A few of my fellow bloggers here at adoptionblogs.com have been writing a series of terrifically poignant posts called “Unphotographable,” intended to bring to life those hard-to-describe moments in adoption.

Some of the Unphotographables have been about the happier moments in adoption—things like the first time an adoptive parent sees their new child, or vivid scenes from travel to foreign countries. Unfortunately, as a birthparent, my memories are mostly not that great.

Here are a few moments that stand out in indelible detail…things I will never forget no matter how much I'd like to.

1. Sitting at the kitchen table one night with my father, feeling utterly powerless because the adoptive parents have once again backed out on their promises. (What they said before they got my son: “He’ll always know you. A child can never have too many grandparents.” Now: “He has enough grandparents; we don’t need you. What, did you think you were going to come to his soccer games or something?!?”)

I look across the table and see this formerly all-powerful being, my father, reduced to a completely ineffective entity. He's no longer my father, but a helpless, thwarted man. There is nothing we can do. He is shaking with rage and grief. We weep together, without much noise, but both of us let out a sort of low moan. My throat feels strangled with anger. It’s the first time in my life I have not had any power to change things. We can barely look at each other out of shame at how little control we have. I think to myself, “This must be what it feels like to be poor, or starving, or ignored.”

2. Walking through a toy store, again with my father, as he tries to pick something out for my son one Christmas season. He seems shy and furtive, as if he feels he’s doing something wrong, but is enjoying it. He looks at all the most expensive, elaborate toys, searching for something extremely special because he wants to somehow establish a connection with my son, his grandson. When he does pick something out and pay for it, I realize that we will probably never be told whether my son even liked it or not. Nor will we get the pictures we are repeatedly promised. We are sending out presents into the void.

3. Sitting in the bathtub shortly after being released from the hospital, looking down at my flabby stomach and useless breasts. Wondering what my son was feeling right that moment as the car sped him away from me. Wanting to drown myself under the water, wanting to do whatever it took to go get him back, feeling that nothing on earth was more unnatural than this moment. Not understanding why I had to go on living. Being completely alone.

So there you have it—my first three “unphotographables.” I’ll probably revisit this topic from time to time, since the real essence of any adoption experience is always going to be a collection of this type of images--happy, sad, or somewhere in between. No matter what corner of the adoption triad you live on, it's the fleeting moments that are so hard to pin down that express the most about what it really feels like to live with adoption.