Dr. Leila Denmark: Rest in Peace Beloved Physician & Friend

When someone you love and respect is 114 years old, well, it is not exactly a shock to hear that they passed away.  However when I got home from class this morning and opened the email from our choir director informing us of Dr. Leila Denmark’s passing, I felt as if my face had been slapped, and I literally gasped.  I was never one to think of her as either perfect, or other-worldly, but I just got so used to having her around (even if she was not up for lots of visitors in the final years).  And though a mere mortal like the rest of us, she certainly did manage to accomplish quite a lot of good in her 114 years. Heck, she accomplished a lot of good in half of those years.

There are plenty of places to read about all her accomplishments, and not enough space here.  The website developed by her family would be the best place to go for a good chronology of this remarkable woman.  However here you will find snippets of my own conversations with her over the years.  The mini-lectures, if you can call them that, were four to five sentences at most, all shared during poking, prodding and peeking at my children’s ears, eyes, and noses (one per child)  and delivered with a calm, matter of fact tone, and always, a smile.

The Baby Comes to Live with You

I suppose each generation is a bit self-absorbed, and criticizes the next generation for being so.  However in the four generations of families she treated, Dr. Denmark told them all the same thing:  put the baby on a schedule and let him or her adapt to your family’s routine, and understand that they are not the center of the entire universe. Everyone, including the baby, needs to get a good night’s sleep, and you can train your baby to sleep through the night pretty early on.  Yeah!

Sometimes Animals Make Better Parents than Humans

Along the same lines, she often would tell me of stories from her childhood where she learned quite a bit from watching animals care for their young. “You watch a mama cat or dog Mrs. May,” she would begin.  ”You won’t see them open for meal time all day long; no, they will push their young away no matter how much they bother her until it is time to eat.  If only humans would take a lesson from the animals, we would all be better off.”

Babies Will Cry

“Now this baby is going to cry about three to five hours each day, and that is perfectly normal. It will open up his lungs, and provide him with some exercise, so don’t fret about it. And don’t use food to keep him quiet all day long.”  Now that there is an obesity epidemic, even among U.S. children, it would be wise for moms to take a second look at her “No juice, crackers, goldfish, sweets, or any kind of eating in between meals” code.  I began to do this myself with no ill effects (and no wailing).

Heart Attack Victims are Lucky

I shared in an earlier post about how Dr. Denmark responded when I told her my father had just passed away from a heart attack.  ”Oh, he’s lucky!  That is the best way to go.”  Of course I was a bit shocked at her frankness, especially since I was still stinging from the loss, but later I saw her point. Like most of us other mortals she did not get to pick how she would go, and I am afraid that her last few years were not the quick and painless death she might have chosen.  But she knew she was in God’s hands and that He is in charge of these things.

Don’t Make Excuses

On one visit one of the twins was fussing and I told her that he was teething. She quickly responded  ”Now Mrs. May–you don’t want to be making excuses for this child.  He will be teething until he is almost grown, so let’s not use that as an excuse for everything.” This took me off guard because it was a bit of a reprimand, but Dr. Denmark was so wise, I took it as an opportunity to get her to elaborate.  She went on to say that a baby can fuss for lots of reasons, but that Moms don’t need to become excuse makers for them each time they act up.  She was trying to prevent me from forming a bad habit, and I am thinking that the teachers of some of our helicopter-parent kids might agree with her.

The Georgia Lottery Is Bad for Families

I visited with Dr. Denmark during the time that the Georgia Lottery was being debated, and she was very clear about how much she was against it. As she put it, “Mrs. May, the lottery is nothing more than a way for poor people to use their food money in a get rich quick scheme that won’t help anyone.  It will literally take food out of the mouths of poor kids, and I hate to see that.”  A Duke University professor, Charles Clotfelter,  said the same thing in his book Selling Hope:  State Lotteries in America. He did the research, but Dr. Denmark knew this from her experience working with Atlanta’s poor children.

Mothers Have the Most Important Job in the World

Dr. Denmark’s pep talk about how important my job as a mother was remains one of the best memories I have of her.  She used to say that women had all the power in the world because they were the ones raising the next generation, but then they all wanted to leave their kids for someone else to raise and get a job that would make them important.  Now you have to know that she went to medical school back when women just didn’t do that. And she was a practicing physician while her daughter was growing up.  She would explain that due to her having a good husband and a steady income she could practice at home with Mary nearby, and that she was available for her at any time.  Dr. Denmark valued education and smart women, and even women having a career; she just did not think leaving your baby for most of his or her waking hours to do it was a good idea.

