Now for some gilgeori toast, Korean street toast, to wash it down. Gonna drown my sorrows in egg, cabbage, carrot and milk bread. And restore myself with the five flavors of omija – sweet, salty, sour, bitter and pungent.
In November I am going to Korea with my son, who is a Korean adoptee, a first time visit for us both, something I have wanted for a very long time. Twenty-five years ago, when our adoption process began, I was hope-filled, abundant with love, open-hearted and serenely euphoric.
They told us he is “your own”. They told us he was “placed for adoption”. They told us that October 17 would be his “coming home” day. I had questions then: is he healthy?, what do I say when people ask me if I want children “of my own”?, will he love me when I am old? will he love me at all? when will he notice that we do not look alike?, so many questions, so many questions. And so much love. Love harder, deeper, more ferocious than anything I have felt or will ever feel. Without question he was my own. Mama bear style. Fierce, committed, devoted.
I felt proud, not proud as in I had done something charitable. God no. Just proud. Proud to be a parent. Proud of how staggeringly cute he was. Proud to be all puffed up with love. Proud that he was happy, and clean, and adorable.
Adoption is fraught, and fraught in countless ways beyond my comprehension. But I drank the koolaid. I thought I had this down, I believed him being my own was enough, I drank the koolaid. It was indeed sweet, salty, sour, bitter and pungent.
Truth: maybe I did a bad thing, or participated in a bad thing. Took him from his own. Took him from his home. Truth: my heart was and is all in. Truth: a beautiful thing, adoption, is complicated and maybe not so beautiful and, without question, built on heartache. He has another mother and another father. I know this, I have always known this and they are weft and weave of my family. Their son is my family. Or is he? Am I expecting way too much? Where is home?
So, we are going to Korea. My heart is open, he will lead the way and I will watch, absorb, learn and detach. His number one desire while there is to “eat street food”, mine too, with him. I drank the koolaid on the “stay put and let them fly” message, too. I’ll be there, heart in hand, and here always, holding down the fort, this home, whether or not it is needed.
Posting this now although it is just a few crumbs of what I am feeling. This “reckoning” is, frankly, major.
The Lunch Encounter 