Writing My Wrongs

They Sold My Baby

For an update on the individuals who sold my child after threatening me with lawsuits and having my parents sign a promissory note, I offer thanks to Pound Pup Legacy for their post. I have copied and pasted it below. Copyright belongs to Pound Pup Legacy.

Seymour Kurtz: An Update

"While Baby Broker Watch already has a great page on Seymour Kurtz and I don't want to rehash too much of what is already written there, I still had the urge to find more about the current state of his activities. While being already on the website of the Georgia State Department to look up information about another agency, I accidentally stumbled upon his Golden Link Foundation and decided to look into the published documents.

The most interesting document was also the most recent. a certificate of merger, issued on 13 May 2007, which deals with the merger of Adoption World (Illinois) and Golden Link Foundation (Georgia), into a new Adoption World (Georgia). More specifically, the old Adoption World (Illinois) ceased to exist after the merger; and Golden Link Foundation as the surviving entity was subsequently renamed into Adoption World, head quartered in Illinois, but registered in Georgia. All signed sealed and delivered by Seymour Kurtz himself.

Looking through all the documents I found out there is another important figure in the Kurtz network, not mentioned on the Baby Broker Watch website, by the name of Mary Ann Mijajlovic, executive director of Adoption World as indicated by the license of the Department of Children and Family Services of Illinois. She was also the one who, in 1999, authorized the name change of Adoption Care Inc, into Golden Link Foundation, as is indicated in one of the appendices of the certificate of merger.

Adoption Care Inc. at the time had Diane Newton as its executive director, who held the same position with the now defunct Kurtz organization Friends of Children Inc., whose secretary was Margot Hamilton who at the time was executive director of Easter House, the agency with which Seymour Kurtz' adventures in baby selling all started in the early 1960's.

But let's get back to Mary Ann Mijajlovic, she is not only executive director of Adoption World, but holds that same position with another of Kurtz agencies, Birth Hope Adoption Agency, of which she is also the vice president. as can be learned from the annual report of 2007. In a report of 2002 of Birth Hope Adoption Agency we can also find the name of Howard Korengold, together with his fellow layer buddy Norman Hanfling, the person in whose name the Easter House is registered,

Are you still with me?

Seymour Kurtz, the sly fox that he is, certainly knows how to spin a web of deceit and despite actions of several states, many lawsuits later, he is still in business, albeit now with only three companies remaining: Adoption World, Easter House and Birth Hope. Or is there still more? Well, though it doesn't look active, there still seems to be a Friends of Children in Arkansas and according to the State Department its status is good standing. While the activity of that organization is not at all clear, it is certain Birth Promise Adoption Agency (Connecticut) is closed and so is Pregnancy Guidance Center (DC).

With those three organizations still in place and Seymour Kurtz having been investigated since 1976, when the Chicago Sun-Times first started a series of articles on him, it seems we will have to wait until the man's death before we are finally rid of him. He and his Easter House survived two congressional hearings, dozens of lawsuits, which not only proves the shrewdness of the man but also the weakness of the American legislative system.

For those interested, I made a couple of articles from the 1980's, about or mentioning Seymour Kurtz and only available in photocopy format, available as text:

• South Carolina Is the Nation's Baby Buying Supermarket
• South Carolina's Booming Baby Business
• South Carolina's Booming Baby Business II
• Meet Seymour Kurtz, He'll Find You A Baby in the Name of God and $14,000
• Adoption King Cuts Mexican Ties
• Letters Lewis AND "Friends" "

Lightening the Load

"A house is just a pile of stuff with a cover on it. You can see that when you're taking off in an airplane. You look down, you see everybody's got a little pile of stuff. All the little piles of stuff. And when you leave your house, you gotta lock it up. Wouldn't want somebody to come by and take some of your stuff. They always take the good stuff. They never bother with that crap you're saving. All they want is the shiny stuff. That's what your house is, a place to keep your stuff while you go out and get...more stuff! "  - George Carlin

I wish disposing of adoption feelings were so easy.

