Part 6;
My Birth Mother
The Adult……Ecuador
When she thinks of her birth mother, there doesn’t seem to be much emotion, of any kind. She has good memories of her, times when they were with her father as well, but always her connection seems to be with her father. The strong bond felt for her father, seems to be missing with her mother.
Somehow, even though she feels this woman truly is her mother, she cannot quite get her head around the idea, it is just too amazing to think it. Here in Ecuador, many do not know who she speaks of when her mothers name is mentioned. This surprises her because in North America, she is an idol of sorts. The opposite is true of her father. Here in Ecuador he is an icon, well loved and remembered, but in North America, many have never heard of him, or have no real knowledge of him.
Journal Entries
October 16, 1998
Dream Revealing the Truth
This dream makes so much sense to me. It told me things about the early days of the family that came to raise me, telling me what intuitively I already suspected. The answers will never come from the family, but we know the truth in our hearts and it finds us when we are ready to hear it.
I somehow ended up in a room with my adoptive father Duncan. In the dream I was not interested in talking to him or even seeing him, but he insisted on talking to me.
He explained he wasn’t so bad when he was young. His biggest problem was he could not find personal success, which would obviously affect not only his survival but that of his young family. He could not get a good paying job to support his new family and it was during this time he met someone who was willing to help him. They struck a deal, in his mind a job, and this was the beginning of things going right for him. He believed that once he had reached a certain level of success he would be able to separate from this man and regain his independence.
The strange part about this area of the dream was what began to happen to him as he spoke. His face became a mask, and his body a shell, so that he was ultimately just a voice. As he talked I took hold of this empty body and starting with the mask, I began tearing it apart, ripping it into small pieces. I was making a pile that I intended to burn when finished, a process I felt would be very therapeutic. I could feel my anger towards him lessen with each piece I added to the pile. All through this, he continued talking, oblivious at what I was doing to him.
He said that even though it started out taking a small amount of his time, the demands on him increased as time passed, becoming more difficult and weird. It was now obvious this was not something from which he would easily be able to break free. The man he had met now had complete control, so in order to keep his family safe he would continue to serve.
He began to tell me how I came to be with them. He said the woman I thought of as my mother was not the one who carried me. There were five other women he knew that were part of this circle in which he was involved because of his obligations to this man.
He said I was the daughter of one of these women. He would not tell me which was my mother, nor would he tell me anything about her. I must have awakened at this time because I can’t remember what transpired after that point. Unfortunately, many of the details describing how I came to live with them were lost. At the time it seemed more important to focus on the realization about my mother.
April 14, 2000
My Mom Dream
This was such an amazing dream to have about my birth mother. I wish I had written more of the details of the dream at the time, but after all these years I can still recall the incredible strength of the connection I felt when I awoke. While it will likely always be difficult to accept so many discrepancies in my past, it is deeply comforting to look back and see the messages were so persistent in surfacing.
Although I do not know where this dream took place, I understood I was at the house of the woman who gave birth to me, my true mother. This was not the same woman I grew up believing was my mother.
In the dream I was looking through a photo album or scrap book and came across a picture of my mother when she was younger, perhaps in her late twenties or early thirties. The photo was a close-up of just her face, I could see it very clearly. There was someone in the room talking to me who I’m sure were her other children, a woman and a man. They were agreeing there was a strong resemblance between my mother and me. My mother had shoulder length brown hair, and she was very pretty. Her nose was smaller than mine and I saw gentleness in her face I felt I had as a younger girl. Did I bear some resemblance to her? I wondered as I looked at her face, hoping there was something of her in me.
There were two other pictures in particular that drew my attention. One was of her wedding day and the other taken when she was older, perhaps in her thirties. She was wearing a very stylish hat from the late 50s or early 60s. She seemed very familiar to me and I removed the photo from the book to look at the name written on the back. I cannot recall the name I saw no matter how hard I have tried. Some other pictures fell out from the book when I removed it. These were all of her wedding day and seeing them gave me quite a shock. At the time I thought these were my parents, but I was wrong, it had been just an assumption because of the situation I was in. It was my mother yes, but not my father.
