For my Art Friends

Not so long ago, we were four strangers...immersed in our separate lives and hungry for more...Hungry for time to express what we did know , what we wanted to know  what we loved and what we saw... Alive with the need to awaken that call, we did just that.  And now we are four friends united in our passion to express ourselves through art

We shut our eyes against past self doubt  and awaken our scarred hopes of honorable, comely and appreciated artistic expression.

One of us leads and does so with a perfect loyalty to guide without hubris but as a watchful comrade provoking us to excel each in our own direction yet with a firm foundation of the fundamental formulas.  Still we all contribute and learn from one another...provide support in this haggard world.

Not so long ago, we were four strangers...immersed in our separate lives and hungry for more.  Now we are four friends united, and together we have stopped dreaming and are chasing those dreams.  Our hearts on winged escape,  we join to share our joy and to feast on the beauty of life.

"Let it roll, baby, roll"......(The Doors)

I love you all...Marcia

A Tout le Monde

Today was unforgettable . ..my birthday...people calling me..I am remembered. I'm loved. I try not to think about what's missing.

It's so sad that I won't hear my mother's sweet voice..you could feel her smile. .Happy Birthday honey..plain and simple ..A southern lilt..A knowing closeness ..a perfect loyalty shared only between two hearts who have shared one lifeforce..And oh how I miss her..I miss you mama..I miss you every day and I think of that call.i think of your voice and I cling to that memory.

Maybe daddy can hear me..daddy watched over me ..sometimes silently..always restrained in judgement ..
yet so attentive.. so generous..the years softened his heart ..he was so wise and shrewd in judging between what mattered and what didn't.  Daddy, you made us feel like every little thing we did took hold of the biggest part of your heart ..that you would bear our troubles..hold our hands. .we were your world ..I cry for you, daddy.

Today is my birthday. I am remembered. I'm loved..I try not to think about what's missing, and I realize..it's not just me..everyone has an aching void..A broken heart.

And so my birthday wish goes out to everyone. ..that we may, through God's mercy and the promise by JesusChrist his Son, be granted the strength to bear that sad and consuming sorrow. All things are possible through Him

I love you all...Marcia

Remembering the first Marcia

I wish I could have spent more time with my grandma Martin.  The first house where she lived had a really big window that looked into a huge front porch. I was sad to see she had moved when I saw her next, but the new house was great too. Where I slept were two twin beds, and over each bed there hung a lovely hand painted portrait ..One of her looking young and lovely and the other of my grandfather Emory Senior also in his twenties very handsome and a little serious, but there was a gentle look of love on the two pictures of the people I loved to have look over me.  I would lie on the bed across the hall from their room gazing up at Marcia..I was named after her ..that never left my mind..daydream I would..and held those treasured heirlooms in my mind and heart, hoping that one day they would hang in my home  over my guest bed in the house I would live in some day when I grew up..After all I was the namesake,  the oldest offspring of their firstborn son named for his father. I loved that room..daydreams that situated themselves right up front in the story that I lived so many years ago. I can still see that house when I close my eyes.  Even her voice..she spoke softly with a deep rich southern drawl.

I knew my time with my grandparents was short. We lived so far away,  and I savored the moments we had..grandma's peach cobbler made with her secret ingredient. .lemon juice... and everything came from the orchard out back.  She would make it for me whenever I wanted.   And grandpa would pay me a silver dollar for singing to him.  He could be stern but never with me.  My daddy told me about that.

We moved away, but when my mother's mother died suddenly, I came to see my beloved grandmother Marcia again. She was a widow then ..so pleased to meet my infant daughter,  and before I left she took my hands in hers ....alone in that moment with her the words she spoke rang sad but true..she looked into my eyes and said how happy she was that we had spent time together and how I had always been so special to her..proud to share our names ..elated from the time I was born and so very loved by her and my grandfather.   And now she said would be our last time together..she wished it wasn't so she said..It's all emblazoned in my mind.  I can still see her sadness and the tears in her eyes as she softly said this would be our last goodbye.  How hard it must have been for her knowing what had to be.

I think about her more and more as the years go by...her sweet smile...her loving voice..the way she made me know I was loved.

I love you grandma. .I don't need to own those portraits.  My memories of you are so much more.  I know you are waiting for me. Thank you.

Love always,   your Marcia

i decided to submit my story to adoption mag editor..here it is

Dear Jane,

This is my submission for the birth mother category.  I know your instructions say a picture says a thousand words, but I wouldn't feel good about attaching something that portrays heartache, so because you recommend a photo, this is me attached, and this is my strait forward story.