I have an offer on my home. I accepted it. They want to close April 30th. I am now in a mad rush to find a new place to live, downsize my stuff, cancel my trip to Ireland (actually reschedule) and manage my sons surgery scheduled to take place a day before I close.

Can we say stress? 

As I am viewing properties to move to, I realize I am once again downsizing and must dispose of items. That is quite okay with me. I prefer to be a minimalist.  Form must follow function.

Five years ago I lived in a five thousand sq ft center hall colonial. We went to a two thousand sq ft ranch and now I will go to an even smaller town home.  Stuff has to go. 

I dont like clutter or squashed spaces. It physically affects me. I suffer from a bit of claustraphobia.  Too much furniture makes me feel closed in and I get edgy. Clutter on counters makes me shake and sends me into Turets like twitching.

There are items I cherish (my books for example) and they get to stay. Other things must go.

I discovered the wonder of craigslist. Posted a number of items yesteday (bookcases, formal dining room set, microwave, wingback chairs, etc.) and they are all allocated. I am awaiting pick up right now.

As space opens up in my home, as I organize and downsize, I feel so free. I smile and feel as I have personally lost weight.

And as always, I reflect on adoption trauma.

This is the feeling I am after. A lightness of being, less weight, less clutter, noise, etc.  in my head and heart.

I wonder if one can post trauma to craigslist?

"Twenty plus year old collection of adoption related trauma. FREE. Pick it up today. Black, noisy, frequently out of control, highly problematic. May induce vomiting, shaking, insomnia and incredible anxiety. Guaranteed to limit your ability to have intimate relationships with others. Fans of horror movies will adore the added benefit of  inducing horrific nightmares. No charge for the extra feature of causing you to collapse and curl into the fetal position at any random moment. Call today. You dont want to miss out on this extraordinary offering! Must be seen to be believed."

Any takers?

This is Awful and This is Crap

“Develop a built-in bullshit detector.” - Ernest Hemingway

Have you seen this story? It is awful on so many levels.

But from my perspective two things really upset me (almost as much as the terrible loss of life itself)

Consider this paragraph:

""The children's birth mothers will not be notified unless they ask. They were all young, single mothers at the time of the children's births, the agency said.

After their children are adopted, they usually make a fresh start and our agency doesn't reach out first. Only if they contact us, we will inform them what happened," Hong said, adding that no phone calls were received so far.

The children -- Ethan, 10, Seth, 7, Mira, 5, and Eleanor, 3 -- were adopted by the Sueppels in 1998, 1999, 2002 and 2005, respectively, Holt officials said. After adopting Ethan, the couple decided to adopt his siblings from Korea, rather than other countries, they said."

So, get this, mothers in Korea surrender  their children to adoption and they are given to an American couple. Those children are murdered by the adoptive father and the mothers will NEVER be told. Instead they  get to live out their  fresh starts with the life long agony of wondering where their  children are and how they are doing.  They might ponder reunion. They will always wonder what their children look like. Maybe they will get savvy and someday search on their own. Unless they do, they  will never be told THEIR CHILDREN ARE DEAD and THEY WERE MURDERED.

The Holt reps states that they will not notify the mothers due to the "fresh starts" and so far no phone calls have been received.

Guess what, asswipe, there is no such thing as a fresh start. That is adoption koolaid pumping through your veins and corporate doublespeak intended to protect your culpability. Get real.

Women who lose children to adoption get on  with their lives but they are never "fresh". They are always, permanently wounded, always scarred. Never, ever the same. I know, I am one of those "fresh starters".  Losing my child to adoption was and remains the greatest trauma of my life time.  Where exactly is that fresh start? When does it begin? I got big boobs at an early age but perhaps my fresh start is a late blooming activity?

And that phone call?  More things the agency never told me. Perhaps they did and I disregarded it, or maybe it was in fine print...