There was one other picture which really resonated—I began to cry when I saw it—it seemed to tell a story of her love for my father. The image was of a bench or outdoor love seat beside a stream or creek that ran through her property. There was no one sitting on it, just a blanket draped over the back as if two people had just left.
Somehow I understood the importance of this place to my parents, a place hidden from the world, their secret spot. Her children were telling me my mother was haunted, I think about the choices she felt forced to make in her life, especially regarding me in her later years although they did not understand the reasons at the time. It all made me very emotional.
I got the feeling she had died in recent years, but it had taken some time for them to locate me. Before she died she explained everything to them so they would understand the terms of her will, hopefully understanding what happened and why. They were very accepting of me in the dream and also quite accommodating, showing me around and helping me understand her life. The property where we were had been sold and they wanted me to see it before the new owners made any changes. I was touched by their commitment to give me the peace that comes from understanding.
This is all I could remember of the dream. I lay awake wondering about this information, wishing I could better understand. It’s very hard to accept what I was being told. How could this woman possibly be my mother? Considering for a moment this is true, then the secrecy and lies, the culture introduced through the family that raised me, the desire to hide me; all these things made more sense based on this new information.
There is a resonance with this information I could not argue against. Also, I could now understand why it would have been unacceptable for her to raise me as her own. The society she was born to would never tolerate the wide ranging implications from this kind of indiscretion.
**Since having this dream, I see that my daughter looks very much like my mother, more so I think, than me.
June 20, 2002
Airport Good-bye
This is one of the dreams to which I have a very strong connection. I think of it often and wonder about what was happening as I stood there with my mother, and how it affected me for the rest of my life. I had mixed emotions from remembering this moment from my past. While I was enjoying the aspect of the dream which brought my mother to me, I also was very much aware of the fact that we would be separated, likely never seeing each other again. This is a hard concept for one so young to accept or understand.
This morning I had a dream where I watched myself as a little girl of three. We were on asphalt at the airport. There was a silver plane in the background and I had the feeling I was getting on that plane.
My mother was on one knee in front of me. We were both dressed up, she wearing a dress that was white with black trim, and a pillbox hat like Jackie Kennedy wore. I remember when I woke up this woman really reminded me of her, not just because of her style and clothes, but her hair, physique and general overall appearance.
I had on a white dress with a sweater, white with pale yellow on the front, and a bonnet. It was the bonnet that suggested my age. My left hand was beside my mouth and I looked uncertain, perhaps scared. My mother had her hands on my shoulders and then she leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. She then gave me a small hug, told me good-bye and said she loved me. This is all I remember.
Considering there are so few memories of my mother, I felt in my heart this may have been the last time I saw her, but I can only speculate because the memories are so scattered, not really coming to me in proper order.
The Child……the Room
She is with her birth mother in a place not familiar. There has been a funeral and the sadness is overwhelming for her. Her mother is sitting on a love seat and she is watching her from across the room. Her mother’s composure is very dignified, but she is grief stricken, the light no longer shining in her eyes, replaced by tears. She understands somehow this is an extreme life changing moment for both of them.
She is not really sure why she is here, the man who died not someone she knows. There are several men in the room, she has not seen any other women or family members. This seems very strange. The men are all dressed exactly the same – in black suits and ties and a white shirt. There is a feeling they are in the room for protection, something she knows without understanding. Something terrible has happened, she doesn’t want to be here, she wants to go home. She feels she will never see her parents again and the sadness is frightening.
Journal Entries
August 28, 2002
The Men in Black
This morning I had a vision of a group of men standing in a room that seemed to be in my home.
I was sitting in this room with my real mother; a large room in I would say an expensive home. I am sitting beside her, I can feel her sadness and her fear. She is mourning, very sad.
