A first step...

"Take the first step in faith. You don't have to see the whole staircase, just take the first step."

~ Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

 

Once i got to the adoption registration site, I started questioning myself. What if my memory was not correct...what if I still had the wrong date. What if he wasn't looking for me...so many what ifs. There were so many different ways to search on the site...depending on how little or how much you knew. Seeing as I had so little information I decided to widen the search...I placed November 1969 and pressed search...1,569 matches came up for November 1969. (The one very important information I had was that I had seen names on the final adoption papers before the judge quickly covered them...Over the years I wasn't even sure if I really saw them or if I imagined I saw them. Any time I would search those names over the years I came up with nothing. So who knew what the mind makes up or truly saves.)

The matches came up with different categories that ran across the top of the page...

                         Adoptee Name...Birth date...Birthplace...Submitted by.
 
I decided that I would concentrate on the Birth place column, not letting my eyes go right or left to any of the other columns. I would start on November 1st...Looking for Rochester, New York. There were 32 pages of names...mothers looking for children...children looking for parents...siblings looking for each other.  On November 9...I saw Rochester, NY, but it was a female searching...November 12 was a male searching but there was very little information...November 14 there was another male listed but he was born at the wrong hospital. There on page 17 I found November 15...I saw Rochester, NY I looked across the categories to Adoptee name...And there I saw the last name that I remembered from so long ago (the spelling was a little different)...the last name that would make me scream right out loud...OH MY GOD! I was physically shaking...I was crying...I kept saying over and over...I HAVE FINALLY FOUND HIM. I got up from my chair and started walking around the room...I was shaking...I was in total shock...after all the years of searching there he was... I sat back down and clicked on to see the information that he had provided...He had very little information listed, all he knew was that he was born on November 15, 1969, and that he was adopted at birth through a private adoption. He did not know the lawyers name...or the hospital he was born in. He wrote that he was short...had brown hair and blue eyes. That he was a teacher with an MA. and that he was married. He also had 2 adopted siblings...a brother and a sister.

What do I do with this information? Should I sit here and take it all in? Should I press on the e mail address provided and tell him that I believed that I was his mother?  I sat staring at the computer crying, but knowing for the first time that my son was looking for ME...He was searching the internet and had been doing so since 2001...OK...so I believed it was him...my heart told me it was him...but I really needed more proof...so I set about "stalking" him on the internet. I googled him..I yahooed him...I even binged him. I would type in his name, press search  and came up with information about where he taught, the subject he taught...BIOLOGY, and what students thought of him. I would press again  and then that would lead me to another site that gave me his address and phone number and for a small fee I could purchase personal information about him (if he had a criminal record)...I wanted to see his parents full names somewhere...And finally there they were listed under his name on a paying site...May be related to: it listed his parents, his wife, and his brother and sister...I was staring at the names of his parents just like I remembered...the only difference was I had been spelling their last name wrong all these years...I was one letter off in a last name that I thought ended in "son"...when it was actually "sen". I would of never found him had I not talked to my facebook "friend" who helped my heart unlock the date of his birth.

As I continued to search I found a website that he started in 2001...Six Degrees of Separation was the heading..."Someone knows someone who knows someone who know my birth mother, please help me locate her by sending this off to everyone that you know." He had a letter there that said he has had a wonderful life...and that he did not know the reasons he was placed up for adoption , he knew that it was the hardest thing I  had ever done, and he knew that it was out of love for him that I did that. Up at the top of the site were categories...one of them was  "About Us". At first, I was hesitant to click it on...it was probably a plug for the site to get you to purchase something...But I finally did and there...there I found pictures of my son...pictures of his wife...pictures of his 3 children. A flood of emotions poured out of me.

Here I sat at 11:00 in the evening, on Thursday, May 8th looking at a picture of my son...a son who was no longer 3 days old...a son who was married now with a family of his own. My son was looking at me from the computer...he looked like my family...he had our high cheek bones...our blue eyes...that funny little grin...he had our hands...My 3 day old son grew up before my very eyes...he was no longer the baby that I kept safe in my heart...He was 42 years old now...and the powerful feelings of a new mother, who was seeing her child for the first time washed over me like a wave....a wave of love. I was alone in the house, my good husband was not here...but I raised my head toward the sky and thanked him for sending this man my way.