Housekeeping

Those of us who knew Dr. Denmark well will recall her aversion to two things in particular:  carpet, and cough syrup.  (At the time, mine was cough syrup IN the carpet.) About both she often said “Would not have it in my home.”  The carpet thing was simple enough; it is a reservoir of dirt, hair, bacteria, pet waste, and other nastiness that cannot be easily removed.  Her thought was stick to wood floors, or even linoleum. (Do they still make that?)

The cough syrup was more mysterious to me so I prodded a bit.  ”Coughing,” she would begin “is your body’s natural defense against things that need to be removed from your respiratory system. If you take medicine to stop that–how will it get out?”  ”Um…good question Dr. Denmark; I never really thought about it.”  As we talked my mind flashed back to the bottles of cough syrup we had in our medicine cabinet when I was growing up–Vick’s 44-D–with Codeine, as they used to advertise it.  That was before the days of everyone and their brother finding ways to get high (or at least before the grownups realized it) and so almost every family had a bottle of this in their home, in a cabinet that was not locked.   And it never occurred to us to use it for anything but a cough–but now I was rethinking this too (the cough syrup, not the getting high).

Discipline

Dr. Denmark did not like to see parents yelling or scolding their children; in fact she was not that keen on spanking, which surprised many, including myself.  ”If you feel you must punish your child Mrs. May, just get a little  branch from outside to use as a switch, and three simple swipes across the back of the legs should be all they need. Of course I have only done that once or twice with my own daughter.  It is not something you need to do a lot.”  Ok, that was different from my own view about spanking, but as I reflected back on the actual number of spankings delivered in our home, each child only got about 4 or 5 in their entire life. (I think this surprised a good friend, who was against spanking, and who thought that those of us who think it is ok were doing it all day long, every day.) I think Dr. Denmark believed so much in training children to wait, giving good attention,providing healthy food, sunshine and a peaceful home, that she did not see the need for much corporal punishment.

Dr. Denmark went on “You see Mrs. May, you want to do things WITH your child, to teach them the joy of working together.  Don’t say ‘ go get your shoes,’ but say ‘let’s go get your shoes.’ And use a nice calm voice-no yelling or scolding.”  I am laughing now because I was way too lazy to strictly follow her advice on this one. I wanted my kids to go and get their own shoes, and not have to do the Let’s …thing each time.  Heck, sometimes I wanted them to get MY shoes.  But of course Dr. Denmark was never lazy, and a lot nicer than me (and she only had one child.)  Now however as an older and wiser mom, I plan to use this method with my grandchildren one day until I am too infirm to go with them.  Then they can fetch Granny’s shoes/knitting/mojito.

The Nature of the Beast

On another visit one of my children was crying and fussing, but this time I did not make some excuse for it.  I finally figured out that they were simply acting like a baby, which is fine for them, (but not for teen-agers or grownups).   When I handed him to Dr. Denmark, he quieted down and let her examine him.  I was rather puzzled so I asked her, “why are YOU able to calm them down so easily?”  Dr. Denmark had an answer at the ready, “Oh that’s simple Mrs. May.  He knows that I am not his mom and don’t love him as much as you do.  Children will always act up the most for the people that love them the most because they already know that you will never let go of them, but they don’t know that about me or some stranger.”  Ok! Class dismissed.  I drove home from her office that day thinking about that and how somehow I need to bring this back to mind during the teen years, (which I did).  No one loves them as much as I do…no one loves them as much as I do…repeat after me….no one loves them as much as I do.  Smile.

I wish I could remember more of our conversations; there were so many during my kids’ early years.  I learned so much from Dr. Denmark about babies, parenting, God and His creation, and our role in this world. Dr. Denmark is in my head, and more importantly in my heart, and neither I nor millions of others will ever forget her.

Again, God Bless You Dr. Denmark, and May You Rest in Peace.

When Honesty Collides with Goodness

Last time I shared about the queries from our adolescent kids, and it may have raised some questions.  This time I will share some things I have learned after much reflection, (and as always, feel free to disagree).  I am a bit conflicted about writing this post, and now understand so much more why some issues in the adoption realm are rarely discussed at all.  Since my own three are grown and settled, and we have freely dialogued about their own narratives, (and truthfully so), I write this confident that they are not wondering what I have kept from them (the answer is nothing). However I have many young adopted friends, and some I understand, like to read my stuff.  For them, I have asked their moms to read first and take any steps that they feel are necessary (such as blocking access to my blog).

