In the world of adoption, adoptive families sometimes choose to celebrate “gotcha day,” or the day that the child came to live with their adoptive family. That was never a practice in my adoptive home, and I’m not sad about that. It’s always seemed like a bit of a weird tradition to me, especially because it feels parent-focused rather than adoptee-focused. It’s a day that celebrates the arrival of a traumatized child into a new, unfamiliar, unrelated, and perhaps over-stimulating home. Nothing is as expected for the child. The people, places, faces, sights, and smells are foreign. And it’s all taking place in an environment that is likely not calm or soothing. Emotions are high and there is a lot at stake. While there is celebration among the “receiving” parties, the adopted child is experiencing confusion, loss, grief, uncertainty, and fear. Maybe this isn’t the child’s first “forever family.” The problem in that is the child doesn’t yet understand anything that’s happened leading up to this celebratory day. The body knows and stores everything. The body doesn’t forget, and the preverbal trauma leading up to an adoptee’s placement lives deep within. “Gotcha day” feels like an appropriate label for the trauma monster that lurks internally, waiting to pop out and terrify the unsuspecting adoptee. Boo! Gotcha!
I’ve been in reunion with my (biological) mom for just over five years. We recently celebrated the milestone of our first emails to each other. My mom made and sent me a quilt to mark the occasion. It’s the first time I remember her calling it our “gotcha back day.” I like that. It kinda feels like a middle finger to the societal narrative about the beauty of adoption. I am fortunate that I get to celebrate the 1,826 days since our first words were penned to each other. It doesn’t erase the 16,840 days I spent without her. While we get to celebrate new milestones and make new memories, the ache of those missed years will never go away. We’ve had to work hard, both individually and collectively, to navigate and unravel what we buried and carried all those years. In the end, it feels a little bit like a win versus all the people and entities that told my mom and I we were both better off because of adoption. Neither of us were. I’m just glad we’re both quite a bit better now.