Where do I go from here? I went back to the adoption registry site and wrote an E mail to him by using a mail address that he had on that site...I also sent another e mail from his six degrees of separation site...I told him my name...I told him I was from Rochester, New York...I told him that I believed we had a connection and would he like to talk either by the net, I sent my personal e mail address or by phone, which I also sent along...

I could do nothing now but wait...

Dear Patricia,

You have waited a long time for this. Be patient. Be gentle with yourself. That site was made 11 years ago, today he may feel differently. He is no longer missing...he has been found. Be patient.

When we reach the stage where we decide to search, or we have been found you revert back to that 17 year old (or whatever age you were). Emotions that were buried surface and are very hard to contain. How did or would you feel if you found that missing piece of your life on the web? What would you do? How quickly would you do it or would you sit on it for awhile? Would you send an email, a letter, a phone call? What would you say?

 

Red Thread...

"An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place or circumstances. The thread may stretch or tangle, but it will never break."
...Ancient Chinese belief

I am not sure how many people believe in fate...believe in miracles...believe in the fact that there are signs that we should pay attention to. But, I do!  Finding my son was a series of things that just added up after 43 years. I believe it was just suppose to happen for me. I was led down a path that I would not have ordinarily take. I was suppose to "friend" someone on facebook that I had not had any contact with since I was 15 years old. This person was suppose to open up locked doors for me. And at the time I had no idea that "friending" them would make that happen.

He told me his story about finding his daughter just a month before. How he had been searching for her for so long and final found her via an adoption registry site. He had contacted a friend of hers in order to get her to talk with him, she had been searching for a long time also. But like all of us who search she was hesitant to believe that this could finally really be happening. He had to contact his daughter's Mother (someone he had not seen in many years) after he found out her married name. Yes, searching is a series of obstacles, some painful, some dead ends, and it is not for the faint at heart. In order to get confirmation that all of these people were a match only the Mother could register with the state, as most Fathers are not listen on personal adoption information. I believe that the adoption system did that to a  lot of us back then. That a lot of Fathers were dismissed without any consideration. I had no knowledge that this state registry even existed. I was always under the impression that the state wanted us to know NOTHING about our children. However, if both child and parent are registered than the state will provide names and addresses for both parties.

It was May 8, 2012 and his story filled me with hope. I felt safe talking to him and told my similar story, minus the reuniting. Once again I had to admit that I did not remember the exact date of his birth...SURE YOU DO he said, its there locked inside of you. I felt as if I needed to defend myself to let him know that I was not a bad mother for not remembering....and then as I told him the date that I always said it was....November 17...I felt my heart explode and I stated sobbing uncontrollably. He apologized for making me sad...he was sorry that I could not remember the date of his birth, but that he knew it was just locked away deep inside. No....that is not it I said...I remember the date....It was November 15, 1969...November 17 was the last day that I saw him.  The day I placed him in the arms of a stranger. I quickly asked him what site he went on where he found his daughter. There are hundreds of sites...some free but most want money from you to search....some are legit...some are fly by night. He gave me the name of the registry that was free and on line. I told him if I found anything I would let him know. I thanked him with all my heart for sharing his story with me....for helping me to unlock a key piece of my "secret".

My heart was racing....I was scared...I was crying...but now, I was armed with what I felt was the right information....now I had what my heart finally knew was his actual birth date...this was a HUGE new discovery....

I turned on the computer, nervously typed in the site and held my breath. I had never been on this site before....I was taking the first step down this new path.

Dear Patricia,

This is going to take a lot of courage. I know that you have the strength to do this....
May all your heart desires me within your reach today.

This is my wish for you:
Comfort on difficult days,
Smiles when sadness intrudes,
Rainbows to follow the clouds,
Laughter to kiss our lips,
Sunsets to warm your heart,
Hugs when spirits sag,
Beauty for your eyes to see,
Friendships to brighten your being,
Faith so that you can believe,
Confidence for when you doubt,
Courage to know yourself,
Patience to accept the truth,
Love to complete your life.
~Anonymous

Where are you on your path? Are you searching? Reunited?  How do you comfort yourself? Do you know how strong you really are? Can you find a way to believe in your strength and courage?

Depression...

I feel locked up...and locked in....

I have suffered from depression and anxiety for years. I have been on and off medication for it since the birth of my son in 1969. There were times that I would be in such a dark place that I did not even know how I got there. What triggered it or how to get out of it. Medication helped during those times. There were times that I would spin into a depression and realize that it was March...the month I discovered I was pregnant. Or maybe it was November the month of his birth and the month that I place him for adoption. Perhaps it was September when I signed the final adoption papers in 1970. I hated Thanksgiving and could not wait till it passed, this was the first holiday that was about a week after the birth of my son. And we won't even talk about Mother's Day when here I was a Mother who was never acknowledged till 3 years later when I had my daughter.