My name is Marcia, and I am stepping over the wall I created almost twenty years ago to tell you my story. In the mid sixties at age 16, I gave birth to a perfect darling baby girl after spending two months in a Methodist home for unwed mothers.  I was a virgin with raging hormones, desperate for love. My boyfriend and I did use birth control, but it failed.  I was so scared and knew I was going straight to hell.   My parents would have raised her as their own, but I wanted more for my girl. I didn't want her to live the life I had lived with a raging father who lashed out with physical violence and in a home where I never heard the words I love you. I chose to be sent away as recommended by my minister in order to avoid the scandal my family and I would have faced. The wall came later.

When I gave my baby up for adoption, I viewed adoption as doing my daughter a great favor, giving her a chance at a good life without abuse or poverty. In those days, adoptive parents were viewed as well to do, scrupulously screened, and maybe they were.  Anyway, that's what I believed.  I was doing the best for my girl.  And so I handed over my precious baby, kissed her and whispered my hopes to her knowing I had given up all rights to ever see her again.  A few weeks after I returned home, a letter came from the "Home".  It said my baby's first name was Linda..later proven to be misinformation..she had an adopted older brother and lived in a far away community with loving Christian parents.  From time to time I would reread the letter looking for some clue to where she could be found..Linda, my Linda.  I love you Linda.

So secretly I couldn't believe I would never ever see my baby, my girl...always wondering...is she happy, does she look like me, does she feel different from her new mother, do they understand her, maybe she's a little rebel like me but smart and clever and witty...who are her friends, does she like to sing, does she believe in God, does she love animals like I do ..of course she does... does she wonder about me..of course she does..Oh I knew she must wonder..what became of her real mother... surely my real mom would understand me, be like me.  Does she cry for me..I worried so.  I hoped so. I cried so.

  As the years passed I never lost hope that one day she would find me. She would be so happy to meet her "real mom", and we would go on to have a special bond not replacing the parents who raised her, the people who were her family but somehow embracing each other as special friends.

And so the day came when i found my girl...Enter the information age..the internet and Hallelujah.  Y:-) es I found her, and I couldn't wait to call her. That was the day I began the wall. It wasn't a wall I ever thought I would need to build, but build it I did and strong. She did not want to know me. The loving family who adopted my girl were a Christian minister and his wife, yet when I asked her if she hadn't ever wondered about the circumstances under which she had been conceived, she replied, "no, but I know it was bad.".

Bad I thought...what can that mean. It was so hard to hold back and not cry, not beg.  How could this be..how can this be my girl.  My girl has been waiting for me, wishing for me to find her and tell her how hard it was to give her up.  My girl loves me, and my girl has dreamed of this day and has been holding a special place in her heart for me.

I tried to communicate without disrespecting her parents that I had been a young teen in love, that I had wanted her to have a good life, that I had done what I thought was best for her , that I had always loved her and had been searching for her , thinking about her,yearning, crying,wondering ....everything. She had her own wall , and she wrote me one letter saying she had prayed about it , and God had told her that she should not remain in contact with me. She said her parents wouldn't understand, that she had never wondered about me or wanted to know anything about me.  She asked me to honor her wish to be left alone. She didn't care to hear about her birth father. She granted my request for a photograph of her but sent none of her child, a boy named Eli.

And so I sent a final note saying I would honor her request and thanked her for the photo. I told her my door would always be open.  I wanted to say that I too had prayed and that my God had given me hope and permission to build a bond of friendship and love with the baby I had given up to people I trusted. I know they must have loved her because she had such a loyal bond to them. But how could these Christian people lead my baby to think the way she did. Were they so insecure about her ever meeting me  ...I imagined them telling her..she didn't want you...we did. I was told at the "Home" that the adoptive parents knew everything about me except for my identity...the same as they supplied me with unidentifying facts about the adoptive family.  Surely they would have let her know that her birth parents were teens in high school, and so on...but that was the last I heard from my girl,my Linda who was not named Linda, my baby who never knew how she came to be the daughter of those nice Christian parents...not the real story.

So many days have passed since then..so many years now. I search for clues.  Because her father is a minister, I can see the church news, and there she is..a choir leader..but no pictures, no Facebook, not even for her son, my only grandchild.  I check regularly, just inspecting the parameters of the wall..no tears please.

