It takes a special kind of evil in a person that laughs at another person’s heartbreak. Especially this kind. The kind that has it’s very own category; loss of a child.

Not only did we get thrust into a life-altering ‘thing’ but we’ve had to maintain our composure, which I frankly think we deserve a medal for at this point.

We’ve literally had to explain why we laughed, why we’ve cried…. all the while dealing with individuals that there isn’t a word awful enough to describe. But for the sake of painting an exact picture, think smug.

One by one, the people parading against my family and I shot us looks of death followed by a ‘ we have her ‘ smile.

I mean really, isn’t it enough that we were torn from each other, do we really deserve the ‘ F-U ‘ look? Not only were we breaking down to cry, we did it while under the microscope, looked at like how dare we fight for her. The looks they gave us, that smirk, smug, and intentional. It made me want to go berserk. Even when I think about it today I have to center myself, it irks me tremendously.

Empathy, the failsafe thing that makes you think twice before you hurt someone, none of these people have it. It is significantly missing.

It would have made Lupita not sell a baby away for profit in secret, it would have made that couple not receive a baby under such circumstances. It’s that thing that is supposed to keep you from hurting another person with such force that it leaves nothing but destruction behind it.

No matter what they say, these people don’t have it. In fact after we went through this case I actually said that I’d never encountered such a ruthless, heartless bunch. The attorneys, ever-so-Hollywood, I just rolled my eyes under my dark sunglasses. I was in disbelief. I silently thought to myself, this cannot be happening, this cannot be happening. But it was and it did, and we were left behind like luggage. Left to figure it out, left to hurt, left to suffer. Left to be empty.

When I write about what happened to us and its aftermath, I write it exactly how it happened. I’m trying to paint a vivid picture, nothing is exaggerated. This is a non-fiction account of what we have experienced, it’s a story that tells itself, I don’t sit down and make up what to write. I made an outline and as I’ve explained each detail I intended to, I cross it off and breathe just a little easier knowing it’s on record, it’s addressed. I won’t let anyone else tell our story, I won’t let that be taken from us too.

Those notes in my niece’s lunchbox that she couldn’t  even read, were they really necessary on that particular day?

For our visits, was it necessary to try to implement new rules and contracts more and more?

Was it really a good idea to have our visits at 8am in a freezing park while they sat in their car and watched?

Was it really necessary to have it in writing that we couldn’t call her terms of endearment, we were only allowed to call her the name they gave her?

Does this adoptive ‘father’ have to call my sister and harass her, beating her down over the phone every time she calls to speak to her daughter?

Did the adoptive ‘mother’ really need to come up to me to tell me how hard it had been on THEM? ( I was beside myself, I didn’t even know how to respond to that.)

Did Lupita really get ‘things’ for my niece? (Yes, she did.)

All the little digs made this even more devastating. The things they said and say, did and do, all make it worse than it has to be. This couple is really in a fight with themselves, a fight that consists of hiding my niece hostage in regards to her identity and place in the world. All the little things they did to add onto this already huge thing, shame on them. All I hope is that they get exactly what they gave us, no more, no less.

Ever since this awful thing happened to us, absolutely nothing surprises me. Nothing people do ever shocks me. Once you’ve had the carpet yanked out from underneath you, everything else is downhill from there.

Thrown into turmoil… check, broken heart, check… fighting for the very fabric of our family, our good names and our emotional stability… check…

I want space from this whole thing. I want everyone that isn’t in our family to stay out of our family.

I feel like this thing pushed me down and I’ve had to look up and go hand over hand to climb through it. I’m thankful that I’ve had my heavy hitters to block me from the everyday craziness of life. I’ve been blessed enough to have traveled the world and seen so many incredible things.

It’s like a double life. Half is so very happy, half is so very hurt.

I cook, clean, work, study, read bedtime stories and give bubble baths, plan birthdays and every other celebration, and I make time for heels, hugs, road trips, and homemade muffins. Everything else in life is a dream, with one nightmare in the middle of it.

All but this one thing, and this one thing is so huge that there’s no getting away from it.