I have talked to so many young moms throughout the years, and find them to be earnest, honest, and desirous of answering their child’s questions, even if the answers are a bit hard to hear. I am committed to honesty as well, therefore it may surprise some of you to know that I am not an advocate of full disclosure in all cases.  This goes against the grain for those of us who feel that honesty is the best policy, and or who feel sneaky when withholding information from those who ask, especially from loved ones, the IRS, or the nuns.

I will give some examples of things that I as a mom might not disclose, in case you are now wondering.  However before I do, I want to share a funny clip from one of my favorite comedians, Brian Regan, to help set the stage.  Here is the script posted on Facebook as the Joke of the Day:

“My eye doctor told me this, I’m not making this up. He goes, ‘You know you have one eye set a little bit higher than your other eye?’ ‘No, I didn’t know that.’ He goes, ‘It’s no big deal; it doesn’t affect your vision or anything. I just thought you might want to be self-conscious for the rest of your life.’”

This cute sketch is a great way to illustrate a guiding principle for sharing things with your adopted children.  My own guiding principle, put as simply as I can is to refrain from sharing things that would most likely hurt your kids, but in no way help them.    I don’t mean important things that would have a bearing on their mental or physical health, or on their own reproductive matters, such as genetic anomalies.  Moreover I don’t mean things that may need to be shared later, when the child is a mature adult.  No, I am talking about things that no one ever needs to know, and that do not add anything positive or helpful to the person’s bio.  What are those things you may wonder?  I think there are some clues in the language. If the narrative includes tequila, garbage cans, or going mad, feel free to hold back.

For example if a conception took place in a drunken stupor, I for one cannot find a good reason that a child would ever need or want to know that. (A pregnancy in such a condition however might be another matter due to related problems that often surface, and would be sure to eventually be mentioned by clinicians.)  I know of kids who were told such information by their birth mothers, and it has been a source of great pain, anger, and bewilderment as to why the child really needed to know that.  Perhaps it was a way for these birth mothers to “come clean,” but I have witnessed the pain that this type of knowledge has brought. Perhaps one of my thoughtful readers will enlighten me on the benefit of knowing this type of information, and if so, I welcome the comments of course.

My second example is about narratives of those children who had been abandoned and who were “found.”   While it may be OK to share that someone was found in a safe place,  carefully wrapped, warm, fed, and well-cared for, it is quite a heavy burden to tell a child that they were found in a trash can, or a dumpster, as this may have a devastating impact. (Indeed, as I write this I am hard-pressed to think of an instance when this knowledge would have a good effect.) I have asked myself if I were found in such circumstances, would I really want or need to know that?  I mean, isn’t being abandoned (even in a sacrificial way) a heavy enough burden for this person?  Why pile on?  And what if this gets out to playmates,  cousins, etc.  It is not far-fetched to think that some immature person might use this as a cruel epithet when in need of an insult with an especially strong sting.  (For those younger parents or parents-to-be who cannot believe that kids can be that cruel to other kids, see me after class.)  I think some young parents are not fully aware of the impact this can have on their child and share it for dramatic effect (not in a show-off way, but in an amazed and grateful to God way).  However I have cautioned such young moms to rethink this part of the narrative and not to share it with anyone, but to keep it in the protective force field of parental love.  The question I ask is usually, How will that help your child to know that? or Why would it be important for a person to know that particular fact?

An additional example has to do with sex that may have been transacted as a business venture, if you get my drift.  It seems enough to know that one’s birth mom had the love and maturity to give their child a chance at a normal life.  I am not sure how adding her complete resume would in any way enhance the life and times of an adopted child.  Perhaps you will argue that truth for its own sake is justification enough.  Again, for me, I cannot imagine how knowing that would not have had a negative impact on my life.

There are more examples to be sure, but some of them might better be placed in the category of things that may need to be shared, but not yet, (and this can be accomplished  without all the gory details.) As you can imagine, these items include mental illness, drug or alcohol dependency, rape, and incest.  These are most complicated and need to be dealt with very carefully.  I have little first hand knowledge of these things from the adoption standpoint, but I would still stick to my guiding principle: to refrain from sharing what would most definitely hurt them, but in no way help them.  Sad to say, knowledge of some of these things, while hurting them, may need to be shared for their own welfare, healing, or future relationships.

A verse from the  4th chapter of Philippians come to mind as I draw to a close:

  “Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable–if anything is excellent or praiseworthy–think about such things.

Indeed some might say that whatever is true = the whole truth and nothing but the truth, however consider the following questions. Isn’t it a mercy of God that He reveals just enough of our sin to get our attention, and draw us to Him?  Are you like me, grateful that He does not feel the need to show it all to me?  That would be too heavy of a burden for this at-times weary pilgrim.

