Mother's Day 2012...

“An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but it will never break.”
 ~ An ancient Chinese belief

Most mornings I do a small mandala drawing and write and affirmation for myself...an affirmation that allows me to look within to see what it is that I need to pay attention to...the morning of, May 11, 2012 I did the one below:

My heart has FINALLY been unlocked!

My heart is so full right now I think I might burst....This is the best Mother's Day in 42 years!
I am blessed to Welcome back into my life....my son Gerard...and now his lovely wife Kathleen and new found grandchildren...Colleen, Stephen and Lucy....and lets not forget about Wesley (the dog)!
I am truly beyond happy!! I am truly blessed!!!
LIFE IS SO VERY VERY VERY GOOD!

I called my daughter to wish her a Happy Mother's Day, (up until yesterday I believed I only had one grandchild, and now I had four!) I told her my exciting news and she was also happy for me...I called my sister also and told her...I would of taken an ad out in the local paper...I would of shouted it from the roof top...I wanted to let the world know that I had talked with my son...In less than 24 hours the "secret" was not a "secret" anymore! It no longer had control of me...I no longer cared who knew what because I had talked to my son! And then there was the very first e mail that I received addressed to Mom (is it ok that I call you that?)  OK...it was MORE than I possibly could of imagined. I talked to my friend who was on vacation and told her all about our phone conversation and she was over the moon happy for me...HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!

Dinner was at my sisters house in the afternoon. I was beaming...as we sat there at the table, was asked if I was having a good day...GOOD?  OH...this day was more than GOOD...this was the best Mother's Day I have had in 42 years....I told my story...watching carefully for my own Mothers reaction. She looked at me when I finished with tears in her eyes..."I am so happy for you...you deserve to know your son, and he deserves to know you" but like every good mother she was fearful for me...how can you be sure it is really him? she asked. My heart tells me it is him was the answer that had.

Later that evening, the phone rang and the caller ID printed out my sons name...Hello, Gerard was how I answered ( I have to admit that I loved saying his name right out loud!) And what I heard next was a family singing "Happy Mother's Day to You" to the tune of "Happy Birthday to you"...
When the song was completed, my son said...HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY MOM! While talking to him I told him about the dinner conversation and the way people reacted to the news, and I asked him if he wanted me to register with New York State so that they could release our names and addresses to each other, so there would be no question that I was his mother...and he was my son.  He said, I know who you are...I know in my heart that it is you!  (we have quite a few very similar interests and sayings!). I talked to his wife...and briefly to the children. I was beyond happy...and still trying to make sense of all that had happened in this short time. (I know it really wasn't short, because we both had been searching for so long)...but it was short from the moment that I found him on the internet...to this moment right now....this moment where for the first time in 42 years my first born son was saying HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY to me....for the first time in 42 years I was feeling whole.

This was the beginning of late night phone calls and an exchange of e mails between us...and also between his wife and myself...

This was the beginning of rediscovering each other and the unbreakable red thread that connected us together...

Am I dreaming...

"If I am dreaming let me never wake, If I am awake let me never sleep."
~ Chinese Proverb

It started with Hello...

I told him that I was sure that this phone call came as a shock out of the clear blue...he told me that once he heard the message, he did not hesitate to call...he just immediately hit redial! He and his family had been out all day and had just arrived home...and as for the e mails...he never got them. Those e mail addresses were no longer active. The Six Degrees of Separation had been up for 11 years, and he never got a hit off it...when it came time to renew it, which was just the week before, he and his wife decided that they would not do that...the site would be up for another week and after that it would cease to exist. Now, I knew that this was some kind of miracle...this was meant to be, exactly at this moment in our lives.

I asked if he would like to hear my story...and I told him all the basic information of being in love at 17 years old...pregnant at 17 years old...confused at 17 years old. I gave him the lawyers name and told him what hospital he was born in...I admitted that it took me till just the other day to remember his birth date, I explained about my "friend" on facebook and how my heart had popped open with the date on the morning of the 8th...I told him my story...getting these facts out of myself...he sat listening on the other end.

When I finished I asked if he had any questions...Yes, he said. What religion would you have put on your paperwork? What religion?...I laughed a little, really in 1969 I would not say that I would of been active in any church...but, it would of either of been Methodist, as a kid I had joined that church...quite honestly because my friend, Janet went there and we went to church camp together in the summer...OR it could of been Presbyterian...because, after Janet moved away every one else that I was friends with went to that church if they weren't Catholic. Methodist, he said...you put down Methodist.

This seemed to be the only bit of information he had about me...He knew that it was a private adoption, done through lawyers...he knew that I was 18 years old at the time of relinquishment...he knew I was from Rochester, New York...he knew I was Methodist. His parents told him he was adopted around the time he was 11 years old...and they made sure that he knew that not only did they love him, but that I did also. He placed me in his heart and carried me there, he said. It made me cry again...because that is where he was placed within me all these years.

