Our parents came from a different era. They looked at adoption differently, and most importantly, they didn’t think psychology was all that important or necessary. They don’t question themselves the same way we do. They question themselves in light of a different ethical and moral system.
They were doing a good thing adopting you. It was charity to some degree. They didn’t feel like they had to be terribly analytical about how they parented. They had no idea of the psychological problems they could cause their adopted or natural children. I bet your brother has plenty of complaints, too.
The question is what do you want from them? Whatever it is, you won’t get it. But it helps to know what you want. Then you can mourn it.
My parents never really seemed to love each other, and I wanted them to love me, but there just didn’t seem to be much love around the house. Later, after my father died, I discovered he had been having an affair with someone. I found the letters in his things, and I burned them before my mother could see them. I wish I hadn’t done that now, but that’s what happened.
I don’t know what was going on between my parents. Why did they fall out of love? Were they ever in love? Was there some other reason they were together? Why did I not have any siblings? A million unanswered questions that are now unanswerable. They are dead and the information is gone.
Why do I want to know? I guess I think it could help explain some things about myself. But that doesn’t matter any more and maybe never did. I was always just me, responsible for myself. I’ve never been able to sustain a relationship. Is that related? Would knowing their story help me? I doubt it. My problems are my problems. I have to sort this out myself. In the end, we are all on our own, and while understanding our parents may help us gain perspective, it doesn’t help us change or be who we want to be. Especially not when we are in our forties and fifties and sixties and so on.