And bringing it home to us mere earthlings, do we need to share each of our sins, in the name of honesty, with our spouses, roommates, siblings, friends?  Is full disclosure  about who we coveted, despised, or day-dreamed about a wise course?  But of course we can tell it all to God who will not be shocked, hurt, or disillusioned (because as my friend Mike Gaudet wisely says, “He never was illusioned with us.”)  Don’t you love that?

I feel so heavy of heart to write this post, as it may bring a tear or two to some out there who are struggling, wondering, or even waiting.  My goal is to ask those parents out there, those earnest, loving, yet at times naive people, to consider judicious and cautious sharing of knowledge with those entrusted to us.  I do not mean to imply that deceitfulness is my modus operandi, but rather, if there is a heavy burden to be carried, I would rather my husband and I carry it with God’s grace, rather than put an undue burden on my child or any child.  In the future I plan to write a post to adopted kids which I hope will bring comfort to these children, many of whom I know and love, and even to the ones I don’t know (but would love if I did).

Putting the Pieces Together

Adoption is not a one blog topic, as my readers have learned, and since it often begins with an infertility story, it takes a while to do even minimal justice to it.   This particular  entry is yet another piece of the puzzle, and is one that a lot of young parents get nervous about:  the period when your child begins to ask more and more probing questions about their origin.  Don’t be afraid, and I don’t say this because nothing scary ever comes of these queries. Rather I say this because as all parents of teenagers know, you cannot protect your kids from all potential hurt, and the sooner we admit this, (notice I am still included in the learning curve even though my kids are now grown), the happier we shall all be.  In these matters, I find it is always best to take the long view, which includes the belief that God is good, that He is in control, and most of all, that He loves your child more than you do.

As kids get older, it is only natural that their questions about their origins are the type that cannot be answered easily.  For example, some of these kids are taught that sexual relationships are to be enjoyed only in the confines of marriage, and as they start to understand how they came about, there is an internal dissonance between what they are being taught as good character, and how they came to be.  It is difficult at times to give assent to their parents’ set of morals, while at the same time hold the ever important picture of their birth parents as good people. However since this questioning time usually comes about in the middle school years, it can be used to begin to open the door to some pretty good theology, namely, that all of us are fallen creatures, and even though we may be trying to honor God with our lives, we fall short.  And we don’t judge our fellow human beings for falling short, unless we of course are perfect.   This can be tricky as your pre-adolescent child begins to leave the safety of clear-cut good guys and bad guys, and instead begins to navigate the uncharted water of realizing that all humans do things that dishonor God.   This realization however is not limited to adopted kids, and is an important developmental step in the life of believing people of any age.

When my kids tried to figure out all the whys and wherefores of their adoption, a funny thing happened, a real life Show and Tell if you will.  Close friends of ours decided to have a young pregnant girl come and live with them.  She had decided to give her child up for adoption, and her parents felt it was better for her to be in a different city while awaiting the birth of her child.  This brave young woman was a frequent guest in our home, and as she and I became friends, we realized that there was a mutual benefit for us.  Since her baby was not coming to our family, we could talk pretty freely about all aspects of adoption.  She told me it gave her great comfort to see our (adopted) kids thrive in our family and have, in her estimation, a good life.  I told her it made me feel good to bestow any kindness I could upon her as a way to support her in this very difficult decision.  We shared a lot of afternoons chatting, laughing, crying, praying, or just watching a movie, and enjoying each other’s company.

What I did not realize however, was how very painful her presence was to our kids, especially our younger two. It was not that they did not like her; but once again, I forgot to factor in their unique perspective, and had made assumptions based upon my own feelings.  Some readers may be shaking their heads at my lack of insight back then, but I was still unversed in the painful part of adoption from the adopted kids’ perspective.  I was naive, and egocentric, but not malicious.  But of course now it all makes sense.

For my kids it was so painful to see a pregnant single mom and know that she was about to separate from this child, and that he or she would not know or be known by their physical mother.  As I recall, their emotions ranged from how can she do that, to I hope the kid gets a good family.  Their almost visceral reaction seemed to take them by surprise as well, and honestly, how could they anticipate the flood of emotions as they watched a scene played out before them that mirrored one from their own histories, but one that they were not privy to?   I gained a new sensibility about their feelings, and this became part of our adoption narrative:  landing in a happy family does not mean that there are not painful feelings of longing or regret.  Our kids would later move on from these middle/high school years and become independent adults, and we would be able to talk some more about adoption.   I would learn to be patient and understanding and even open to all their feelings of sorrow, even as they still assured me that they loved me and they were glad I was their mom.  I would learn to leave room for the tiny albeit real piece of regret that, like a pebble in one’s shoe, can be a constant source of pain, even if the rest of the journey is relatively sunny. And I would know that their protective love for Joe & I would preclude them ever sharing the totality of their feelings with us.  In that aspect, we were outsiders, and I grew to accept that.

