By Marci Purcell
Surely you’ve heard the news. In the spirit of what she embodied, I won’t mince words. Sinéad is dead. I am not one of those bandwagon fans that decide, now that she’s gone, she was an unparalleled treasure. In my little world, she has always been exalted. When I was escaping my childhood home, then subsequently processing my mother-loss and what had happened to me, Sinéad gave me the permission I needed to be angry—no, not angry—to be outraged at what was perpetrated against me…against us. This was cathartic. Grateful to her, I turned to her music time and again as I embarked on my healing journey and during the decades that moved me from injury to activism. To say that her passing saddens me is seriously inadequate, but I cannot find the words without resorting to clichés.
A few years ago I did an internet dive to check in on her and was distraught to learn she was still unhappy, still grappling with losses, still in an existential crisis…still trying to make sense of it all. I was gutted because she’s been such a propelling force in my life, helping me battle my demons and, as much as anyone can, move on from my childhood trauma.
I hope she found some peace in her expanded identity and new name, Shuhada’ Sadaqat. As an adoptee, her search for something solid and defining resounds within me.
These words, after weeks of media platitudes, tribute concerts, and the like, feel worn and frivolous. Well, then, so be it. I’m resigned to them. I’m going to add my voice to the cacophony and force the world to listen. There are kids stuck in unspeakable realities and survivors, years later, still struggling to make sense of it all. My survivor community, normally just scattered kindling, Shuhada’ lashed us to one another and set us ablaze through her music. Her lyrics and protests gave us a voice. Of course, a quirky-broken-defiant-fragile-angry-strong-stubborn voice. A voice filled with ashy complication. But what other kind of voice could it be? Recalling all the times I shout-sang along to “Fire on Babylon” while driving away from my life, tears emblazoned on my face, running from monsters, I crack a smile and raise a fist to all she gave to me and to all the broken-hearted, stubborn-ass survivors out there who, just like me, are carrying the fire forward.
Marci Purcell is an activist and adoptee. She’s a board member at Adoption Knowledge Affiliates and serves on the advisory board of Support Texas Adoptee Rights (STAR). Purcell is committed to advocacy and reform relating to the rights of adult adoptees, foster care alumni and overall truth and transparency in adoption. She’s also passionate about disability rights in the broader community and as they relate to foster care, adoption, and records access. Purcell has had several opinion editorials published related to adoptee rights and is working on her memoir. She resides in Austin, Texas.
5 comments
Marci, I feel your pain. In so many ways, I feel closer to the artists whose work resounds with me in a profound way more than many of the “real” people in my life that I actually know. Their departure is such a devastating, personal loss.
Me too, Kim. I had a sister her replaced me with her biological family and after getting everything she could from myself & my family she discarded us. Her biological father took over 20 years to acknowledge her but she has replaced my father with a man who never helped until she grandchildren. She abandoned me in tx & in my current situation. But, yet has time to write about hurt, pain, trauma. Although she has caused others so much.
Me too, Kim. I had a sister her replaced me with her biological family and after getting everything she could from myself & my family she discarded us. Her biological father took over 20 years to acknowledge her but she has replaced my father with a man who never helped until she grandchildren. She abandoned me in tx & in my current situation. But, yet has time to write about hurt, pain, trauma. Although she has caused others so much.
Marci,
I understand the pain. Sinead meant so much to all of us who have been hut by family and discarded. Even in times of crisis left alone with no one to help including family who discarded them for their own biological families. After giving all my love & support i was discarded by my adopted sibling once she no longer needed my support as a sister. Biological children go through much pain when adopted siblings leave them for their own biological families after giving them a lifetime of love support i was abandoned by my sibling. Even at that i reached out when i had no one and to this day she has still turned her back on me. She lives a good life but is unable to recognize the pain she put me through to this day. As she writes articles about pain, surviving and family she abandoned her sister in her greatest time of need and wrote this article. She abandoned the one who always supported her goals, her family but she reciprocated. As i write this i am still abandoned and my voice ignored.
Thank you for voicing what I also feel for this lovely soul who graced us with such profound and heartfelt music and words. I mourn her passing in so many ways.