My Name Is Jazz: Hart Broken

On the 15/12/1013 my berth dad was ent hear Ey more it was actuly the worts day of my life and the worts emosons I felt sick and rally rally sad.

I wasent very well and I was a sleep but when I work up mum sad jazz your dad is in hospital he’s got a bad chest infecson I couldn’t stop crying so we got my bedding and got in the car and went to hull hospital and I got thaer and mum said just remember he mite not rember u or he mite bee a sleep.

we got in the hospital and we got the news and I just berst into tears and then we ring my big brother and I never rally heard him cry hearing him cry is just brox my hart and i said to him one door close and a buffer Opens then we saw my berth mum.
Hearing her screming in my ears just brox my hart to and I couldnt
Fix it and that’s macks me fell even weers then mum and claudia and me and mummy bear went back to mine then the next day my friends waer hear and we had hour Christmas do.
I just won’t to get as drunk as a posibal and wake up and it to be all burnt way but It dident. my fiends waer god sends.
They stuck by my side the hole time so did mummy bear and my very very very best friend Claudia.
And all of my famley crisrmast was shite. Some times I just one it to be a very long Hobail Deam.  I’ve had my sheild on a very long time but it’s time to be a popper man now and show how I rally fell. It  fells like I just got a rally hobbial grace on my chest and it raw and I haven’t got Ey skin on it and it’s fell like It’s getting better then it gets Rey open aging and it’s hobbial but I’m okay I’m tuff as shit lol and my saven grase is my to adouble staffies I love them.
But dong get me rong it would bee good to have dad than have the massive wund on my chest.

The end I love all my friends and famley xXx

Adoption Stories: Fact & Fiction

Adoption in itself brings together the many stories and experiences of several people. Birth family, adoptee, adopters and adoption workers. All family stories are important and often treasured, hidden, embroidered, repeated, or celebrated, but when a continuity is broken they can also become confused, muddled and mistold.

My adopted daughter came into my life with a scrapbook put together by her brilliant foster family, showing her time with them, happy events and fellow foster children. There was no detailed life story book. It was as if she were born aged four. The social services gave me verbal stories of her inadequate parents, chaotic and abusive home life…her mother had “knocked her front teeth out” and how she may have been born out of prostitution as her skin colour suggested “another ethnic background to that of her siblings”.

I was shocked and quite scared when I was told to avoid certain geographical areas due to the threat of potential attack by her mum.

After a few months of placement I felt I really needed more background to “the story” in order to understand my daughter properly. It took me a long time to piece together the bits of information I could get hold of. It helped enormously when I was able to contact a birth aunty who was a calm and reasonable police officer. I managed to get enough history to feel comfortable enough to meet Dawn and Fred. One of the most important things was hearing that Jazz lost her baby teeth when one of her siblings accidentally let go of her toddler reins and she fell over. I heard Dawn had a learning disability and behavioural problems which made her hard to engage with. I heard Fred was a lot older and his pride got in the way of him accepting support.  Another important piece of the jigsaw was hearing she had an African descendant, maybe a great grandfather, and her mums skin colour was beautiful like hers. How this became translated into her mother being a prostitute I still don’t know.

I was still really scared to go into the social services office to meet the parents, especially as the social worker was not altogether impressed with the idea due to the “no birth family contact” order given in court. My heart was racing feeling sure they would hate me for having their child. Instead Dawn hugged me and we cried together.

From that day on we have worked together to give Jazz a fuller picture of her life. It hasn’t been easy and I have had to encourage Dawn not to blame everything on the social services and own up to her failures as well as to own her successes. Jazz has needed support and to be given control over the level of contact.It has resolved things for her and bought about forgiveness, mainly of herself. I have grown to love Dawn and Fred like I do my birth family, sometimes we bicker and annoy each other but the ties are strong.

Jazz’s family history is much like many others. It has sad bits, happy bits, bits that bring shame and bits to be proud of. Now it has melded into my family history and become a part of my story and my history.

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