Depression and anxiety go hand in hand with adoption. I don't care which side of the triad you are on. The adoptive couple who have to deal with not being able to have children. The adoptee who wonders about the "why" was I given up. Or the birth mother who carries around the secret. We each have our own set of problems that come with adoption. Some of us face them, others do not. I am choosing to face mine. To deal with them and heal my heart.

In 2001 I wrote this poem in November around my sons' birthday.


Dear Patricia,


                                                          1969 Revisited


                                                                 1969
                                                      it plays in my mind
                                                       like a silent film
                                                           frame
                                                                      by
                                                                            frame
                                                        with all its black
                                                        and grey shadows.

                                                       it sneaks up on me
                                                            every fall
                                                      and I am forced to relive
                                                      every minute of that year.

                                                         it is slow moving
                                                               clicking
                                                            out of focus
                                                               cracked
                                                    and then suddenly clear.

                                                it reminds me of a decision
                                                          that was made
                                                a decision that affected many
                                                        the right decision?
                                                         it still haunts me
                                                              every fall. 

This reunion has brought back a great many "what ifs" or "woulda...coulda...shoulda". I so needed to get past all of those. I cannot go backward and change anything. It is difficult meeting your child as a fully grown adult with a family of their own. Trying to integrate everyone into each others lives was somewhat like a juggling act. How to act and what to say became a challenge at times. My family here know me, they know my ups and downs and my reactions. They accept me as my perfectly imperfect self. And yet, I wanted to be perfect for my son...I did not want to have any flaws and yet I knew I had so many of them. There were times that I felt as if I was walking on egg shells, other times I would be silent and even if I wanted to pick up the phone and call him I did not. I usually waited for him to call me because there was a part of me that did not want to intrude or push myself into his life. One ball up in the air while another fell to the ground. I was often fearful, my greatest one being that he would not like me and would not want me to be a part of his life. So I was almost always on my best behavior. I was feeling depressed more often than not and very anxious. The medication helped but I knew at that point that it was necessary for me to really deal with the problems that were causing that depression. I knew that I had to change my negative views about adoption for myself in order to heal.

Do you feel depressed or anxious over the act of adoption? Where do you put that negative emotion when a special day comes? What can you say to yourself in order to change a negative view about adoption for yourself?

Empty...

Ever since I can remember I have written...kept journals...written stories...and I created with crayons and paint and paper...For many years after the birth of my son a painting hung in my bedroom...a painting of a fetus...with the words..."hold me gently because I need". When I look back on that now I wonder if that painting was for my son...or was it for me?

The grave soul keeps its own secrets, and takes its own punishment in silence.
~  Dorothy Dix

I had been home from the hospital...from the birth of my son...for a couple of days when some friends came to visit. I know that these friends knew exactly what was going on...but everyone acted as if I had just had an operation or was recovering from an illness. No one uttered the word "baby" or "labor and delivery"...the "secret" was not spoken of by anyone. They came with gifts for me, and get well cards (get well?)...perhaps they were to ease my tattered heart...there were flowers...best of all there was a set of mohair bears...a mother and a baby. I could hug these bears, cry with these bears, and no one could ever take them from me. They represented the baby and myself to me.

What was I suppose to do with the range of emotions I was feeling?  I wanted to have this baby, I never entertained the idea of an abortion, I wanted the baby to be a part of me. I wanted my baby to have what I couldn't give him...a family that consisted of a mother and a father. I was doing what was best for the baby, for my son, because that is all that really mattered. I believed that he would be loved and cared for way beyond what I believed I was capable of. I thought that adoption was the best possible solution, but with all my heart I wanted to keep my baby too. There were things that I wanted to remember...I wanted to remember the sweetness of his face...how tiny I thought he was, but also how perfect I thought he was. But, once he left my arms I didn't want to remember anything. I couldn't make sense of my conflicting emotions. And of course no one talked to me about postpartum depression, no one talked to me at all about how I was feeling.