I make the world go round for so many people, then when night falls, I pray and write.

I’ve been asked so often how I get through this and my response is always the same. I get through it by love, by faith, by patience. I love with passion, I  live as righteously as this world will allow, and I’ve learned that I don’t have to wait in misery.

I  don’t deserve  applause for my strength and I don’t need anyone’s approval. My life isn’t up for debate or discussion. I have to keep as much privacy as I can in dealing with something that feels so public.

In short, I face this and I get through it because I have to. My heart won’t let my niece go, and for now all I can do is wait and tell our side of the story.

I’m keeping it together because that’s what I do. Injustice in general is particularly irritating to me and I won’t just sit back while we’re made out to be animals.

One day, I won’t have to deal with this anymore, and I anxiously await the time I can set this bag of cement blocks down. I will smile until then, I will let love rain over me, I won’t feel guilty for being joyous…. 

Love, faith, patience…. Love, faith, patience, and round and round we go….

I trust in God to lead my niece home.

It’s as simple as that.

Looking across the room on my writing desk, I see 450 printed pages of book one in the series of books written to my niece over the last ten years. The answers to questions I’m sure she’ll have, hopes and prayers, page after page of raw emotion, there it sits, just waiting to be published and read.

I had to be certain the truth was told, I needed to make sure that I explained ‘our side’ in great detail. I refused to let anyone bash us further, I was adamant about telling our story in hopes it will help in reuniting and mending our family, and maybe sharing our story will prevent another family from suffering the same fate.

Had I not written this book, I do believe I, and perhaps my sister, would have suffered a nervous breakdown or maybe something worse. I look at those printed pages and think that those were just a small fraction of the thoughts that are rolling around in my mind. If I didn’t write out everything I need to, I’d never get any rest. I’d constantly be thinking it out until I wrote it out.

As I check off topics from my book’s outline, I feel such a relief. I feel a little more free with each  part as it all comes together. I feel a little more peace.

In writing, I’m doing all any of us can do at this point. I won’t allow justice to escape us forever, one day those responsible will be held accountable under God. The ‘court’ of my niece’s opinion, and the court of ‘public opinion’ are what’s important. Judges and lawyers will always manipulate and confuse the facts, and they find ways to justify their behaviors and actions. They find every loophole they can slither through.

The way I’ve put this case together with reports, depositions, appointment information, I’ve made ‘A’ so obviously point to ‘B’. So now, I wait. I write Book 2, and wait some more.

As I stare at the 3-ring binder, I’m so thankful that I was able to get out all that I wrote about. It’s down on paper, it’s a record of this horrible thing we have been forced to survive. This book quite simply means less spinning thoughts, less restless nights ….

Ahhhh, the joys of having to make a battle plan after a secret adoption ruined your life.

Just typing that out is awkward and hard to swallow.

When you’re party to a court case, there are a million things you have to do.

You have to make phone calls, you have to write letters and complaints to send by certified mail to attorneys, the judges involved, the adoption agencies, and make sure to file a couple of copies to keep. You have to keep track of everything meticulously because if you miss one detail, you miss the whole point.

I have dealt with so many people along this confusing journey, and I have to start at the beginning over and over again because with each person I speak with, I obviously have to tell them what happened from the beginning. There’s no time for chit-chat, I just get right into the facts and fabrications.

Nine-out-of-ten people I have dealt with have been so sincere, helpful, and understanding. Then there’s that one-out-of-ten person who is just being rude because they don’t believe what I’m telling them. They give me the ‘ no one could do such a thing ‘ attitude.

But this is by far the most hurtful and annoying thing I ever hear. ‘ Well, you’re just her sister, why isn’t she calling? ‘

First of all, she’s still way too fragile to handle this beast by herself. That’s a big sister’s job. People that have absolutely no relation to my sister were allowed to make appointments, phone calls and arrangements, they were all up in her personal business and were allowed to navigate and drive the speeding car that was her life, right off the cliff. She didn’t handle any part of this adoption herself. Everything was done by Lupita, all communication was through her. All paperwork went through her, all gifts were given to her.