"Please be sure to contact the agency regularly, once a year is good,  to see if your child has been murdered. If you don't call to ask about their death, we will never contact you. Instead, we will let you live out that fresh start you have gotten. Thank you very much. "

Perhaps the agencies should hand out phone calling cards after we sign TPRs just to insure the crackhead birthmothers have enough money to make those dead pool calls?

Son a Poet and I did not know it.

"Writing a poem is discovering” - Robert Frost

Her eyes were a brilliant turquoise blue and seemed to reflect off of her equally blue shirt.  In contrast, my son’s freckled cheeks were the most adorable pink due to his full blush.

My ex-husband and I had just shared with my sons’ blue-eyed teacher the name of his classroom crush.  My son quickly gave me the “MA!” look and then blushed a deep pink.

We all chuckled.

As we left the parent-teacher conference, I marveled over my son. I am so proud of him. He has done so well since we took him out of the alleged blue ribbon public school system in our town and transferred him to the Magnet school a few towns away. As his teacher said, he has “blossomed”. Even in light of his parents’ divorce, his father moving out to a new apartment and us entering into family therapy, his grades have improved and his smiles have widened.

His teacher reports he is extremely well liked, well rounded and has a great sense of humor. (All true).  His reading, comprehension and spelling have greatly improved and where he was once a B’ish student he is now an A and A+.  (Bless you Howard Gardner and your theory of multiple intelligences.) And oh yeah, the teacher adds nonchalantly, he will likely be invited to join the Math Olympiad next year. His CREC assessment for math noted him the highest in his class. If his CMT’s come back supporting that result, he will be asked to join the Olympiad next fall.

And did I read his poetry his teacher asked? Poetry? What poetry?  My son writes poems?

I noted I had not seen any poem and she informed me it was hanging on the bulletin board in the hallway. It was so good they did not want to let it go home yet.

My son writes excellent poetry.  My son who two years ago was in remedial reading at his old school is now reading at or above grade level and writing poetry. Be still my writer heart.

We walked by the poem inspired by Ode to Night. I was moved to tears. He writes. He has talent. He and I have something in common.

And for the first time ever, a visit to my sons’ school, a viewing of his project and work did NOT include a reference to his absent sister.

Of course I thought about her – but only in relation to the fact that she was finally not making a star appearance in his school work.  I am not embarrassed to admit I was relieved that I was able to finally focus on my son and his wonder and not get the emotional interference of the loss of my daughter.

Crayons and Comprehension

“While we try to teach our children all about life, our children teach us what life is all about.” - Unknown

Setting:

Extended day program, local Magnet school. Children abound. Noise exceptional.  Parents struggling to find sign out sheet while others pick through bags and coats.

My youngest son is seated at a round table playing Connect Four with another child and a care provider.

As I approach, he jumps out of his seat, grabs a paper and starts to talk to me. Simultaneously a care provider begins to explain to me how my son hurt himself on the playground and was given an ice pack. As I try to comprehend what she is saying to me, my son is getting louder and louder demanding my attention.

I start to turn my attention towards him when his little friend, DeSean, grabs me from the other side demanding I look at his green plastic frog.

A tad bit overstimulated, I smile at DeSean and turn toward  my inpatient son.

"What, Stefan?" I ask.

"Mom, do I have a sister?" He asks with large brown inquisitive eyes.

"Um, yeah. Yes, you do" I respond with a vague awareness that there are several staff members and parents looking at us strangely. I suspect they are a bit intrigued why he has to ask if he has a sister.

"Oh, good, I thought so.  Seeeeeeeeeee, I drew a picture of you and sister. Can I give it to her?" he says as he shoves a crayon drawing in front of me.

Startled, I review the masterpiece.  I am amused at the bow on the head and then I get a little concerned at what looks like a black cloud above us.  Clearly I am reading far too much into this kindergarten artwork.  However, this is my youngest sons first unprompted expression of his lost sister. Like his older brother before him, he draws pictures of her and thinks of her during his school time hours.

"Oooh, I love the picture. Which one is Mom and which one is Sister?" I ask.

He informs me that the "girl" on the right is me and the other girl is his sister.