I would pray that all of us, parents, kids, and birth mothers could make peace with the life that God has chosen for us.   Part of the peace-making would involve their contacting their birth mothers, which as you might have guessed, will have to wait till next time.

Cross-Cultural Adoption: As Our Chinese Teacher Used to Say, “It’s Complicted.”

Eventually I knew I would get around to the topic of cross-cultural adoption.  Having lived in China for so long meant that I have witnessed a lot of things that have shaped my thinking on this topic.  I will do my best to explain this complex topic on which entire books have been written, in this simple five or six paragraph blog, and leave the rest for you to ponder and research on your own. In other words, I will get you all riled up and then leave you to figure things out for yourself.

First of all, I am not at all against cross-cultural adoption, although you may get that impression as I roll out some caveats.  Don’t be alarmed by them; just think about them and then toss or keep what is helpful.  Cross-cultural adoption can be a beautiful thing, but it does have a few twists and turns that “regular” adoption does  not. Of course we begin with a true story or two.

When we first arrived in China, it did not take very long for us to find out about the routine practice of foreigners adopting Chinese babies.  Not only did several of our team members do so, but we witnessed countless adoption groups many times when we headed up to Beijing for some R & R at a Western hotel.  We would be sitting at our breakfast table with our family chatting about the days plans, when we noticed quite a few foreigners in the restaurant. The fact that these couples were composed of two foreigners, and not the oft-sited old white dude with young Chinese girlfriend piqued our interest. When we would return to the hotel later that day, we would see these same mostly middle-aged couples with their baby strollers and diaper bags, and Chinese infants, beaming with excitement.

This scene had different effects on me as our 2 year China stay turned into a 9 year China stay.  At first I was impressed and emotional; those lucky babies will now have a good life.  All of them had come from an orphanage, and many had been left there due to having some physical or mental problem, but now they would get some proper care and have two doting parents.  I felt that these children were lucky, and as an adoptive parent myself, I smiled at each of them as we passed them, not wanting to speak to them directly as it would interrupt their reverie. I naively assumed my kids were similarly disposed, and thinking along the lines of those lucky kids.  As is often the case, this post will probably bring some comments from my kids, and I will learn more about their views on adoption in general, which I welcome.

A few years later, I had added some more dimensions to the adoption schema I had developed, and began to question the all good status of cross cultural adoption.  I was still not against it, but I began to see some of the difficulties of it more clearly.  For one, many Chinese lamented the loss of a Chinese child into a Western family, with the resultant loss of Chinese language and culture.  They were glad, they told me, that the child would have a good life, but what a dear price to pay.  It made them a little bit sad to see so many of their own give up their heritage, even if they were happy that the child would be well cared for.  I would often ask why more Chinese did not adopt these children, and was told that it was too expensive, that these children often had physical deformities  (which was often true), or that they were not keen on accepting a stranger’s genes if you will, into their family.  (I begged to differ on that last one since essentially most marriages do precisely that, and if I am correct, that is good for the gene pool.)

So this bittersweet reaction of the Chinese became part of my own understanding. Later when I would see this same scene at breakfast (and we saw it a lot in our 9 years) I would hope that the parents would be sure to teach these children some Chinese, and introduce them to some Chinese culture.  I hoped that they could come back to China one day to see their native land, and I hoped that it would be a positive experience for them

A second struggle that often surfaces in cross-cultural adoption is that of looking different from the rest of the family.  One of these things is not like the other is usually pretty easy to guess “before I finish this song.”  My kids all look like each other and like us, so their adoption is not common knowledge.  And no matter how much the parents try to forestall the pain of feeling different, sometimes their best efforts fall short.  An episode of Intervention (a show that my husband claims I am addicted to even though I have assured him that I can stop watching anytime) featured a young Indian boy named Gabe who was adopted into a white American family.  Although it may be painful to watch this episode, I found it very insightful about the struggle of fitting in when the whole world knows you are different.

Gabe’s story illustrated the “I know I should be grateful but actually I feel sad” phenomenon that can be a factor in cross cultural adoption.  Some families I know have adopted more than one cross-cultural kid, and often even siblings, and this seems to be a good solution. We’re different does not seems as lonely as I’m different. (I learned this back in the ’60s from Three Dog Night.)