The adoptive couple made themselves look to be the sweet couple, they had every advantage and had no problem putting on a show until all paperwork was in place. I had never seen two more phony people in my life, besides Lupita, than this shiny little couple.

So all these people with the same agenda were allowed to make decisions and be in control, and though I’m ‘ just her sister ‘ I am the only one besides my sister and parents whose place it was to make decisions about our family and the newborn intended for us, but sold away by Lupita, and happily accepted by this childless couple.

Secondly, as her ‘ big sister ‘ it was, and is my job to be there for her, to protect her, look out for her, and give her love and support. Isn’t it customary that the older sibling looks out for the younger ones? Don’t you go up to bat when your sibling is in trouble?

So, yes, I’m ‘ just ‘ Samantha’s sister; I’m ‘ just ‘ Nevaeh’s auntie.

I’m ‘ just ‘ trying to cope with this sickening reality. How dare so many people overstep their bounds and intrude in our family and then look at us like we have no right? If it’s not your family, stay out of it, you have no place barging in.

I’m ‘ just ‘ a big sister, protecting my baby sister. I write the words that are so hard for her to say. She can rely on my strength to have the voice she never had. That’s what big sisters and big brothers are for, to take care of the little ones. When someone bullies them, they stand up for them. When they need advice, they guide them in the right direction.

Yes, I’m ‘ just her sister ‘ , and they’re all ‘ just ‘ wrong, have no place, and need to ‘ just ‘ get a clue. It’s ‘ just ‘ OUR family !

I miss my niece all year, but around her birthday the cut gets a little deeper. This year was no exception.

Our hands have been so tied for six years, there’s nothing we can do.

Lawyers don’t call us back because they don’t want to hear that this awful thing still exists. I’m sure they want us to just go away. Who wants to answer our questions about HOW my niece was sold away, who wants to try to justify what they all know is wrong?

That is what lawyers get paid top dollar to do: make money, whether the case should be won or lost doesn’t matter. I wonder how many families are ripped to shreds by judges and lawyers in family court. They make a call on where a child should be, and then their job is done. What do they care if the long-term is tragic? They break up siblings and extended families with the bang of a gavel.

Someone you see just once decides your whole life, knowing hardly anything about you personally. I’m really so tired of dealing with high and mighty lawyers and judges. I’m over them thinking they’re better than us and they don’t have time for our complaints. They act like how dare we ask questions, how dare we have these allegations. Meanwhile we’re saying ‘how dare a county clerk do such a thing, how dare this couple do such a thing?’

While we were going through court, we sat outside waiting because the couple wouldn’t allow us, her family, in the courtroom. They wanted my sister alone and scared, right where they had her from day one, making sure she was by herself with no support. They had the choice to let us in, but once again, they did the wrong thing.

We sat there all day and observed people coming out; mothers crying, fathers crying, grandparents crying, everyone came out on edge, group after group. Just sitting there in that family courthouse made me sick, from the look to the feel, it was beyond disturbing.

Well, the lawyers got their checks to pay for their fancy cars and material possessions, the ‘baby buyers’ got their baby by despicable actions, Lupita is still smiling her phony smile at the courthouse, haughty as can be and always was, and our family is left like insignificant trash to dispose of. It really is hard to walk when there are knives stuck in your back.

I still wonder how any of the people involved in all this can even sleep at night. But then again, evil never sleeps, does it?

These past ten years have barely been survivable, it has taken every ounce of strength and faith to make it through each day.

I have felt so incredibly anxious and helpless. Thank God everything else in my life is perfectly in place because one more grain of sand on top of me and I would surely suffocate.

On my niece’s birthday, this one being her tenth and a milestone, I couldn’t just sit back and take it for one more second.

I did the unthinkable.

Being the monster I am, I sent flowers and balloons to my niece’s door.

The card simply read ‘ To our baby girl: we have never forgotten you and you are always with us, one day you’ll know …. Love, Your Awaiting Family…. ‘

Not 24 hours later, this heartless man who calls himself a “father” because he has my niece whom he paid for, had the audacity to call my sister and say my niece was scared that ‘someone was going to come and take her away.’

