Happy Adoption Story?

You could say, if you had to label it, that my adoption story is a good one, maybe even great.  After my son was born, I did go on to have a great life.  I went back to my high school & old job the fall after I had my son, resumed my life as a typical teenager.  It was only eight months after I had Christopher that I met my husband, who I have now been married to for over 27 years.  We have three children, and 6 (soon to be 7!) grandchildren.  I get to see my kids & grandkids almost every day, as our grown children both chose to live close to us.  I have more friends than one could hope for, a job that I love, a beautiful home, more blessings than I could ever deserve.

(I don't mean to speak for my son, but the following are things he has said regarding his life.)  Christopher was adopted by wonderful parents, he had a big sister (also adopted) who doted on him also.  He lived a small town life ~ full of extended family that loved him too.  He wanted for nothing, says he had a "Leave It To Beaver" childhood.  He participated in sports and other extra curricular activities, he was taught to work hard, was raised in a Christian church, enjoyed the family cabin on the lake every summer, was sent to college.  He received everything that I ever dreamed for him, and so much more.  He got married to the love of his life after graduating from college, and they are now parents to a son & a daughter. 

Our lives however, are not the makings of a fairy tale.  Even though our lives could be portrayed by some as a positive, happy, adoption-is-wonderful, story.  Adoption is built on loss.  I lost a child, grandchildren, a life of loving on them.  Christopher lost his natural parents, his geneology, his ancestry. 

If I had not been dealing with such a tremendous loss, would I have been a better student?  A better employee?  A better friend, wife, mother to my raised children, better to myself?

If Christopher had been raised by me, would his life really have been that much different?  He may not have had a father in his life at first, but I believe that I still would have met & fallen in love with my husband.  He would have been a great father to Christopher.  Perhaps if I had raised him, he would have brought some happiness and love into our house ~ my parents became excellent grandparents just 2 1/2 years later when my daughter was born.  They are far better grandparents than they ever were parents.  Christopher may not have had a vacation home on a lake, but he would have had his entire natural family, his history.  He would have had his 3 siblings in his life, his nephew & nieces...

This post is a jumbled mess of thoughts, really going nowhere.  The point I want to make is that even though ours is a "good" story, it is in spite of adoption entering our lives, not because of it.  I did not go on to have a better life because I wasn't "burdened" with a child.  Christopher may well have had just as great, maybe even better life, if he had never been given away.  That is one thing we will never know.

So, even though I have gone on to have so many blessings in my life.  Even though my son seems to have had a wonderful life with his adoptive parents.  Even so, I would not wish my life as a first mom on anybody ~ even my worst enemy.  Adoption was a permanent solution to my temporary problem. 

Little did I know that adoption would become a much bigger permanent problem in the end. 

The Hospital

I don't really remember being in labor.  I remember being alone in a tiny room that was no bigger than a closet.  A bed against the wall, room to walk alongside the bed & that's it.  Alone.  I do not remember going into the delivery room, the birth of my son, or recovery after the birth of my son.  I don't remember the days, weeks, or months following my son's birth.  I remember bits & pieces, but not everything.  I don't think I really want to remember what my brain has chosen to forget in order to stay sane.

The few bits & pieces of my time in the hospital that I do remember are in the two days following his birth.  I remember the nurse that snuck into my room to give me a little piece of paper with my son's foot prints on it, with her written notes of the date, time, height & weight of Christopher at birth.  I wish I knew her name to tell her thank you.  To tell her that she was my one saving grace while in the hospital.  The one person that treated me with any respect, that treated me as the mother to my child. 

I remember carefully filling out the form for the birth certificate.  How I carefully printed the name I gave my son, the one and only thing I could truly give him.  When I received court papers regarding the relinquishment of Christopher, his name is Baby Boy.  I don't know if they even put my name on the birth certificate.  The one thing I had to give him ~ did they take it away??

I remember walking down to the nursery, praying to get a glimpse of my son.  I think I found him on the second day.  I remember standing in the window, for what seemed like hours.  It may have been.  But it may have also been only 5 minutes.  I really don't know.

I remember the day I was going to go home.  I walked down to the nursery hoping to get one last glimpse of my son.  I didn't find him.  On the way back to my room, I passed a small room, no bigger than a closet.  There was a changing table in the middle of the room.  There was a lady, dressing a newborn.  I wondered if it was my son.  When the lady looked up & saw me, she got a horrified look on her face & quickly walked over to the door & shut it.  That was my answer.  It was my son.  Who was not my son.  Who was being dressed to leave the hospital without me.  I will never forget that moment.  I will never forget the look on her face.  Like I was a monster of some sort, that might take the baby and run.  I will never forget the door being closed.  It was like a door was closing on a part of my soul.  Closing on my heart.

The doors stayed closed for a long time after that.  It took me almost 30 years to realize that the doors had been closed as tightly as they were.  It took reunion for me to realize how I had kept my heart closed since that day.  I had to keep it closed ~ from fear that I would fall into the gaping hole & disappear forever.

Queen of Denial

I worry that one day my son may find this blog.  I don't want to hurt him, and some of my story could very well do that.  I don't want to burden him with my garbage.  I worry that some of what I want to say, when read by him (or any adoptee for that matter), could seem heartless.  I am sickened myself by some of the things I felt & did.  It was hard to forgive myself, but I realize that the way I dealt with the loss of my son, I did out of self preservation.  I was so young, coping with something an adult would find difficult, all by myself.  My choice for adoption was truly to save my son.  To save him from the life I was living.  I knew that the choice for adoption was not the right choice for me, I was making the choice for him.  What I believed at the time was the only choice ~ and nobody bothered to tell me any different.