I think these hurdles can be overcome; but perhaps it is good for parents to know that they are there, and to prepare for them. I will always be happy when a child who had no mom and dad gets to have one.  I simply have exchanged my rose-colored glasses for clearer ones.

I’ll close with a conversation I had about ten years ago with a close friend who had children naturally (note my avoidance of the phrase of her own), and who had also adopted one special little girl (cross-culturally).  Perhaps it will bring some comfort to those who have been adopted by someone from another culture.  I knew my friend would tell me the truth so one day as we sat in her apartment in China, I asked her now that she had experienced motherhood from both perspectives,  did she feel any different about her adopted child, compared with her natural born children?  She had knowledge that I did not, and I was curious.   Without hesitation she told me that there was absolutely no difference in her motherly feelings, and that it is impossible for a mother to hold back and not love all her children with everything she has. I liked that, and tucked it away to share one day.  I guess Valentine’s Day is a good day to share it, and I hope it helps someone.  Happy Valentines to all my cross cultural adopted friends!  And to that Special One who knows me as Aunty Liz, an extra measure of hugs and kisses to you today!

God Bless Dr. Leila Denmark

Dr. Leila Denmark is about to turn 114 years old, and will be the 4th oldest person in the world.  I think I would have to also say that she may be at least the 4th smartest, kindest, and dedicated physician in the world as well.  For those of us who took our children to her, (and there are 4 generations of us), there is no one like her.  The following is my own recollection of her, and why I liked this remarkable woman and gifted physician so very much.  It is my tribute to her on her 114th birthday. It is strange how writing about these events seems to make them come alive so many years later; I can recall them as if they had occurred just yesterday.

I first met Dr. Denmark in 1985 when we took our firstborn to see her; she was 87 years old at the time.  I could have taken our daugther to several excellent physicians in the Atlanta area, but I had heard so many good things about Dr. Denmark from my friends that I felt confident that she was the best choice.  I recall sharing about the appointment with Joe when he arrived home that night. “We had a good visit with Dr. Denmark today; I sure hope she will live long enough to get through our daughter’s first year of life.” Some 25 years later, my daughter wanted to celebrate her birthday by visiting with Dr. Denmark. As we walked up the steps of her daughter Mary’s home, I thought back to that day, and laughed to myself. My mind drifted to the small white house with its adjoining office in Dunwoody, Ga.

After signing ourselves in, we would wait for Dr. Denmark herself to come out to the reception room and ask “Who’s my next little angel?”  Each time we would visit, Dr. Denmark would dispense just the right amount of wise advice, all the while noting that common sense is a mother’s ready tool.  ”If only people would treat their children as well as we treat animals,” she would contend, “they would be so much better off.  You would never see a mama cat or dog or cow feed their young all day long, or give them things to eat that are not good for them ”  My daughter would be sitting there in her diaper on the examining table and I can still recall her beautiful wisps of strawberry blonde hair, her sweet face, and her flawless skin. She was usually happy to sit there listening for Dr. Denmark’s little bird whispers in her ear, (but sadly the one picture I have of her with Dr. Denmark is one with tears) and to the friendly dialogue between mother and physician in this tiny but wonderful space. I would find myself in other meaningful encounters later in life, in obscure places in China or Africa, but these moments with Dr. Denmark will always be some of my favorites.

By the time our twins came along, Dr. Denmark had moved to her new home and office out in Cumming.  The old blue-green restaurant style curved booth seating was moved to the new office, and the moms would sit and wait without an appointment, sometimes for twenty minutes and sometimes for several hours.  The twins both had a reflux problem that was not serious, but still upsetting since it involved projectile upchucking of their formula, soaking our clothes and furniture. Dr. Denmark took it all in stride and asked me to give the boys a bottle so she could observe. When they threw up, I hurried to wipe up the mess on her floor, with my husband managing the babies. I will never forget how quick Dr. Denmark was to say to me as she took my arm and got down on her knees to clean the floor. “You get up Miss May; you are a mother and are way to important to be down here on the floor… mothers have the most influential job in the world…if only they realized it.”   I was so stunned I was speechless as I looked at Joe for some confirmation that he too had heard this, and that I was not dreaming.