I kept pushing my emotions down...down as deep as I could. I needed to survive. I smiled....I laughed and I spent time with friends. Everything appeared to be normal...but I still had no idea what normal was nor did I know if I would ever feel that way. I called my sweetheart at school within a few days of giving birth. I told him that I had the baby and it was a boy. He never asked any questions, he just said that he was glad that it was over and now I could get on with my life. On with my life...I had no idea what that meant either. Where was I? What was I suppose to do? My breasts were full of milk and I had no baby to suckle them...my body had changed over night. I was no longer a young girl...I now felt more like a woman. What was I suppose to do with all the emotions I had...the loneliness...the sadness...the loss...the feeling of not being good enough to care for my own child...the shame...the distance I felt toward everyone and everything and worst of all the guilt I felt for placing my son up for adoption.

Dear Patricia,

BECAUSE I WAS 17

empty
empty belly
empty arms
empty
swirling uncontrollably with emotions
blank space
my heart forever
connected
to yours.

What would you allow yourself to say about your feelings when you were a mother who just entrusted their child to adoption? How honest can you be about your feelings? Can you write a poem, letter, or paint a picture that would reflect how you felt then?

I stand beside you...

While being extremely happy about being in reunion I was also dealing with so much pain. I thank goodness that I had a very good Doctor to help me sort out and deal with what he termed was post traumatic stress syndrome. How can you be this happy and yet this sad at the same time.

My son shared pictures of himself at different ages. I smiled as I looked at each one and yet at the same time my heart was breaking. How could I have not been there for those moments? Those first steps...first words...first day at school. He had boxes of memories that he shared that included report cards and drawings...high school pictures and college memories...I smiled and I laughed and waited till I was alone in bed at night to cry. He called me Mom, but I would question what kind of Mom was I? It was if I was walking in someone else's skin...was I the 17 year old Patricia or the 62 year old Patricia? There were times that I had no idea, and yet I knew I had to integrate the two.

Dear Patricia,

I am here standing beside you...you are not alone anymore. I no longer wish to keep you locked deep inside of me. Please believe me when I tell you that you are loved by me...that I am committed to transforming your fears to love...to opening our hearts and mind to love...

I am ready....I am willing and able to smother our fears with the light of love. Come walk with me, hand in hand...heart to heart in order to heal.

I know now that I did not fight for you...I did not stand up to all those who were not on our side...I am so sorry. I wish I had been stronger for you...more loving toward you. I wish that I could go back and change things, but that is impossible. I will tell you, that you have every right to be sad and angry, but that only keeps you in the shadow of your life. That if you allow me to love you we can walk through this together now.

I can tell you that with age we are learning to travel down our own path...our true path....but it has taken over 40 years to do so....could we have done that at 17 or 18 years old? My mind tells me we could not...my mind tells me we were not strong enough or wise enough or good enough...BUT as I sit here with you silently my heart tells me differently...but it also whispers that "for everything there is a season" and our season is NOW. 

The walls that have been built to protect our broken heart is coming down...if we do not work together....we cannot allow the complete flow of love in and we will continue to poison our inner space. Forgiveness is a fundamental part of living a happy life...and I know now that resentment contaminates the soul...and it will distance us from others but more importantly...from our self. We have the opportunity to offer our self grace...and with that we are offering our self emotional freedom that will help us stop the downward spiral of negativity that all the resentment brings.

Our blessing finally comes our way...YES, you do meet him again. And YES...the bond between you and him is strong and sure and full of love. And this blessing will allow us to heal and forgive our self.

We CAN choose forgiveness...we CAN choose love...we CAN choose happiness...we CAN choose grace...If we choose to let go of the resentment...we allow miracles to happen.

Trust me NOW when I tell you that your life will change. Trust me NOW when I tell you that you love and you are loved...Trust me NOW when I tell you that miracles do happen...Trust me NOW when I tell you that if you release the pain and the resentment of the past that you can build a family...one day...one memory at a time.

I am standing here beside you...you are not alone...let us merge together NOW as a 62 year old woman and begin our life again as one.

You are SO LOVE.

If you wrote a letter to your younger self because you wanted to heal that part of you that held so much pain what would you say? Could you integrate the two to help them to become one? Can you find a way to forgive that part of you that you feel failed in some way?

Birth - Day...

Every child begins the world again….
~Henry David Thoreau

I was feathering my nest. I had no idea why I was happily going about my days in the beginning of November. The baby was due soon, I was singing, cleaning and dancing around the house. Why was I so happy? I was not aware that my natural motherly instincts were coming into play. No one had prepared me for this. No one talked to me about labor or delivery and what to expect in the days that would come either before that day or after that day. All I knew was that I was happy, the baby who had been so active was quieting down and I was feeling so very good.

