Monday, July 1, 2013

Two Mothers

George Lane (CC BY-NC-SA 2.0) via Flickr
Two mothers
One son.

One weeping,
One won.

Two families
One child

No contact,
Forms filed.

Two last names,
One blood.

The tears
Cause a flood.

Two mothers
Both love
The small boy
From above.

An angel
He sits
Watching life
Through the slits.

One mother
Sits all alone,
No one to call,
No one to phone.

Her baby is gone,
Oh where could he be,
Will he ever come home,
Will he ever know me?

Two mothers
One son,
Both love him so.

Two mothers,
One son,
But he doesn't know.

He loves his mother,
The one that he knows,
She holds him close,
He knows no other.

She holds him and cries,
For she knows he is sad.
She doesn't know why,
But she knows it is bad.

She's been given this child
To clothe and to feed,
But she doesn't know
About the terrible deed.

When a small child was taken
Away from its Mom,
"To help her," they said,
"Til better times come.

"We'll watch him,
We'll keep him,
Til you get alright.

And then
Give him back,
When your burden is light."

So she gave him away,
With the promise they made,
Just a wee bit of help,
A tiny small break,

And in a short time,
She asked for her son,
But the people had taken him,
And gone on the run.

They gave him away,
But they had no right,
They named him again,
And the mother did fight.

But the mother,
She lost
And her son
Was the cost.

Two mothers
One son
Both love him so.

Two mothers
One son
But she didn't know.

The mother who got him
Thought he wasn't wanted,
She never knew
Why he was so haunted.

She thought he was left,
That's she was told,
How would she know,
That he had been stolen?

Two mothers
One son.
But nobody won.

In 1964, my husband was taken from his mother by the child welfare authorities for what was supposed to be a short, temporary period. She trusted them, needing the help, with several other children also in tow. He was never given back and was adopted two years later into a Caucasian family who loved him, but never knew that his birth mother had not agreed to the adoption.

My husband loves his adoptive family, and they love him very much. He has also re-united with his  blood family, who also love him. That said, however, the scars are still there for him. He was torn from his mother at the age of six weeks, and placed in foster care, where he endured abuse. By the time he was adopted two years later, he already had great difficulty in forming attachments to others.

My husband was part of a historical event called the 60's Scoop -- when thousands of babies in Canada were taken from First Nations mothers, and handed over to non-First Nations mothers. This series of poems is my gift to him -- to share his story -- and to help us understand what he and thousands of  others went through.