Later the twins got over their reflux phase and were thriving on Dr. Denmark’s regimen of regular sleep, nutritious food, sunshine and encouragement.  We were in her office for a well visit, when out of the blue in her unassuming way she began to tell me that some fellow wanted to come out and do an interview for television and that she thought these twins would be good patients for her to examine during the interview. I was a bit nervous about being on television but I knew I would be in the background, and figured not too many people would see us on local TV,  so I agreed.  When I arrived at her office with the twins and my daughter in her dress and big hair bow, the fellow introduced himself to me as Bob Dotson from NBC.  I about had heart failure at the thought of being on a national network with no preparation or time to back out.  But we did the interview and waited for it to finally air around Thanksgiving of that year (1989).   Of course this was before the Internet, YouTube, or cell phone videos, but we did manage to tape the segment on a VHS tape.  I suppose I should find that old tape and get it transferred to a DVD for my kids and grandkids to watch one day.  And I will try not to get my feelings hurt when my kids ask “Is that really you Mom?!!!” or worse yet, “Mom who is that lady holding us?” (Dr. Denmark they will recognize instantly.)

I think of Dr. Denmark so often, and even though she is so smart and so famous, she is probably the least smug about her stature than any famous person I can think of.  And that  got my attention.  She embodied confidence in her methods, and in my ability to think things through, and make wise choices for my children’s welfare. But with Dr. Denmark, there was not the slightest hint of know-it-all-ness or self-righteous satisfaction. She was as humble as she was bright, and truly dedicated herself to using her skills and wisdom to make this world a better place.

I hope Dr. Denmark lives to turn 114 this February 1, and I hope her beloved daughter Mary, her grandsons and their families get to enjoy a private celebration without adoring fans and curious onlookers.  But I don’t need to hope that she uses her gifts to bring honor to God, and bring better health to thousands of children and parents.  She has already done that.

Happy Birthday and God Bless You Dr. Denmark! It has truly been a privilege to know you.  And when I get down on my knees to clean up my grandchildren’s mess, if I have a smile on my face, it’s because I will be thinking of you.

“It Doesn’t Feel Like Christmas”

Last week when I spoke with my son who is deployed, he said that “it doesn’t feel like Christmas,”…so of course I had to write a poem about it.  I share it here with his permission.

It doesn’t feel like Christmas without my family,
My wife, my dogs, my mom and dad, my siblings and a tree.
Stuck here in the desert, with fellow soldiers we
Must keep our goal in mind, helping others to be free.

It doesn’t feel like Christmas, to be so far away
No elves or Santa pictures, no manger scenes displayed.
Eating at the mess hall, and working out each day,
Makes me miss my home life much more than I can say.

But then I got to thinking what Christmas really means
It’s not about the gifts, or the store-bought manger scenes
It’s God’s great gift of Jesus, without His kingly sheen,
Born as a human baby, with Holy Spirit genes.

And I can give my worship, and my thanks for His salvation
Whether snuggling up in Texas, or fighting for our nation
Being sad or lonely doesn’t stifle adoration
God is right here with me, as I meet my obligation.

So I’ll say a quiet thank you and I’ll think about our Lord
He didn’t have to volunteer to die for our accord;
He feely gave His Son for a clamoring, selfish hoard.
He knew that what we needed would be purchased by a sword.

There will be other Christmases when hearth and home are near,
There will be ham and Christmas fudge, and cookies and some beer.
We’ll play some games, and sing some songs, and have our Christmas cheer.
But I’ll recall this Christmas which was spent away right here.

I’ll thank God for using lonely times to help me see more clear.
Of the great Gift He has given, and the others I hold dear.
I’ll go to sleep with knowledge that I am a mortal mere,
But He wants me to protect the rest, and help remove the fear.

Perhaps it does feel like Christmas, in a tent out in the desert,
The humble home, the dusty winds, the lack of earthly comfort.
For in a lonely, quiet place our Savior brought us life
Maybe this is more the feeling of what Christmas should be like.

Merry Christmas to my precious son, 2011, Love, Mom

From Eden to Oz to the Titanic

This old Negro spiritual dates back to American slavery, and expresses the pain and sorrow of separation.  Some say that it depicts a literal separation of mother and child, and some say it is a metaphor for the separation of slaves from their homeland, and still others say it refers to the separation of earthly beings from their heavenly home.   The inhumane treatment of slaves certainly would make all three of those concurrent possibilities.  I first heard this song back in the ’60s long before I knew I would adopt kids.  I was not adopted, and had a secure home with a good mom and dad, but the song spoke to me.  It was performed by Richie Havens at Woodstock, and I was so moved by his rendition that I still listen to his recording once in a while.

I was not a motherless child, nor did I yet know that I would be a childless mother, but I identified with the theme of this song.  Although only 15, I had a sense that there was something more, something better, something missing. I am not alone; whether you listen to the 1939  Judy Garland version, or the Israel “IZ” Kamakawiwoʻole version which I find equally delightful, you hear the longing for something better in the song Over the Rainbow.

