s she was presented with a classical piece of music that she had never seen before. She played it absolutely perfectly the first time through. Everyone was stunned. How could this be? She found out later that when her mother was pregnant with her, her mother practiced that piece over and over and over in preparation for a concert. The young woman had heard it before -- in utero.

So how can an infant be denied their experience? And if they do remember, where is that stored in their consciousness, and how is expressed?

My older son, Gabriel, was put into the hospital at only 7 days old. The idiot pediatrician we had at the time thought he MIGHT have a virus because his body temperature was too low and he wasn't gaining weight well. Turns out the body temperature was never low except in her office (need a new battery in that thermometer?!), and the weight gain issue was due to lack of breastmilk, which she never thought to check. (can you tell I still have issues around this one). My sweet boy was stuck full of needles, and IV and pumped up with 2 kinds of antibiotics and suffered greatly for 48 hours while she indulged her ego into the belief of the phantom virus. I wonder with great heartache how this effected my older son. How will he remember that great trauma? And will he remember that he was never left alone, not even for a minute? Mommy was there most of the time, and when she took a break Daddy or Grandma took over. Will he remember that we kept talking to him, comforting him, so he knew he wasn't alone?

When Gabriel was first born I had a c-section because he was breech. I couldn't hold him or go with him to the nursery, but I commanded my husband to follow him every step of the way. "Don't leave him alone," I said, "Talk to him so he knows you are there. I don't want him to be scared." Everybody thought I was kind of nuts. Why was I so worried? And then that first night I had him sleep in the nursery because I thought that's what I was "suppose" to do. I still agonize over the abandonment he must have felt. How will it effect him?

At this point you wonder why do I worry about these things. I worry because it happened to me. Separation from my birth mother, inability to bond with my adoptive mother, agonizing pains of helplessness and loss. Yes, as an INFANT, this happened to me. I remember it on the visceral level. When I delve into the feelings, I am overcome with them. This is REAL, not an imaginary episode I saw or read somewhere. My own inner infant felt all these fears of abandonment, aloneness, confusion, heartache. And so I project them onto my children because I for one do not want them to feel the same pain.

Tonight I am helping Jeremy get to sleep. I am singing him a lullaby, and suddenly I begin to cry. My mommy self feels the pain of that early separation when I was so ill. Having to give up breastfeeding and forfeiting many hours of hugs and whispers in the early weeks of his life. My heart wells up with the love I feel for him, and I am so grateful now to have these precious moments to hopefully heal any rift that may exist between us.

But then my eyes well up again. This time for myself, and my birth mother. The woman who I was told "gave me away because she didn't want me." But I know gave me away with tremendous regret, longing, indecision, heartache. She felt a hundred thousand times the little bit of grief that I feel with Jeremy. She had to separate for all eternity, as the law tells her to, and there is no hope of reclaiming and healing the broken bond.

And for a split second, I feel the magnitude of what others perceive as her sacrifice. What others say is for the good of the child, and the gift she is giving the child. But she and I know a different story. It is not a sacrifice, it is an overwhelming chasm of grief, an indisputable ravine of remorse and endless tears. Oh yes, her mind tells her it is for the good of all, but her heart cries out for a different choice, an alternate road, another outcome. Her heart screams, and she may scream along, but still she follows the path set before her.

And I know my little agonies with my children's first days are challenging. But I also know that Spirit is giving me a glimpse of my mother's pain. For all those people who told me that she didn't want me, she gave me up, she did it because she thought I would have a better life... all those people who act as if they are well-meaning... they are wrong. My birth mother loved me desperately. How do I know? Because I can feel her grief. I grew in a womb saturated with the grief of anticipated separation. She did not want that choice, and she loved me so much. Just as I love my children.

Adoption is a challenging experience for all parties. Each of us see it from a different perspective, but every participant in the triad has suffered some emotional pain. I am grateful for my life and it's experiences, and in this moment I am grateful to be adopted. The experience of separation from my biological mother gives me the attunement I need to be sensitive to my children's attachment issues. Being adopted makes me a better mom. And as an individual who focuses on the blessings, I'd say that's a darn good gift to get out of a challenging experience.