On November 14th it snowed for the first time in 1969. In the apartment where we lived there was a large window seat in the front that over looked a busy street below. I remember sitting there watching the snow fall...I was calm and so was the baby. I felt really good and very happy to see the snow falling silently...gently to the ground. The next morning was a completely different story. I did not feel well at all, and I was very uncomfortable. Finding it difficult to find a position where my back or legs didn't hurt. My Dad came home from work that morning, and said, "you don't feel well do you?" He said he had woke up not feeling well and his thoughts immediately went to me. I think we are having a baby today he said. My father was connected to us. Once he got over the initial shock of his little girl having a baby, he became connected. Not being prepared at all for labor (but who is with their first child?) I got more uncomfortable as the morning went on. Around noon my Dad took me to the hospital. Those were the days when you just went to the emergency room and they called your Doctor. I don't remember much after that, I do remember that they gave me drugs for the pain of the contractions. I do remember that my Dad was in the labor room with me for as long as he could be. I do remember that they completely knocked me out during the delivery. My Dad told me that I did not have to go through with the adoption, that we could keep the baby and raise him. I remember looking at him and telling him, that I had made a promise to this couple, and even though this was the most difficult thing I had to do, I was committed to making everyone happy. To making the parents happy...the baby happy...my family happy...everyone happy...everyone but me.

I was placed on an OBGYN ward after the baby was born instead of the maternity ward. I suppose they felt this was a better place for me seeing as the baby was going to be adopted. Perhaps it was the hospital policy in these situations. When I woke I asked the nurse if the baby was a boy or a girl. She was hesitant to answer but then said she was told not to tell me. Not tell me? I had carried this baby in me for 9 months...I was attached whether anyone wanted to believe that or not...I was 18 years old by now...I was the babies mother. She told me I had a boy...a healthy baby boy. Where was he? and when can I see him? were the next set of questions.  He was one flight up in the nursery and she could take me there. There he was...behind glass with all the other babies. I went in and they sat me in a chair, placing him in my arms like those in photographs. He was so little...and so perfect. Ten fingers...ten toes...all pink and swaddled in blue. Boy King it said on his wrist band...November 15, 1969. I went to see him and hold him the next day too, much to the disapproval of some people. On the morning of the 17th, the day I was to be released, they asked if I wanted to fill out a birth certificate for him. I did not want him to leave the hospital without a name, the one thing that I could give him so that he would not leave being called Boy King. I knew the likely hood of his parents keeping that name was slight, but I needed to do this. I named him ...I did not know at that moment that I would soon be seeing him once again. I had thought I said my good-byes to him earlier that morning. But, it was the hospital policy that I had to take him out of the hospital and hand him over to the lawyer, that private adoption transfer could not take place within the walls of the hospital. He was once again placed in my arms, only this would be the last time that I would get to hold him. I pulled back the blue blanket to see his face...my sons face...and I whispered my heart to him...I held him tightly against my heart...I told him how much I loved him and that I would always love him. I told him that someday we would see each other again...and then once outside the hospital doors I placed him in the arms of a stranger to me.

The ride home was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop. I cried all the way home, and went into my room as soon as we got there. A room where I would stay and cry for days on end. What do I do now? Forget? Those people did not know what they were talking about...how do you forget? And now I was perfectly aware that the girls who had been whispered about...the girls that came back and looked the same...They were not the same...everything had changed for them. For they were mothers now, they had left their childhood behind them. Now I was one of them too. Nothing was the same for us. We were mothers...BUT we did not have a baby to mother. Where do you put those natural motherly instincts when you have no baby to mother? Nothing tragic had happened to the baby, so there is no baby to mourn.

Just what was I suppose to do now? All I knew how to do was cry.

Dear Patricia,

You will never forget the last time you saw your son. He was beautiful and perfect. Ten fingers...ten toes...rosy cheeks and a rose bud mouth all swaddled in blue. That face will be forever etched in your mind.

You will always love him...he will always be with you as you hold his heart in your heart.

Let me wrap you in my arms...let me give you a strong shoulder to cry on...and an open heart to lean into...a gentle caress to let you know you are not alone....let me comfort you and give you strength. Let me help you to survive. Let me guide you to find peace as you deal with the pain.