"Love it. Now get your coat, sweetie" I respond. For once I am  thankful for the short attention span of a six year old, I realize I have dodged the "can I give it to her" loaded question.

And so it finally begins.

My soon to be six year old is finally consciously aware that he has a sister that is not present in our home.

I wonder how his processing of this unusual fact  will be different from his older brother. He is a bit more vocal than his brother. He is also more emotional with more obvious ups and downs. I suspect he could be even more challenging for me in the absent sister explanation department than his older brother.

Sigh.

Grandpa Dink

“One of the sanest, surest, and most generous joys of life comes from being happy over the good fortune of others.” - Robert Heinlein

I couldn't sleep last night. I was up until close to 1:00 a.m. due to anxiety, insomnia and more.

To pass the time, I worked on my computer and managed to install an external hard drive and move my extensive music collection to it. I also cleaned up my home computer, organized my desk, and picked up the house to prepare for a showing today. In between all of this, I chatted with a few friends via instant messenger. Finally, I reflected on my weekend.

One of the most notable events is that Mr. Dink became a grandfather. His teenage, adopted, recently married, daughter gave birth to her baby girl. Mr. Dink called me and shared the wonderful news. I have been privileged  to "view" this pregnancy from afar. Mr. Dink shared highlights with me regularly. It is very sweet. To see him so proud of his daughter, to witness his support of her, to view pictures of him holding his new grand baby. Sweet.

And triggering.

When Mr. Dink called me a few days ago to tell me that a new angel walks among us, I was moved to tears.  My tears were equal parts joy for The Dink family and sadness and grief for myself.

Bearing witness to such loving events, to such a wonderful daddy/now granddaddy, emphasized for me, again, how much I lacked at a similar time in my life. I could not help but wonder how my own life would have been different if my own father was one shred of the man Mr. Dink is.  Does his daughter know how lucky she is to have him? (I suspect she does since on her myspace page, under the Heroes label, she had typed "DADDY")

During the birth announcement conversation, Mr. Dink made reference to my daughter and her lack of contact with me. I gasped for air. He meant well. He was being supportive and validating and encouraging and hopeful and all other sorts of loving things that friends are. I am not accustomed to such validation or being spoken to so directly about such matters. When I am emotionally bleeding (as I have been for years) most people I know just ignore it. They walk around the bloody elephant in the room and don't acknowledge my pain. I just couldn't handle, at that time, Mr. Dink doing so. I redirected the conversation back to his new family member.

The conversation has stayed with me and today I wrote Mr. Dink and apologized for what may have been chilly response on my part. Was never my intent. It was just hard for me to stitch all my frayed emotions together during the conversations. I know him well enough to know that he will forgive me. He may not even have noticed. That is my hope.

Welcome to the world Mr. Dinks' Granddaughter!

And to the natural mother of Mr. Dinks adopted daughter (the new mom), I congratulate you too. Wherever you are in the world, you became a grandma this weekend. Your grand daughter is as beautiful as your daughter.   

He is Risen, She is Lost

" Now, if we are going to celebrate anything in America and it must be associated with death, then let's instead, on a national scale, have a day of acknowledgment for the soldiers who currently sacrifice themselves for a country; one in which the habitants brush off a soldier's efforts and say it's his patriotic obligation and nothing more while they pay tithing and empty themselves of reason for a religion. A religion, I might add, that birthed impetus for war: the conflicting religious difference between Muslims and Christians, a president that said he was carrying out God's will by invading Iraq, and the Christian support for the war." - Reconstruction of Reason

Putting aside the fact that I am not religious, I have disliked easter since 1986 even more than I did when I was a child.

The name of the agency that sold my daughter is Easter House.

I remember asking the caseworker why it was named such.  She recited some religious babble about Christ's resurrection and his life beginning anew. She actually made some odd adoption connection that by giving my daughter away I was giving her a new life and thereby saving her from the "dead life" with me. It was an odd exchange.  An agnostic even then, I recall sitting there, staring at her, secretly thinking that her explanation was as unbelievable at Father Pcolka's sermons at Sunday mass.

