"I'm so sorry you had to join the club."

"I'm so sorry you had to join the club." This was a line from a TV show I watched tonight in reference to someone's father dying. I'm not really into many TV shows, but there are a few that I put time aside to watch each week (when the are new). Grey's Anatomy is one of those shows. The last couple of weeks have been pretty tough on me to watch though. If you've ever lost a parent I suppose you know why.

My dad died when I was 18 years old--a week before I left for college (his favorite college) and two weeks before I performed in the marching band in front of 75,000 people at a football game (would have been his proudest moment). My daddy died. He promised he wouldn't, but he did. He left me. He couldn't help it, but he did. And there is no totally getting over his death.

So...the last two weeks of Grey's Anatomy have been torture because someone's dad was dying--and the dad reminded me a lot of my dad--just a good ol' boy. I made it through last week, but this week I broke down into a 15 minute sob fest. And during that sob fest I found myself mourning for someone else. Bright.

Bright. My sweet baby. I'm so sorry that you lost your mommy even before you got to know her. But I really shouldn't say that because you spent many safe months inside of her womb. You knew her. You no doubt have sensory memories of her heartbeat...her voice...her laugh. Your loss was real and it counts.

I think that the death of a parent is a primal loss. I think it's the kind of loss where it doesn't matter if you are 1 day old, 18 years old, or 60 years old. You're still losing your mommy and daddy. You've been abandoned (albeit unintentionally). They left you.

Life goes on. We, that have lost a parent muddle through. We get by. Now, 12.5 years since I lost my dad I can say that sometimes months on end go by without me ever breaking down and shedding a tear. But it's always there--just below the surfice. A deep unmoving sorrow that will never leave. Sometimes, like a volcano, that sorrow has to release itself (like it did for me tonight).

I really shouldn't only count the death of a parent in this, should I? All of our children who come to us through adoption have experienced the same monumental loss. Bright's father is no less with him than his mother. He has lost both. And although one could argue that his father had a choice I would disagree--not if he wanted Bright to live. Bright will probably have even more of those shadowy baby memories of his father, whom he lived with for the first 11 months of life. My sweet baby. How I hurt for him tonight.

I suppose that Bright's sorrow will surfice at some point (as Taevy's has, and as Samren's has, and as mine does). And when it does I pray that I get to be the one that tells him, "I'm so sorry you had to join the club." My sweet baby, your sorrow and your loss counts.

Anita