First of all, I don’t believe they even gave her the balloons or flowers because of what the card said.

Ten years later, they STILL have not told her she is adopted and that she has a family still fighting for her and loving her, wanting her in our lives to stay. So why would she think someone would come take her away if they haven’t even told her?

Someone coming to take her away is THEIR greatest fear. They know that no matter what they do, she will NEVER belong to them and one day very soon, they won’t be able to say one word about our relationship with her. The paperwork they keep flashing will be obsolete. They will not have a place at our table and they will be excluded absolutely from our lives. My niece doesn’t come as a package deal. Everyone that had no place to butt into our family in the first place will finally be shut up and shut out.

I wonder how she is going to feel if they tell her now, that they’ve been lying to her, pretending she’s theirs, for a decade.

I wonder how she’ll feel if they wait until she’s eighteen to tell her, that they’ve been lying to her for her entire life.

Either way, I imagine the very sticky situation they are going to have to try to slither their way through. How do you explain that you purposely would not allow her to be with her family, or even see them? How do you explain that they played with her like a doll, dressing her up and making her what they wanted her to be. They deliberately bury her heritage and refuse to even let us call her by terms of endearment, common in most families. They continuously keep the jabs coming. The little digs, as if we’re not suffering enough. They want us to suffer to maximum capacity.  

How do you explain why you put your happiness above hers by taking away and altering her very identity?

There’s no way they told her about those balloons and flowers, because then they would have to explain that she has a family out there that is anxiously awaiting her return.

Once again, they get to lie and manipulate the situation.

But when she turns eighteen,  what are they going to say then? Call the police, her family is here and there’s no more strings and stipulations?

Call the judge to get an extension on making her an adult? It will be then that they are backed into a corner. What are they going to say when we’re all there, and she wants to know us and know what happened?

I cannot wait for the day when that couple doesn’t have the right to even be in the equation. I wonder how much love and respect my niece will have for them when she finds out what’s what.

So we’ll pray without worry, and the moment she turns eighteen, we’ll be there. We’re her family, not this ‘poor couple’ that unfortunately had everything but the ability to conceive.

Family is everything, and we are here for her with open, loving arms. We’re waiting, we’re hoping, we’re praying that God will bring us back together. One day we’ll be at the door, literally saying ‘knock, knock, we’re your family’ ….

This song brings me solace …. patience …. not as easy as it seems …. It cuts like a dull knife ….

This page is dedicated with so much love to my cousin Big B ….

We stayed up until 5 am this morning talking it all out; two fun, loud, and Boss Puerto Ricans. Music playing, figuring life out, asking questions, finding answers. I let go of hurts I didn’t need and decided what I would allow to get to me or hurt me from here on. We reminisced about  people and places that made us feel so good, just for one last time so we could move forward with force right up the middle.

We told story after story. We talk on the real …. charismatic survivors, stomping through the Bay Area living life to the fullest, happy to be alive as we remembered those that were taken from us way too soon.

I needed rest and I took this past week off. I made myself sit still. Four days this week, I blasted music until 4 or 5 am, ( Sorry and thank you to my non-complaining neighbors ), releasing my pain by floating away into the lyrics and beats. I just wanted to numb out the sharp sting of my niece’s absence.

The more I pray, the more I feel hope and usually that’s what I hang on to, but this week was just so hard for me to get through and I needed some rejuvenation. This never-ending fight for justice and vindication literally makes me scream out loud.

My cousin and I have always had each other’s backs and we get each other through the impossible with laughter, loyalty, and love.

He knew how badly I was hurting and just like he always does, he pulled me out of despair. My relationship with him is vital, and I am so grateful to have a person with such great love and character to make me laugh no matter how despondent I may be.

So Big B, this is for you …. for all your tender, loving care and because I couldn’t live without you. I love you so much. Thank you for always being on my team and being my right hand man, protecting my ailing heart and reminding me that things always fall into place …. It just takes faith and patience ….

Sabali …. Sabali …. Sabali ….

Tired …. But I’ll never quit.