Many years later, when I began ehbabes.com and started to amass reams of papers on the agency, I was not the least bit surprised to see similar religious propaganda in  marketing materials the agency sent to prospective adopters. Some of their materials quoted from the Talmud. Others from the bible.  How wise of them to be an equal opportunity agency and quote appropriate religious scripture to suit their client base. Adoption, is, after all "gods plan", right?  Appeal to a persons religion, tell them by adopting (or buying) a baby they will be guaranteed a seat in heaven, able to cut to the front of the line and shake hands with St. Peter, and poof the PAPS  give you buckets of money. Pretty good racket, no? A baby and passage into heaven? Who could resist? How much can I pay? Where do I sign up? Will I get my own special cloud to float on? An extra set of angels?

Um, sorry, but I am not feeling it.  No Easter for me.  I have had nearly twenty two years of Easter. I am quite sick of it.

Yeah, he is risen and she is still lost as are so many others, all in his name.

Nothing to celebrate there.

Chosen Forever

"Adoption aborts the mother." --Author Unknown

I realize I said I was going to read less.

I am not sure that is possible for me.

In fact, I know it is not. When I was a child my mother literally took my books away from me, locked me out of the house and told me to go play with the neighborhood children.

I went outside, found a stick and wrote stories in the sand. True story.

I decided to adjust my approach and instead of reading adoption, trauma and recovery books I would branch out.

I visited the book store today and picked up a small guide book to Dublin. I also picked up 123 Magic. My children have never been discipline problems but I have heard of this approach and I was curious and thought maybe some different reading material would help distract me. Rather like changing trains on a journey to somewhere.

I was pretty pleased with myself until I went to gather my children who were sitting reading in the kids section of Borders. My youngest was taken with a book on the Titanic and while he futzed around and my oldest whined about book covers, my eyes see the childcare/adoption section.

Of course I wandered over.  Of course I bought a book (Identical Strangers) and of course adoption kicked me again in my already stressed gut.

I find it curious how many adoption related books (geared toward adoptive parents) use the word "Forever Family" in their title.

What is the point of that?  Is there a doubt that your adopted child will forever be part of your family?  Do you approach adoption like it is a test drive? Are there adoptive parents who think adoption is  only for as long as you want it? (Well, yes, we know there are those adoptive parents.)

What exactly does that word mean? How does it translate for prospective adopters? Is it the nice way to say "this child isnt really yours and everyone will know that but you will act is if born to, we will lock up their records and thereby the child will be forever yours and never be able to find their real family? So let the pretending games begin!"

I dont get it.

Why is it necessary to constantly refer to the adoptive family as the forever one? Who is that placating? Is it meant for the child to assure them that even though their first family abandoned them to strangers that the second family, the new family, is the forever family?

Seriously.  If the first family is not valued or regarded as a forever family how will the second, adoptive, "as if" family be viewed as such? What makes a second family a forever one and a natural family so temporary? How is that word chosen?

Speaking of chosen.  Yet another word so commonly seen in adoption titles "Chosen".  The Chosen Child. Loving by Choice. What the hell?

Maybe its me and my little pet peeves but guess what? My daughters adoptive parents did not choose MY child. They did not want MY special little girl. They wanted ANY BABY.

Chosen, to me, as a first mother, is very distasteful. It implies, to me, adoptive parents walking into a room full of babies, much like a car dealership saying "Ooh, I want THAT one". That is a chosen child. Maybe that does indeed (or did) happen in orphanages or foster care, but in my case, to my knowledge, my daughter wasnt listed on a chinese menu. Her adoptive parents, and many like them, wanted  ANY child. There was no choice. Just demand. Give me a child and I will give you money.

I have always assumed that "chosen" business was concocted up by some social worker who told adoptive parents to use that story to make the child feel better about being abandoned.  "You were special!" "You were CHOSEN! (clap clap)"

I am not an adopted child, but if I was, I would say "If I am so damned special, why didn't my mother feel that way?" I would also ask "If I am so wonderful, why didnt someone help my mother to keep me? Why did my natural family discard my mother AND me?"