He asked if I would hold for a moment as his family was coming in the house...certainly I would. It was then that he said..."You are never going to believe who I am talking to...I am talking to my Mother...my real Mother...my birth mother". There was all sorts of screaming and excitement in the background...GRANDMA PEANUT? You are really talking to GRANDMA PEANUT. Who was grandma peanut, I thought to myself? But the excitement in the background made me smile...it made me laugh...it made me happy. What is her name I heard his wife say...I need to google her! Ah...the "stalking" could now take place on their end! He came back on line and said...sorry about that, you already have a name here...YOU are Grandma Peanut! It seemed that when he explained to his children that he was adopted, I was given the name Grandma Peanut, because a fetus is small like a peanut and he grew in another Mothers' belly. A Mother who loved him but could not care for him, so their grandparents...his parents... who could not have children, would raise him and love him for her. I had always been in their prayers..."And God bless Grandma Peanut wherever she is, may we meet her some day soon". I was overwhelmed with happiness...I was a member of the family, and I did not even know it.

There was so much more to our conversation that night...we talked for almost 4 hours! I was finally feeling totally drained...both emotionally and physically as was he and we ended our conversation for the evening...I told him that I loved him...that I always had and that I always would, he told me that he loved me too. There was so much more to say, we would talk soon and I would E mail him at the proper address now that I had that.

After I got off the phone...I was so emotional...my youngest son, who lives with me, must of over heard me crying and came and asked me what was going on...I told him, about finding my first born...He was happy for me...he hugged me and laughingly said..." HOO-HOO....I have a brother...I have an older brother...not that I didn't know that...but now I really have an older brother". He and I sat in the living room talking till 4 in the morning...

It was Sunday, May 11, 2012...it was Mother's Day.

Loving and Lovable

Pattie, my dear,
You are infinitely adored.
You are enough.  
You are on the right path, even if you don't know where you're going.
You are worthy.
You are incredibly valuable.
You deserve nothing but greatness.
You are cherished.
You are loving and lovable.  
Just in case you forgot,

Your Inner Pilot Light
© Copyright 2009 - 2013 OWNING PINK™ ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


I do not sleep very well...but the night of May 8th it was almost impossible to sleep...perhaps I got a couple hours before the morning of the 9th. I checked my e mail to see if there was a response to my mail. It was Friday...he would be at work, perhaps he only checks his e mail once a day after work...perhaps I should be patient. PERHAPS! Here I had nothing to go on for 42 years and yet I felt an urgency to connect with him immediately. But then the series of what ifs came into play again. What if he no longer wanted to hear from me? What if after 11 years he had given up on me, and resigned himself to be okay with that? What if he no longer had that e mail address? What if I was fooling myself completely? What if I was not lovable or on the right path?

What if...what if...what if?

 And what was I suppose to do while I waited? Did I say I was a patient person? Did I say that instant gratification was a wonderful thing? Was I checking my e mail box every five minutes? Was I making myself crazy, more nervous, more upset with each passing hour? YES...YES...YES...and YES! I called my new/old friend from facebook and told him that I believed I found my son, that I had written e mails to several different addresses..he suggested that I write another giving him a little more information about myself, so that he might believe I was really his mother, after all there are lots of mistaken identifies out there. He suggested that I find him on facebook and request to be his "friend". So, by mid day I was once again on the internet. I was once again "stalking" him...and I was constantly going back to his picture which I had now saved on my computer screen! I knew this was him...my heart knew it...but how do I get him to know it. I did not "friend" him on facebook...but rather I sent a message to his wife...woman to woman I wrote her my hearts story. Perhaps if he was fearful, she would be able to help him to get past that and contact me. By late afternoon when I still had no response (did I say I was a patient woman?!) I called my dear friend, who always called me on my sons' birthday to see if I was alright...I had left her a message the night before asking that she call me...I had no urgency in my voice the night before, and did not say it was important, I suppose it sounded like a... hi how are you...call me back message. On this new message I was crying...I asked her to call me as soon as possible that I needed to talk to her. Little did I know she was on vacation...she was on the golf course, when she called me back...she was concerned because of the urgency in my voice. When I told her that I had found him, she said that she would call me right back as soon as she got off the golf course.

She listened as I told about the "friend" from facebook...how I had the birth date break through...how there he was on the adoption registry site...how I "stalked" him over the internet and saw a picture of him...of his wife...of his 3 children...how I had sent out 2 emails to him and one to his wife...how I had heard nothing from either of them...I told her all my fears of not being "good enough" for him to want to find me anymore.  BREATHE she told me...and then she asked me if I had called him...Called him?...you've got to be kidding me..call him? Heck he wasn't answering e mails...I couldn't call him. I just couldn't call him...what would I say...Hi, I'm your birth mother...you know the one who gave you up for adoption 42 years ago...care to talk about that? She was a voice of reason...perhaps the e mail addresses are no longer active...perhaps he did not check those addresses because they were now 11 years old...perhaps he was on vacation...In all your searching you did find a phone number and address didn't you? Write a letter to him she said..although that is going to take more time...CALL HIM! No...there was no way I was going to call him on the phone..I couldn't...the fear was to great...the fear of rejection was more than I thought I could handle...his e mail silence was deafening enough. Think about it she said...don't rule it out.

