A Thousand Hours

My newborn mind could not measure time by months or weeks or days. Not even by hours. Without the reassuring comfort of Mama, every second was an agony. And there passed nearly four million of those agonies before my life would change.

To write of those agonies would take me years. For you to read them would take a thousand hours. I will not soliloquize them. I confess this is not for your sake, but for mine.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I have told you already that I had given up. But giving up does not put an end to agony, not while you are still alive. It only ends if you die.

Against my will, some inscrutable force compelled me to accept the bottle anew. I began to grow once more, and my bleating regained its strength.

Yet my despair remained. I continued to turn away from the strangers, all hope now lost that one might be Mama.

I had been altered.

I had become a lamb forever lost. What is forever? All I can tell you is that it is not over yet.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

And there was more. I had no way of knowing, then, that I was being prepared. I was being prepared as a sacrifice to the Common Good: Restorative for the loss of another child, and for Mama’s future.

Only an unblemished lamb is acceptable, as only a perfect sacrifice is acceptable to God (or to the Common Good). How could they have known that I was blemished? I had no bruises, no bleeding wounds.

They believed I was unblemished.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

So a time came, after those thousand hours, when I saw the faces of two strangers, faces which would eventually become familiar. Eventually. But not for another thousand hours.

In those faces was a joyous expression, as if they were witnessing a miracle. I knew this expression, because I had seen it on Mama’s face in that meteoric moment. But I could not perceive any new miracle. I was terrified. Terrified! One of the faces had garish, painted lips and a strong, sickly sweet smell. The other was not quite so offensive, but I was panic-stricken as they drew so close that I could not turn away. I wanted to turn away! They wanted me to smile. Could they not see that I had lost Mama? Could they not even manage to express their condolences? What could possibly make them think I had anything to smile about?

I felt so helpless, so powerless, so unprotected! All I had was my bleating, and it drowned out everything else. I bleated until consciousness mercifully left me.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

When I awoke, I was in an unfamiliar place with offensive smells and peculiar sounds. I was terrified all over again, and started my desperate bleating. The face with the garish lips and sickly smell appeared, and my bleating grew louder still. She laughed. She laughed!

What new hell was this?


7 responses to “A Thousand Hours

  1. Ouch.

    This even gets me.

  2. asacrificiallamb

    Joy, how does it get you?

  3. It is so real and pulled out painful,

    so much of the time people don’t actually go back and empathize with the infant and acknowledge what happened to our poor little baby selves, how terrified we were

  4. asacrificiallamb

    Thank you for clarifying, Joy. I suppose it should have seemed obvious to me what you meant. Then again, I was curious if it was something specific within the overall experience.

  5. momseekingpeace

    I think going back to comfort the infant is so important, even if in ones own mind and even if all you can do is aknowledge the pain.

  6. asacrificiallamb

    Thank you, momseekingpeace. I’m sure you know it is not about blaming but about healing… well, about seeking peace, yes? But it is also about informing those who might otherwise perpetuate such pain so that these things do not get repeated. Understanding and empathy will make all the difference.

  7. Oh you dear sweet girl, I am weeping, it hurts so much to read your pain, I have a compulsion to want to hug you and make it better.
    I lost my son to the cruel act of adoption, and the opposite is my fate, my son hates me, and limits contact, sometimes for 3/4 years at a time, and every moment without him in my life,part of me dies,reunion, has been the poisoned challis, 40 years of separation has seen to that.
    He was nine months when taken from me, I can tell you I experienced real heart pain , and instantly went anorexic. I never stopped crying, I lost the nack of how do really laugh, nothing made me laugh, i was told so often, I was to serious ,and life could not be so bad, that I never laughed at folks fun, and jokes, I was a loner.
    I missed my son so desperately, I traced where he was, he was almost 18 months, I have photos I gave to him at reunion, I HAD TRIED TO KIDNAP HIM.
    I made my way home after my sons adoption, to be told you are not welcome, keep your bags packed as you are never being allowed to live at home,never.
    My parents abandoned me, and I have lived 100 miles from home for 45 years.
    I so weep for you, for all adoptees, my how you have suffered, what a cruel world, that hails adoption as the win win situation. I pray one day soon it will be banished like slavery, there are many mums out there that fought hard and fought the adoption machinary, but to no avail,we were 16/17 year olds, they treated us like lepers, we were the dregs of society,the M&BH,was incarceration, and penal servitude,and we were treated as the lowest of the low, and boy did you feel it, but you know what, I am so grateful for your honesty, i weep even more for
    my son, due to your truth.
    I pray that peace will come to your soul,and a rainbow of hope that brings happiness will be your portion ,and your mantle.
    Tartan Hugs.

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