It is very contradictory. It is dishonest.

But then again, much in adoption is dishonest.

Losing (or Lost?) My Mind

“Stress is nothing more than a socially acceptable form of mental illness” - Richard Carlson

It is well known I am stressed.

I have too much going on in my life and way too much stuff in my head.

I am having to once again push back on various projects. I am consumed with worry about a million things (the house sale, my trip to Ireland, getting my passport replaced in time,  money,  adoption and more).

If I needed any more obvious signs, I got it yesterday.

I am producing a video for work. It is an 8 minute segment that features a number of our executives, project managers and business partners. It is pretty high end.

The first of two tapings were scheduled for yesterday. My "actors" were scheduled back to back for 5 hours. Half hour sessions. They were being shot on a green screen and I was to be off camera, interviewing them.

I spent weeks arranging the details, meeting with the production crew, the actors, prepping them on little details like don't wear green (it will disappear on the green screen). I wrote the brief. I wrote the interview questions, scripted the flow. Things were going well.

The problem arose when my husband had to leave town for a week on business thereby wreaking mild havoc with my childcare and work schedule.

My children cannot be dropped off at school until 8:30 a.m. My first taping started at 8:00 a.m. I had a production crew arriving at five to set up lights, cameras, etc.

I arranged with my boss for her to back up me until I got there. I could arrive at 8:45. This would mean she would conduct 1.5 of the interviews.

Unfortunately, her boss disagreed. She wanted ME there. I am the creative person, the producer. She was right of course. So we moved some appointments around so that I would only miss 15 minutes of the first one.

The crew and my two bosses would cover for me.

And THIS is where losing my head comes in.

I drop the kids off. I get to work. Park in the satellite lot. Hop the shuttle and off I go to the taping.  It all goes well.  I feel proud and encouraged. We will have a fine product in the end. I am anxious to see the rough footage and start the editing process.

I get back to my desk and feel like I am missing something. I rustle through my purse and attache and realize I don't have my car/house keys. I panic a teeny bit but don't have the time in my day to address at that time.

Four o'clock rolls around and I start to stress. On a corporate property with 10 buildings, thousands of employees, it could be a disaster if someone picked them up.

I take the shuttle back to my car thinking I left them there. The car is locked. It is pouring rain. I am pondering what I will do. How will I pick up the kids? Cab? How will we get into the house? Hotel?

I take the shuttle back to the office and approach security. They refer me to the main security office.

I am greeted by VERY LARGE sumo sized Hispanic man with a great smile. I inquire about keys. I describe them. Big smile appears on his face.

He turns around, takes an envelope off a shelf and produces my keys.

Security in the satellite lot turned them in.

Oh no, I did not drop them. Did not lose them. Did not forget them.

I LEFT MY FREAKING CAR RUNNING. I got out of my car, grabbed my laptop, my purse, and got on the shuttle. All the while the red two door accord was running!!!

Security noted it, turned it off, locked it and turned in my keys.

WHO DOES THAT? WHAT the hell kind of stress is in my life that I get out of my car and leave it running and don't know it??

Mr. Large Smiley Sumo Security man is chuckling up a storm.  I am quite confident that the entire security staff is belly laughing about the  big breasted freaky haired red head that leaves her car running.  I am pretty sure they snicker as they walk past me now.

My lesson?

• Slow down.
• Get help.
• Get back up keys made.
• Make some friends (other than my ex husband I have NO support where I live and work. All friends and family are sixty miles away)
• Exercise.
• Try sleep once in a while. I hear it is a good thing.
• Try to stop worrying about my daughter - at least a little bit. I am right now consumed with her graduation, terrifying thoughts on substance abuse (I have NO proof but suddenly got this irrational worry in my head after reading Beautiful Boy that she might have inherited the addiction gene. I have spent weeks agitated over it. I see lots of pictures of her with alcohol. She works in the music business. I have this awful scary feeling. Since I don't know her at all, I cannot assuage it. The worry and anxiety runs around and around in my head and heart like a gerbil on a habitrail)
• Stop reading so much. Lately the reading seems to be doing more harm than good (like causing me to become unduly concerned about my daughters ability to handle drugs and alcohol).
• Try food.  A diet of yogurt, diet coke, vitamin water and the occassional Mike and Ike is not exactly brain powering delights.
• Find some brainless work to do. Maybe start making jewelry again.

