Birthdays and the power of connection

Yesterday, I went for a run. Twice. Despite the myriad to-do's pressing on my list, I could not quiet my mind enough to accomplish email responses much less progress on my growing list. I couldn't stop thinking about the most recent shooting and the shooter himself. You see, since I have become a mother, I see all people as once someone's baby, someone's ten months of pregnancy and someone's joy (or sorrow) when that person's birthday arrived. Everyone came from someone, at some point, and from there a life story is being shaped.

It cripples my emotions to think about someone not wanting their baby. I'm not talking about the complex feelings of prenatal and postpartum depression, I'm talking people who voluntarily hand their babies over to strangers or have them removed due to the circumstances into which the child is being born. That baby becomes an older baby, then a toddler, then a child, I mean we all understand that progression, right? So my question is this- when did we, as a country, stop caring about the meaning of the lives of others?

Do you know what it's like to not be wanted? It is a pain that I cannot adequately express on paper. Even with years of counseling, it cannot be completely undone. Painful memories are erased with happy ones as a blanket sweep of wishing time away. To have a parent not want you is a pain that is very meticulously balanced or undone, relatively, by coping mechanisms both healthy and otherwise.

Yesterday, as I was mourning the many lives lost in recent shootings, I also thought just as much about the shooters. How much pain, how much disregard for their lives and wellbeing, caused them to do such harm to others? What have they endured that exacerbated existing cognitive impairments or blunted normal human emotions and connections to the point that it's okay to end the lives of six-year-olds and high-schoolers just a few months from graduation? It makes my heart ache just as much to think about the pain these people must have endured to bring them to this point in their minds to justify inflicting such pain on others as they have likely experienced in other more systemic ways.

Recently, I submitted a grant proposal with a team of my friends (who are also healthcare professionals) to help improve social connections of older adults who identify as being lonely or isolated, and having read the data and the outcomes for this demographic, it is clear connections to people can literally extend your lifespan. It brings joy to your morning and purpose to your day. The accountability of meeting someone or expecting someone because you are important to that person or those people brings both emotional benefit as well as physical, cognitive, and so on. Older adults are particularly vulnerable as their older family members have passed away and younger family members have their own families to which they must attend, so naturally there are gaps in connected care which various programs hope to remedy in a variety of creative ways. While the relationships may be "manufactured" by programs and services, ultimately the human connection developed is a genuine one that evidence suggests improves quality of life and, for older adults, extends their healthy living years.

However, in order to celebrate an 70th birthday, you must celebrate the ones preceding it. For those babies, those toddlers, those children who grow up without someone to celebrate with, or they "celebrate" birthdays with parents who are addicted, distracted, or disconnected, what is that like to age without a support system there to celebrate those milestones? I happened upon an Instagram account of a teenager who is friends with one of my adoptive brothers, and I don't know his story, but one of the recent posts said "I'm digging a grave for all of those who doubted me." Where does an 18-year-old learn to think this way? How does it come to this point? Again, it saddens me to think that one day, my own son would ever think that he was doubted, not loved, discarded. I would conjecture that some, perhaps all, of the people pulling the trigger of these mass casualties have experienced similar thoughts.

Today I am still struggling with quieting my mind, to want to save the world and tell all of the babies, the toddlers, the children, that you ARE loved by someone. Sometimes, unfortunately, the biological parents are not the ones to convey that message, but if there is at least one person in that child's life who can provide a glimmer of hope that love is possible in many forms, if we could really connect with people instead of virtually associating with them, maybe these children would feel a more positive sense of purpose. I'm not so naive as to believe this would solve this pervasive public safety problem, but perhaps these children wouldn't spend their days contriving diabolical schemes of mass casualty and instead do something of meaning for someone else. If not for a parent, for a friend, for a teacher, for a volunteer community member, for a sibling, for a pastor, for a mentor.

To not celebrate a birthday with biological parents in genuine happiness is something I would not wish on anyone, ever. It is a pain that doesn't go away with years of therapy and even the strongest of advocates in your corner telling you how loved you are and how wonderful life is with you in it. It's a tough pill to swallow when a biological parent tells you that you weren't wanted. You can never unhear those words in whatever form they take- if you were adopted and figured it out yourself, or if you were birthed and told at point blank range that this was his truth. I can verify this with certainty as my own father told me this when I was four years old and I will never forget it. I never did forget it. Even as a Christian, I never forgave him for it. I was in and out of therapy since my parents divorced when I was two and eventually severed ties with him when I turned 18. When he died several years ago, I didn't say goodbye. He etched scars on my mind and in my heart that will likely never heal, but I have never wanted to harm anyone else because of it. Harm myself? Absolutely. Harm others? Never. Why? Thankfully, the other half of my gene pool is the most loving and supportive network of people you could ever ask for, and it pained me to do anything that brought disappointment to them. Eventually the thoughts of self-harm subsided but only with many years of building friendships that strengthened my resolve and self-confidence that I did have a future worth living and I could bring joy to others. Therapy helped me learn to not feel sorry for myself; my family and friends helped me learn that love comes in many forms.

So, this is another effort to quiet my mind before I go for yet another run, one of my forms of healthy coping with "all of my stuff". I am one of the lucky ones, to learn ways of dealing with the stuff that comes from this type of trauma. I have found ways of loving myself through self-reliance and loving myself through connection with others, and this can only happen with the developmental scaffolding early in life that provides such enlightenment. The darkness and pain that comes from disconnection and hurt, it is so deep you guys. It can take hold of your mind and your heart and never let go. Can we all please do our part to make real, meaningful connections with people? I hope you know that if you're reading this, you are loved. Your birthdays are important, your life is important, and you have meaning. If you haven't found something that brings you joy, I promise if you bring joy to someone else, it will come to you at least in the short-term. This is not a panacea, but maybe if we remembered everyone has a birthday, we could remember everyone is worth celebrating and every life can have positive meaning if the collective "we" shape it that way.