The men were all dressed in black suits, white shirts and black ties, typical of the late 1950s or early 1960s, most of them a glass in hand talking amongst themselves.
It feels now like it could have been a funeral reception. There was a lot of tension and uncertainty in the room. I did not understand what was going on. Now walking between them (as a child) looking up as they moved to let me pass. They all seemed familiar to me, but I am not able to identify why.
September 9, 2002
Mother’s Laugh
Another vision this morning, this time about my birth mother. She was laughing, a really good laugh that gave me joy just to hear it. She was sitting with a man but I couldn’t see his face. I could see was he was wearing a red tie with blue and white stripes on the diagonal. The stripes were very fine lines. My mother was wearing a black and white dress. (Another dream with only one item in colour.) He was leaning back in his seat as she was leaning forward in hers, blocking my view of him.
September 18, 2002
My Sweater
On June 20, 2002 I dreamt about wearing this sweater while saying goodbye to my mother.* This is an important reference, making a connection which explains the emotional attachment I felt while having this dream.
I was thinking of Josh, Colby, and Rheann while I was looking at some of their old baby clothes. I picked up a sweater, yellow with a white yoke but couldn’t remember this ever belonging to my children. I suddenly burst into tears as though it was an important treasure. I actually woke myself up with my sobbing, tears running down my face.
I believe this was the sweater I was wearing the day my birth mother said good- bye to me at the airport. At the time I did not realize the possibility I might never see her again. Seeing the sweater now allowed me the opportunity to cry for the loss I did not understand then. Powerful.
September 22, 2002
This woman came to me in a few different dreams, two of which are mentioned here. I do not recall who she is or why I was brought to her, but because I was standing beside my birth mother I have to assume they were somehow related. It felt as though my mother had no choice with regards to bringing me to this woman, there was a great deal of tension and uncertainty around her. It was not a comfortable situation for me either. I did not understand why I was there, it was not a place I would have felt I belonged, so different from where I lived in South America.
I was in the home of a wealthy woman I dreamed of before. The foyer of the home was quite large and open, leading to a curved staircase. I remember standing at the bottom of the spiral staircase in this very expensive home. I was holding my mothers hand as we watched an older yet still very elegant woman coming down the stairs.*
I would say that she was in her 70s and in very good health, strong for her age. I was seeing what was around me through my young eyes as though I was reliving the experience She said, “So this is little Gabriel.” Somehow I knew she owned this home in New York, and another in Chicago although I can’t explain how I knew. I was brought to her for a reason but am unaware what it is. Could this woman be related to her, perhaps her birth mother’s mother, her grandmother?
The Adult…..Ecuador
She is working on the dream she had of her mother years ago, for her book. As she pauses to enjoy the landscape of this beautiful place where she is living, she thinks about what she has been writing.
This dream or more accurately memory she has of her mother, and possibly grandmother, seems to authenticate who she is. The grande entryway with its beautiful spiral staircase, even in this moment overwhelm her. She feels this is obviously a very expensive home, something quite foreign to her. This home is a place she can not relate to the simple life she felt she had with the couple from Argentina. This place does not give her comfort, she feels lost here. .
Nor is it comparable to the home where she grew up in Canada. This home just screams wealth, it doesn’t feel right to her.
Such mixed emotions with the polarized views of the two people she has come to believe are her birth parents. Like an bizarre kind of fairy tale, the odds of it being true about the same as we view a story like Cinderella. But the brothers Grimm first collection of stories was based on actual, gruesome events. However, they had to provide lighter interpretations of these factual incidents in order to sell books. The story of Cinderella was based on truth, so it is a choice really. Believe or do not believe in the messages brought to you, is what she feels about her story. Either way, in her mind it is an interesting story, carrying a message of hope. There is love woven into the fabric of the stories even though the dreams and memories tell a difficult tale.