I went to see the movie Philomena yesterday because my husband wanted to see it. I knew the wall would weaken, but i would just peek around and reinforce it later.  It was hard not to cry. Her baby died.  Will I die without seeing my girl. Sometimes I think I will just go to the town where she lives, attend a church service, lay eyes on my only grandchild and see the woman,the girl,the baby who wants to be left alone, who never thinks of me.  I keep hoping that will change.

My husband says, someday we will crash that party..someday I will get my dream.   I didn't get an abortion, I didn't force her to live in poverty with no hope of a normal upbringing. I placed her in the care of people who I was told were a fine God loving financially solvent community leaders. All I want is a chance to meet her, a few pictures now and then. I don't want to replace her family, but why can't she see that there are people here who love her too...so I had to build the stupid wall, and anger was the glue that has held it in place.. To wall in the pain. I can't think of that pain every day,every morning,every night,every time I see a grandmother ,a grandchild, every time I think will I die before I see her. Anger and pain.

But if she ever contacted me again, there would be no mention of it..just to smile at her,to listen to her, to know her, it would be like my wall never existed.

Thank you for listening.

Marcia Martin

when adoptees say no to contact with birth mothers

Today I am stepping over the wall I created  almost twenty years ago to tell you my story. In the mid sixties  at age 16, I gave birth to a perfect darling baby girl after spending two months in a  Methodist home for unwed mothers. My parents would have raised her as their own, but I wanted more for my girl. I didn't want her to live the life I had lived with a raging father who lashed out with physical violence and in a home where I never heard the words I love you. I viewed adoption as doing my daughter a great favor, giving her a chance at a good life without abuse or poverty.  And so I handed over my precious baby girl, kissed her and whispered my hopes to her knowing I had given up all rights to ever see her again.  As the years passed I never lost hope that one day she would find me.  She would be so happy to meet her "real mom", and we would go on to have a special bond  not replacing the parents who raised her, the people who were her family but somehow embracing each other as special friends. And so the day came when I found my girl, yes I found her, and I couldn't wait to call her.  That was the day I began the wall.  It wasn't a wall I ever thought I would need to build, but build it I did and strong.  She did not want to know me.  The loving family who adopted my girl were a Christian minister and his wife, yet when I asked her if she hadn't ever wondered about the circumstances under which she had been conceived, she replied, "no, but I know it was bad.".  Bad I thought...what can that mean. I tried to communicate without disrespecting her parents that I had been a young teen in love, that I had wanted her to have a good life, that I had done what I thought was best for her , that I had always loved her and had been searching for her , thinking about her,wondering everything.  She had her own wall , and she wrote me one letter saying she had prayed about it , and God had told her that she should not remain in contact with me.  She said her parents wouldn't understand, that she had never wondered about me or wanted to know anything about me,  she asked me to honor her wish to be left alone.  She didn't care to hear about her birth father.  She granted my request for a photograph of her but sent none of her child, a boy named Eli.  And so I sent a final note saying I would honor her request and thanked her for the photo.  I wanted to say that I too had prayed and that my God had given me hope and permission to build a bond of friendship and love with the baby I had given up to people I trusted.  I know they must have loved her because she had such a loyal bond to them.  But how could these Christian people lead my baby to think  the way she did.  We're they so insecure about her ever meeting me ...I imagined them telling her..she didn't want you...we did.  I went to see the movie Philomena yesterday because my husband wanted to see it.  It was hard not to cry.  Her baby died,  will I die without seeing my girl. Sometimes I think I will just go to the town where she lives, attend a church service, lay eyes on my only grandchildren and see the woman,the girl,the baby who wants to be left alone.  What about what I want. I didn't get an abortion, I didn't force her to live in poverty with no hope of a normal upbringing.  I placed her in the care of people who I was told were a fine God loving financially solvent community leaders.  All I want is a chance to meet her, a few pictures now and then.  I don't want to replace her family, but why can't she see that there are people here who love her too...so I had to build the stupid wall.  To wall in the pain. I can't think of that pain every day,every morning,every night,every time I see a grandmother ,a grandchild, every time I think will I die before I see her.  Anger and pain. But if she ever contacted me again, there would be no mention of it..just to smile at her,to listen to her, to know her, it would be like my wall never existed.  I can't believe you girls have birth mothers who have denied you, and I share your pain,  I don't understand how a mother could do that,  I will pray for you and send you a mothers love.  Thank you for listening.  Marcia in Modesto California