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?