Just like a fairy tale, the next dream she enters into the book makes her pause in amazement. There is just no way she could make something like this up, it is beyond her imagination. There was hesitation in her thoughts as to whether she should include the story because of its unusual nature. But considering the woman was the same person from the previous dream, someone she faced at the foot of her grande staircase, she felt there was importance to it, an invisible thread if you like.
Journal Entries
May 6, 2003
I remember this same older woman taking me to Japan to meet someone. We were sitting in a room, like a boardroom and there were several Japanese men around the table, this woman and myself. A man came into the room who was obviously the one in authority, sitting down at the head of the table opposite me.
He was angry at her I think because she seemed not to respect their traditions and was quite demanding about what she wanted from them. He gave a signal with a movement of his head and someone brought us each an object that resembled some kind of fruit or nut, but it was not explained to me, so I did not know what it was.
They were small, about the size of a child’s palm. There was a soft spot where a special fork was inserted, and surrounding that was a hard shell. It was beautiful and was like a puzzle, but no one wanted to touch theirs except for the man who was next to me (I think he was Caucasian). I looked at it and understood I had to break the shell by banging it, using the fork as a handle. The man beside me tried first and seemed to hurt his hand with the effort when the shell made contact with the table, and only a very small piece chipped off.
I didn’t understand how this could be so difficult, so I tried mine. The shell shattered instantly and I felt no pain from the effort. I was delighted with this result and was smiling until I saw the man across from me. He seemed very angry although he said nothing. Hard to understand the meaning behind this one even today.
I must also note the contents of this special puzzle is a mystery to me. It’s significance perhaps would have been understood had I managed to remember more of the details.
Had it not been for this same woman being in the dream and playing such a significant role in the story she wonders if she might have simply brushed it off off as unimportant. The woman’s presence and the intent behind her actions told her this was an important meeting they attended, a kind of test for her, one they hoped she would fail. This in itself inspired her to include it.
That was the impression I was left with at the time, even though it made no sense. Perhaps passing the test meant they had to treat her differently. Had she failed would she have been allowed to just carry on with her life: no torture, no fragmenting of my mind and spirit? Passing the test however, put her in a position of needing to be programmed. This is just conjecture as she sits here admiring the view, pondering the reason for the dream. It makes more sense now looking at it from this new perspective.
The Adult….the Room, Ecuador
Her new adopted family raised her in the house on Chalice Road in Calgary from the time she arrived in Canada. This house was built because of her – her birth mother arranging for her placement with this family. This new home, a benefit this family received as a result of her arrival into their lives. Arrangements had been made for her to be provided a good life while she lived with them. This included certain luxuries, such as ballet lessons, tickets to the philharmonic and expensive clothes from an exclusive children’s clothing store. The other children were not recipients of these gifts for the most part however they were offered the opportunity to enjoy the philharmonic. But luckily for her, she was the only one who wanted to go, in the end no longer having to share to seasonal seat with them. These “Gifts”were something which became a source of jealousy from the other children, and something she would feel regret about over the years. She did not know about the transaction made in exchange for her life. There was much confusion in her mind as to why she was given more opportunities, as of course nothing was ever explained to her.
She had been 3 years old , to the best of her knowledge from her memories, when she arrived in Canada. It was a world she did not understand and never really adapted to. Her life had been torn apart, they taught her to forget, to become someone else, to hate who she had been, not trust the memories.
She feels now after assembling the book, her mother arranged a situation she believed to be the best for her daughter at the time. In her place would she have chosen differently? Did her mother know what happened after releasing her daughter into the care of the family in Canada? This are things she may never know the answers to. In fact, until these last few weeks of silent isolation, she did not even realize how angry she was with her mother for living the consequences of her decision. Releasing the anger over a few nights when she could not sleep, peace came to her, a welcome wave of silent understanding, washing away the burden of held blame. Now forgiveness replaced the anger, at last she could let go of the deep emotions holding her in one place.