I am here....I am always here...all you have to do is reach out for me.

Know that you are loved.


This poem by e.e. cummings explains my feelings...

i carry your heart

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;
which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)


Did anyone help you? Were you aware of the pain that motherhood without a child to love was going to do to you? Can you be tender with your younger self and allow that pain to release?

Remembering...

Character is doing the right thing even when it costs more than you want to pay.    ~Michael Josephson

I never let myself remember the pain...it showed itself in ways that were destructive instead. It was buried deep...with chains and padlocks...but now the damn had broken open and the flooding began...and my thoughts constantly went to 1969...At the time it seemed overwhelming...I was always crying, but trying to maintain a sense of happiness for the reunion that was taking place...I never told my son all that I was emotionally going through...I felt to "needy"...to "clingy"...and my family here was confused about this new found relationship...but I needed to heal and I knew that...

and so the remembering began...


Knowing what is the right or wrong thing to do at 17 years old is not easy. Of course we have a value system at that age that has been instilled in us by parents, church, and teachers. At that age I do not believe that following our own hearts was a possibility. I searched my heart and even though I wanted more than anything to keep and raise my child, I did not believe it was a possibility.

My father and I went to a local agency that helped girls that were pregnant. They would give you a place to live if you needed it, and they arranged all the paperwork for the adoption. We sat together side by side as a councilor from the agency mapped out what would happen. I would have to sign papers that relinquished my right as a parent. That meant that I would have no claim to my child in any way. I would NEVER be able to see him, hold him or contact him for the rest of our lives. That I was "giving him up" for what ever reason, but mostly it was stated that it was because I either "did not want hm" or I was "incapable of taking care of him". As she sat there and explained their policies about how I would sign over the "rights" to my child to them and they would then be free to handle everything that would pertain to the adoption. That my child would go to a foster care home, for 4 to 6 weeks before he would be permanently placed in his new home with his new  parents. That I would not have to be a part of that process, that everything for me would be complete before the baby was born. I could go on with my life. I would be able to continue my education, better myself, and not worry about the child as if it never happened. Because after all I would be able to have more children and  she assured me that I would "forget" all about this.

I sat there listening to her...of course I was crying once again. But when she said I would "forget" all about this pregnancy and I would go about my life as if it never happened. My head popped up and I looked at my Dad with what must have been pure panic and fear. My Dad asked me if I wanted to leave, and I shook my head yes. The councilor asked me what I was going to do if I did not do this through their agency. That I should not think of doing a private adoption because the people who go that route have not gone through all the home studies that are done through their agency.  That the people who go through private adoptions have usually been turned down by agencies such as theirs , and therefore by their standards would be "unfit" to be good parents. That I should think long and hard before making that decision. My Dad and I got up and walked out of the office.

Several days later my Dad suggested that we might go and talk to a lawyer that he knew who told him that he could help us. Once inside his office I felt much more comfortable. He told me of course I could see the baby if I wanted to while I was in the hospital. He told me that he knew of a professional couple that was not able to have children. He approached me with caring and sensitivity, he asked that I take some time to think all of this over. I felt as if he not only had this couples interests at heart but he also had my interests at heart.

So, the process began. My now, absent sweetheart had to be informed of my decision, as he would have to sign some papers that would release him from any responsibility for the baby. (I think because of the little contact that we had that, he thought all the decisions  had already been made, and in reality he had already released himself from those responsibilities.)  I went with him to his family lawyers and the papers were signed and I delivered them to my lawyers office. There were lots of papers that I had to sign. I am not sure what most of them were, but they were put in front of me and I signed them. I knew that the baby would be going directly to the couple that were going to adopt him instead of into the foster care system. I filled out medical information for my family tree for the couple. I wrote my child a letter, that I had all hopes would be saved and given to him when he was old enough to understand why I was placing him along with a small teddy bear so he would have something from me. (he never did receive either of these...the only thing he knew was where I was from...how old I was...what religion I had written down...and that I placed him for adoption because I loved him....those words confused me more now than ever...What kind of love is that? If someone loved you so much WHY? WHY? Why would they leave you?)

It had nothing to do with not wanting him, it had nothing to do with not loving him enough. In my heart it had everything to do with loving him and wanting the "best" that I could provide for him, and according to everyone that was not me. 


Dear Patricia,

YOU are SO LOVED!

Can you unlock the padlocks? Can you allow yourself to remember the pain in order to begin to heal? What is your truth about that time?