Loss

Musings of a birthparent

"She is mine in a way that she will never be theirs, yet she is theirs in a way that she will never be mine."

I've spent time working with birthparents during tender moments at the hospital witnessing the handover from birth parent to adoptive parent during the baby's first moments. After years of searching, I've learned more of my own birth mom and birth dad's story and their decision for adoption. I've asked birthparents to speak on panels to adoptive families and most recently experienced my own personal loss in the adoption arena. I've gained insight into the feelings of many of the birthparents I've worked so closely with. Birthparents endure a deep and fairly invisible loss that not many understand. The general public is quick to speak about the happier side of the equation - the adoptive family and their big hearts, or the adorable child in the middle of it all.

Birthparents love their children. Maybe they chose adoption after showing up at the hospital with unexplainable pains - only to find out they are in labor, or perhaps they've chosen to place their 6 month old child after couch surfing with the newborn in tow. Whether the birth parents knew that adoption would be the right choice from the moment they found out they were pregnant, or if they changed their minds several times over the course of their pregnancy, the realization that you're unable to provide what the child needs is not a choice that comes easily. Whether the child is now a toddler, tween or an adult, birthparents love their children. In modern adoptions, many birth parents get pictures and letter updates of their child a couple times per year, and they may get to visit the child once a year. Those pictures and letters are like gold to the birthparents. The ability to see tangible moments of a happy and well-adjusted child is paramount in a birth parents healing. The visits with the child and their new adoptive family are a mix of poisonous beauty. Both are reminders that while you've allowed a family to experience great joys, you suffer silently as you stare at the child you've birthed have an attachment with other people, and you listen to the adoptive family share specific details and facts about the child's bedtime, favorite kind of toothpaste and they explain why the child doesn't like to be bounced but rather to be rocked. These are details you feel that you should know.

In light of my most recent loss, I write as a "birthparent" in a sense. It's bitter sweet to see the adoptive parents doing better than what we were able to provide. I feel overjoyed seeing this child happy, thriving and being given opportunities way beyond what I would've been able to do, however it pains me to have to continually realize what I couldn't do. It gives me  joy knowing that this child is the light of someone else's life, however, simultaneously wishing it were me providing the stable, loving family.

Birthparents bellow silent pleas of forgiveness, asking that someday their child understand their choice for placing them for adoption. Adoptees grow up thankful for a "better" life, but suffer in silence attempting to make sense of being the recipient of an altruistic abandonment. Many adoptees admit to feeling a sense of survivors guilt. Adoptive families reel and bask in the beauty of a child that was thrust upon them through extraordinary circumstances. Such complexity in the name of an unnatural need.  Adoption means that a birthparent has made a difficult and selfless choice, a lifelong choice that throughout life will remain invisible to most.

What I would say...

Ms. Deborah,

I'm hoping that somehow this letter makes it's way into your hands. There are some things I have always wanted to say to you:

I think the World of you.

I admire your ability to go through with an undesired preganancy, especially without any help, doctors, books or guidance. I am amazed by your courage and foresight in knowing that keeping your pregnancy  a secret was the best choice for yourself, and for me. I want to thank you for thinking ahead enough to find an adoption agency to place me in a home. I don't know as many people who are as selfeless as you who have the strength to carry a baby to term, walk in to the hospital alone and in labor, and walk out of the hospital alone and empty-handed. 

I wanted to apologize for showing up at your doorstep so unexpectedly last month, I can only imagine how completely overwhelmed  you must've felt.  I can imagine that my suprise visit opened up a very deep wound of intensely painful feelings, feelings that had been buried for 24 years. I never meant for you to have to retrieve the painful memories. I hope that you never felt ashamed for having given me up for adoption.  Your strength and courage to give me up  has provided me with more opporrtunities than you'll ever know. 

 Since I sought you out, I had the advantage of working through some of my feelings prior to the day that I showed up at your door in Tennessee. I cannot imagine what it must've felt like to be on the other side of the equation. I know that my raw emotions were overpowering when I looked at you for the first time. I'd venture to guess that your emotions were 10 times stronger than mine, I guess this may have been why you denied knowing who I was and asked me to leave. I understand.

Just wanted to let you know that I am doing fine. I am happily married, enjoying all that life throws my way. I live in Seattle, Washington and my home is open to you anytime - I'd love to get to know you more.  

Love,

Your birthdaughter

     -oh, and by the way, my name is Angela.