Going back even farther to my early elementary school days, I recall being in my grandparent’s department store, and seeing among the framed reproductions, a Gustave Dore painting of Adam & Eve fleeing the Garden of Eden.  I was fascinated with that particular painting that stood out among the beautiful nature scenes and historic sites. I felt a sadness that they had to leave the Garden of Eden, and what that meant for all of their progeny as well.  However I did not comprehend at that young age the full impact of sin in the world.  I knew that God was not keen with sin in general, or my own particular brand, but I thought of sin more in terms of punishment, rather than separation from a loving God.

I mention this because when my children began to experience and communicate some of their struggles with being adopted, I had three immediate thoughts running through my head. The first was that to some extent, I think everyone has some separation issues, even if they have not experienced adoption, divorce, or abuse.  To quote Augustine, 4th century bishop of Hippo,

 Thou movest us to delight in praising Thee; for Thou hast formed us for Thyself, and our hearts are restless till they find rest in Thee.

When we are not connected to God in a harmonious relationship, such as we were created to have, there is indeed a restlessness even if one is not aware of its origins.  So if you can imagine a non-flippant, but initial knee jerk response to the sharing of hidden pain about adoption, mine was, albeit laced with motherly concern… join the club.  I know, it looks bad in black and white text, but it was not thought of with any kind of malice.  It was a nod to the common restlessness if you will, with things in this world being out of kilter.

My second thought was that I naively did not see this coming. Like many young adoptive parents, our perspective was that our kids were darn lucky to have been placed in a loving home, and that they lacked for nothing, and should be grateful to us. After all, many kids grow up with biological parents who do not treat them as well as we treated our kids. Again, that sounds so crass in black and white text, but that is the short version of my thinking.

Happily my third big thought came to the surface and kicked both the knee-jerk and naive thinking off the stage, and I took some time to listen and consider my kids’ concerns.  It was not that they were not grateful to their Daddy and I, and it was not that they were unhappy with how they grew up, and it was not that they wished that they had been raised by their single birth mothers. It was just that…they hated that they were given up. They would have much preferred to have been born into our family the usual way.  Deep inside their psyches was the ache that someone, in fact the someone who should have been the most nurturing person to them, gave them away.  I sighed deeply as I listened to their thoughts; Carl Jung would back them up on their abandonment issues.  Indeed, it was painful to me, their mom in all respects except biology, to realize that this deep wound could not be dressed by me.   No, such a big hurt could only be healed by God Himself, and I committed myself to pray for that for my children.

Like it or not, many adopted children struggle with abandonment issues, though it pains me to admit it.  As one of my children shared with me, “It feels like they decided you were trash, and just threw you away.”  I was shocked to hear this graphic and emotional response mostly because I had believed that our loving narrative shared with our kids as they grew up had paved the way for removal of any deep heartache.  But I felt glad that they shared this picture with me, as it illustrated their feelings so well.  And I could learn from them.

Being a mom meant that I hurt with, and for, my kids.  Being an English teacher meant that I was a lover of words and stories. Therefore both of my professions pushed me to search for a better metaphor.  One day it came to me, and I went back to my kid to propose a different way to frame adoption.  Suppose, I said that you were not at all trash to be gotten rid of, but rather a precious jewel to be delivered to safety at great personal risk by one, and to be rescued gently and lovingly by two others?  What if, I continued, you exchange your trash can metaphor… for a lifeboat?  Although I have not found a painting that depicts this, and sadly Gustave Dore is no longer with us, I shared my inside my head-painting about adoption.

Picture a turbulent sea, with the ship going down fast.  The birth mother knows she must choose safety for her precious child, even if it brings great sorrow to her own heart. With all the determination she can muster, weeping quietly, she reluctantly but carefully hands her precious child over to the young couple in the lifeboat. The mom hides this precious bundle inside her coat and the dad takes his coat off and puts it over both of them. They bring the child in close with kisses and tears and hugs and more love than they ever knew was humanly possible.  They promise the birth mother to nurture this child with all their soul and mind and strength, and she smiles weakly and thanks them, grateful that no matter what happens to her, she knows she gave her child the best chance she could.

An adoption is a rescue, rather than a toss-away.  Being adopted is to be carefully placed in a life boat, with all grown-ups committed to the safety and security of that precious human being.  There are no trash cans in this painting, but there are many tears, smiles, kisses, and much sacrificial love.

Oh, and I think I would want an angel in this painting too, but rather than brandishing a prohibitive sword, this time the angel would be smiling.  This kind of love is more divine than human, and I’m not sure if angels get to see it everyday.

Greater love hath no man than this, that He lay down His life for His friends.  John 15:13