Helpless …. So I close my eyes and pray.

Infuriated …. I breathe slowly, craving peace.

Distraught …. I write to get it out.

Emotional …. Nothing like the loss of a child.

Focused …. Retaining millions of details.

Confused …. But not surprised they got away with it. (For Now)

Hopeful …. Love will lead her home.

Drained …. Fulfilled only by the dream of her return.

Guarded …. Try to take what’s mine again.

As I looked at the binder that my writing has gone into; over 400 pages, and now starting to fill a new binder because there’s no room in the other one, I took a moment to just look at it from across the room.

I realized how much of my life I have given, how much it took.

I said out loud ” look at how many thoughts would be racing in my brain if I didn’t write it all out. “

I looked at it and said to myself  ‘ until Right is Right, I will keep doing whatever it takes. ‘

I write in the middle of the night so no one can hear me cry, I write in the car, parked on the hill overlooking the city, I write at the library with people staring at me in my dark glasses and headphones, lost in my own world, typing furiously as if they’re not watching and wondering what I could possibly be writing about.

Every page I write brings comfort, strength …. although written with tears streaming down.

If I didn’t write this out for myself and my family, I don’t know how I would be able to cope. Just getting through one day is a small miracle.

I’m glad I’m able to tell our own story, because I refuse to let all those other liars tell it …. Period.

This is the true story of the adoption of my niece, our neighbor’s involvement, a couple desperate for a child, and our fight for justice.

This book is being written for my niece, so that she will know the truth of her adoption; and for our family, who have had to endure this all-consuming devastation.

My writing is non-fiction, straight from the depths of my heart, and told in all honesty without exaggerations. It is the running-record of the book I was compelled to write. It is ten years in the making and very near self-publication.

My sister never had a voice …. Well, now she does. With love, passion, and prayers I am honored to fulfill her wish that her story be told, by me, because her tears won’t let the words out.

I am reaching readers one-by-one, as I have no other social media, so if you would kindly post to yours to help raise awareness that would be much appreciated.

I thank you for taking the time to visit my ” Blog to Book ” and I would be grateful for you to follow me on this journey to reunification and vindication ….

In Love & Faith ~

~ BabyLisa

I don’t like to “write angry” which is why I have a writing ritual. I light candles, put music on and simply hope I can write without being fueled with a meanness that only this situation brings out of me. I am forced to take breaks because I don’t want the rage I feel to transfer onto the paper. I have to be rational when I feel anything but.

There’s really no nice way to put it: A secret adoption, a couple unable to conceive willing to do whatever it took to “get a baby.”

My niece; sold away by our neighbor, taken, bought, smiles to our faces, lies behind our backs ….WHAT ????

How is it possible that this happened ?

I am beside myself in disbelief and ever since this fiasco about the balloons and flowers I sent on her tenth birthday, I feel like once again we are being beaten down. Who knew that sending balloons and flowers would cause such an uproar? My sister was immediately called to be bullied and ‘ told off.’

It’s one more time we have to pick ourselves up and  it’s another little jab on their part. I was never told I couldn’t send anything, I just never did. I save things for her instead to be certain that she will actually get the things I have put away for her. I knew what their reaction would be and it was spot on.

They are still playing house, happily lying to my niece about her identity, ethnicity, family, her adoption and the circumstances of events. I am really just so tired of being so helpless that I had to do something. I couldn’t just keep sitting here taking this injustice.

We are the victims in this mess, and they feel it is the other way around. Not so. The judge himself said he was going to “do what was in the best interest of the child.” They changed judges immediately because they knew they did not fix that description, why else would they change judges only after he made that particular statement?

Try to put yourself in our shoes.

Think about what you would do, how you would feel, how your world would be turned upside down in an instant. So blind-sided, confused, putting your hands over your eyes because it can’t be real. It just can’t.

Now for a moment, imagine us.

Think about how we feel.

Our baby girl, with strangers living a made-up life.

Our hands tied for another seven years; seven years that will seem to screech by.

Hurting, anxious, betrayed, pointing the finger at us, when the finger should be pointed at them. Can you blame me for being adamant about making sure my niece knows the truth?