I knew, as soon as I found out I was pregnant, that I would have to give my baby up.  I knew I would never be his mother.  So, I never allowed myself to think of myself as his mom, as I was not going to be parenting him.  I was only an egg donor & incubator.  I don't think I even fully thought of him as my son, even though he was created & grown safely and healthy in me.  He was the baby I gave up.


I still remember the horror I felt when I recently realized that I disassociated myself from my son while I was pregnant.  I kinda realized it at the time, but I thought it was something I was doing only to myself.  I didn't know I was doing it to my son.  Now that I do, it about kills me.  That I was denying myself to truly love my child, to fully know and share the strongest love & bond there is ~ of mother & child.  I knew that if I thought of him as my child, I would not be able to give him up.  I knew that if I allowed myself to fully feel the love I had for my child, I could not stand him to be raised by another.  It never entered my mind that I could be harming Christopher because of this.  It truly sickens me that I did that ~ to him & to me.  I was so horrified & adamant that my son not be raised in a hateful home as I was.  In that, I denied him the most precious home he already had ~ in his mother's heart.

My Story

My family life growing up was very ugly, my parents fought ALL the time.  My father was always angry, my mom was either happy and being creative, or off the wall mad and moody.  (As an adult I came to realize that mom was manic-depressive.)  A few things I learned an early age: To avoid confrontation at all costs.  That I never did anything right.  That I was stupid.  

One day, the boyfriend of one of my best friends introduced us to someone who had just moved to town.  He was cute, and oh-so-funny.  He made me laugh, he made me feel like I was pretty, he gave me the attention that I didn't know I craved.  One night I let things go way too far.  I knew it was a mistake, so I made sure to avoid ever being alone with him again.  Before I discovered I was pregnant, the guys had decided they were going to go see what they could find in Colorado.  I was glad they were leaving, as it solved my problem of staying away from him & not giving in to my teenage hormones again.  Little did I know, I should have asked a little bit more about him, as he was the father to the baby I didn't know I was pregnant with yet.  I knew his name.  I knew his age.  I had no idea where or how to find him, knew just the basics about his family but couldn’t remember where he said he grew up.  

I could not, would not, raise an innocent baby/child in the ugly life I had at home, and I knew that there was no way I could move out, take care of a baby, and continue in school.  I also wanted my baby to have a mom AND a dad that loved him.  I knew from the beginning that the only chance my baby had at a happy life, to have the happy family life that I did not, was for me to give him up for adoption.  Nobody seemed to care that the only reason I was choosing adoption was because of my home life.  Nobody cared to rescue me in order to keep a mother & her child together.  Nobody tried to tell me that I could get help if I wanted to parent my child.  Nobody told me that adoption was not something you never got over.  I was easy prey.  After all, I myself believed I was unfit to parent my own child.  I had proved to my dad just how stupid I was.  

In 1979, girls were not allowed to attend the public high school if they were pregnant.  It was still the era of "don't talk about the baby, just get back to your life and forget it ever happened".  It was still expected that if an unmarried girl got pregnant she would give the child up.  Only the "bad girls" kept their babies.  Girls who didn't want the best for their children.  So, to prove I was really a good girl ~ not a slut, I was a good "birthmommy".  (I don't like the b word)  I believed the myths, believed I would just go on with my life.  I went to the Florence Crittenton  Center for the 2nd semester of my sophomore year of high school.  This is also where I received my maternity care.  I went two weeks overdue with my son, I didn't care because I knew that once he was born, he would no longer be in my life.  After my baby was born, I was not even allowed to hold him or look at him - so that I would not change my mind about giving him up.  I was allowed one short visit with him at at the maternity home when he was 3 weeks old.  The photo on the right is from that one & only time I have ever seen my son.  

When I see that black & white photo ~ the song "In Color" by Jamey Johnson comes to mind.  

And if it looks like we were scared to death,
Like a couple of kids just trying to save each other,
You should have seen it in color.

What Am I Thinking?!

I am not a writer.  I have no long time dreams of writing, or telling my story to strangers.  No cravings for 15 minutes of fame.  I don't know what I am thinking, adding this blog to the list of talented, eloquent first moms in blog land.  

I do know that I want to be a voice "out there" to tell my truths about adoption loss & grief.  I want to be for someone else, what I did not have when I was young & facing an unexpected pregnancy.  I also want to be a voice out there for the next mom that finds herself coming out of the fog, having thoughts & ideas about her child & self that are foreign to her.  Thoughts & feelings that make her think she is going crazy.  The wonderful bloggers I have found since reuniting with my son have helped me stay sane.  Helped me stay on the roller-coaster called reunion, instead of falling off and crashing to the ground.  If my story, my blabbering, can help just one confused mom make an informed decision, can help one mom coming out of the fog ~ then I need to be out here writing.

In finding myself, I have also realized that I need to write for myself.  Adoption and reunion have turned my brain into a whirl-wind mess of thoughts & conflicting beliefs.  I spent almost 30 years living in denial, hiding my truth, my feelings & emotions, keeping my mouth shut and not talking about my son or adoption experience.  To anyone.  In almost 30 years I only told my husband (when I knew I was falling in love with him) & my doctors that I had a son in 1979.  The people in my life at that time knew about Christopher ~ but he was not talked about.  Ever.  In doing so, I lost my voice.  I lost the ability to take my thoughts out of my head & give them a voice or put them down in writing that makes sense.   I am hoping that by writing here I can get some of the thoughts swirling around to slow down & come out in sentences that make at least a little sense to others.  I need to find my words again.