I am open to suggestions. I am also open to you turning my car off if you see it idling nearby, mkay?

Take Your Sister to School Day

Children of the same family, the same blood,  have some means of enjoyment in their power, which no subsequent connections can supply...  ~Jane Austen, Mansfield Park, 1814

My son completed his Student of the Week Project. He decided (after some additional discussion) to put a picture of himself in the center. He asked me for help in finding a picture and I located one in my home office. (The house is currently down to its bare bones due to the fact that it is on the market).

I wondered what he would do with the picture of his sister ("She is so pretty Mom") but I did not press the issue. It was obvious he was struggling with something as it was. No need for Mom to go poking at his already wounded heart.

As I tucked the boys into my bed later in the evening, my son grabbed the photo album of my daughter off my bedroom bookshelf.

"Mom, there is a picture in here of sister that looks EXACTLY like you. Its freaky. Here, let me show you" he says

I lay on the king sized bed on my stomach and watch my son flip through the purple album I have stuffed full of pictures of his sister.

He finds the picture he is looking for and flips the book around, holding it up to his chest, just beneath his chin.

"See? See this picture. Oh my god, Mom. I  thought that was you!" he screeches.

I review the picture and note it is a very nice picture of my daughter. She is around 19 yo, and she is spinning on one of those whirly playground toys. I dont know what it is called. You know, the big discs with bars on them that you spin and get very dizzy from?  It appears she was being silly with her college friends. I know from other pictures in the series that she and her friends spent an afternoon shooting photos on a playground.

She looks happy in the picture and is laughing. Her long red hair is blowing behind her.She has a huge smile.  Her full lips, like mine,  are rose colored.  I really don't see the resemblance, not in that picture, but others always do.

I smile.

"Yes, it is a nice picture of her, for sure" I tell my son as I take the book from him.

I start to flip through the pictures. My youngest son jumps on my back and peers over my left shoulder. He has very little understanding of his absent sister. While he has known since he was 2, he does not yet have the intellectual or emotional capacity to truly understand who she is. He just stares at the pictures as his older brother and I review and comment on them.

My son comments on my daughters many hair colors ("Just like you mom!"), her green eyes ("They aren't quite as green as yours Mom"), her tattoo and finally how thin she is. He is happy. Jovial, enjoying the one dimensional version of his older sister. After a few moments, it becomes too much for me.  My eyes hurt from holding back tears.  I cannot break down in front of the boys.

I swoosh the boys into bed and leave them. I return the purple album to its earlier location on my bedroom bookshelf.

This morning as we left for school I noted that the picture of my daughter was sticking out of my sons backpack. It appeared as though it had fallen there or was placed rather haphazardly. 

"What are you doing with that picture? Are you still taking it?" I ask my son.

"Yes" he responds very flatly.

"Oh" I answer.

We drive to school and as I take the backpacks out of the trunk, I express concern (again) over the picture.

"Don't lose that picture. It looks like it is falling out" I say

"MOM! Its stuck there. I taped it.  I added it to the side of my Student of the Week poster. Sister is not going anywhere. She is fine. Well she IS going to school with me but otherwise she is fine." He says with a smile that causes his freckles to spread wider across his face.

"It is a very pretty picture" I say quietly as I struggle with a lump in my throat.

"Oh yeah, my sister is a hottie. Wait till I show my friends. See you later, Mom." he says as he walks away from me towards the magnet school.

What will he say to his friends? How will he explain he has a sister but he doesn't?

I get into my car and start to cry.

I guess it is "Take Your Sister To School"  Day.