Other than this, I live a very blessed life. I’m so close to God, in love with everyone in my life, well-traveled, well-read, it’s said that I take care of everyone and my dear friend recently told me that I’m a doter, which I never realized I was.

Before I write, I have to pray for a calmness. I have to sit amongst beautiful things, in a cozy place, so that my spirit is as relaxed as possible. I pray for God to give me the wisdom to write the right words so that I can not only tell our story, but hopefully reach the heart of the reader. I hope I reach my niece’s heart.

Now here is a huge dilemma.

How do you sugarcoat an ugly and awful truth?

It worries me sick when I think about how my niece is going to feel when she hears their version of events, and how she is going to feel when she learns the real truth.

The real truth being: this adoption was immoral, unethical, and quite possibly illegal. I wonder how my niece will feel knowing that.

Ever since the moment I found out that my niece has no idea she’s adopted, something has changed in me. I am so hurt and I’m so mad there isn’t a word that is big enough that I could use to describe it.

Ten years, and this little girl has no idea how these people got her in the first place. She has no clue that her life is one big, phony set-up. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; money cannot buy children …. their hearts, I mean.

It hurts me immensely that the adoptive “parents” would take such advantage of a scared and vulnerable young girl, simply to fix their infertility. I think it bothers me even more because we, my niece’s natural family, are the kind of people who would do anything to help and lend a hand.  

I live my life on a tightrope because of this adoption. I walk along smoothly for a bit, then I’m emotionally thrown down, have to get back up and keep going.

When you are dealing with what I call a “living nightmare,” nothing is normal and nothing is as easy as it used to be. Everything takes more effort. It takes a lot to even get out of bed.

Just because I’m not writing every single day doesn’t mean I’m not working on other things pertaining to our case, which is why I decided to keep a monthly calendar so that everything I do is documented even further. The calls I make, the letters I send, the questions I refuse to stop asking.

The people who have my niece may be able to lie and say we never thought about her and never cared about her; but this book, the journals, the scrapbooks, the legal struggle, the phone calls, the constant efforts made to try to bring her home to her rightful place, will be right there for her to see. My niece will see court documents, depositions, complaints letters; they may have their deceiving smiles but we have paperwork in black and white that says this was a red-flag adoption. My niece will see that she was robbed of her rightful family and rightful place in the world, all so this “poor infertile couple” could be “parents.”

My niece will see that her mom, her real mom, Samantha, was deceived, distraught, and duped. She and her family were treated like utter filth, enemies they had to throw every weapon at. There was no loophole they didn’t take advantage of, there’s no tricky tactics they didn’t use.

There was no limit on their manipulations, they had every advantage, their high-priced, heartless lawyer, cold as ice, just like this despicable couple treated us. None of them cared who they hurt along the way, as long as they got what they wanted. I can’t say a baby was the one thing their money couldn’t buy, because their money did buy a baby.

She was worth Tiffany & Co. jewelry, plane tickets, nice dinners, how incredibly pathetic. They treated Lupita like royalty because that is exactly who gave them my sister’s baby. Why else was Lupita given anything?

There is a saying, “follow the money,” well it leads straight to Lupita like tracks in the snow.

************************************************************

I’m really only writing this book for one person, my niece. It is dedicated with love and it is written in all honesty. After having had something so devastating happen to you and your family, especially when it is involving the loss of a child, it changes you whether you want it to, or not.

I’m also writing this book to ease my family’s sadness by not allowing the secret to remain as such. Finally our story will be told, our voices will be heard and no one can take that from us.

This book is also dedicated to anyone who has gone through what we have and never had a voice either. I wonder how many times this happens, how many families are broken apart, how many young moms were lied to and treated like royalty until their babies were removed from their arms. It makes me sigh.

If I am able to help just one person or family by telling our painful story, which I would much rather forget than tell, it would really touch my heart and I would simply say ….          ” Thank God. “

I believe with my whole heart that one day my niece will come home and all this anguish and suffering will be gone. We’ll be able to move forward together in love and happiness ….