I kept checking my IN box...there were many e mails there..but not the one I was hoping for. My friend called back early that evening...by now, I was a complete and utter mess...OKAY...she had called her son, (she had been reunited with for 13 years now), he also lived in the New York City area, as did my son. He offered to call him for me...thinking perhaps talking to another adoptee might let him know that it was safe to call this woman...that his mother knew her and she was a wonderful person...or...my friend would call him for me and be the middle person...either way she and her son KNEW that the phone call needed to be made and that they would give me till 4:00 on Saturday afternoon to call, otherwise they were taking matters into their own hands for me. They would alleviate my fears...Friday evening the 9th was a long difficult one for me...checking e mails over and over...looking at the pictures of him and his family...crying...and crying some more. Who could I call and tell...who could I talk to about this? I needed some sort of assurance that I was going to be alright, and yet I did not want to tell anyone else, just encase he didn't choose to talk to me. And what was I going to tell them, that I thought I had found my son...this was almost more pain then not knowing where he was...this was questioning myself over and over about not being good enough because of what I did so many years ago with placing him for adoption...this was raking up all the guilt and fear that I felt...all the feelings of why would he want to know me, I haven't been there for him...this was painful.

On, Saturday, May 10th  around noon, or one or two o'clock (I don't remember, but I knew it was before four o'clock ) I decided to pull on my big girl panties...after all I was 60 years old! I composed the message over and over...finally picking up the phone I dialed the phone number. After a few rings the answering machine came on (thank goodness I thought to myself) it was not one of those messages that said, "HELLO...you have reached the (insert name here) family. We are not able to get the phone right now, but if you leave your name and number we will get back to you as soon as possible." But, rather it was the robotic voice that prompted me to leave a message that afternoon, that told me nothing about the family that lived there. Nervously, I said, "This message is for Gerard, my name is Patricia Mosca, my maiden name was Patricia King. I am from Rochester, New York, Monroe County (he seemed to think this was an important piece of information as he had it on his site) and I believe that you and I may have a connection. You can reach me at...(insert e mail address here) or by phone, (insert phone number here) I hope to hear from you soon.  I kept it as generic as possible, there were children who lived in the house and I had no idea how much they might know about me if they happened to listen to the messages, and really because of the robotic message I had no idea if I even had the right number. I called my friend and told her that I made the phone call and now I had to wait once again to see if I actually got a phone call back....She was very proud of me...he'll call she assured me.

The next six or seven hours were so difficult...every time the phone rang, which I kept in my hand...my heart jumped out of my body as I looked at the caller ID (thank goodness for modern technology).  It was not until after 9:00 (at least it was somewhere around that time) that evening, when the caller ID revealed his name.

I picked up the phone and said: Hello Gerard...How are you? 

The 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 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... 

Facebook...

Facebook: ~noun: a popular social networking website. ~verb: to search for (a person's profile) on the facebook site.

I received word several weeks after my good husband passed that a journal that I kept while he was ill was going to be published as a book. After I submitted it to the publishing company, he would always say: "when they publish your book" as opposed to, "if they publish my book". (Like I said before he believed in me much more than I believed in myself.) The book: Permission Slips for Your Heart and Soul is a series of 52 permission slips that are positive and affirming things that everyone needs to do for them self. It was suggested that I use social media to promote my book...and so I started several different pages on facebook, I had a friend of my daughters' make me a website (www.pjmosca.com), and I started shamelessly promoting!  This was the first time I had really used facebook, and it was amazing to me how many people were on it.

Anyone who uses facebook knows that you receive "friend" requests daily from those you know and those you do not know. I connected with almost everyone in an effort to get my book out there! One day someone I knew suggested that I "friend" a fellow that I had been totally mad about when I was in the 8th grade. Now mind you that was SO many years ago, I thought to myself..."really...whatever for?" And I choose to ignore the suggestion. However, within the next few days I received 3 other suggestions that I "friend" this particular fellow. OK...maybe this was some kind of sign that I should not ignore...maybe for some reason I should "friend" him...whatever were we going to say to one another? The one thing I find about facebook is that it skims the surface of friendship...it is full of curiosities for moments only...very rarely do I see long term friendships happening. (Here on blogger, I have formed many long standing friendships with people from all over the world, people I would not have known if we had not connected here.)  I gave in...I went to his page and requested to be "friends"...He accepted me and I began reading his posts, scrolling down one after another till I found a video of him singing, "The Long and Winding Road by the Beatles" that was dedicated to his daughter...his daughter that was placed for adoption that he had recently reunited with. I never knew his story...I was so taken by it, not that I didn't know others who went through this because I did, but because he was so full of joy and happiness, and perhaps I wanted some of that. I wrote him off line and asked if I might talk to him about his reuniting with his daughter.. He sent his phone number because he was MORE than happy to talk to anyone and everyone who would listen. I called him the next day because as he said, this story was far to long for typing, besides he didn't type very fast and it would take him way to long! (Unlike me, who could still type 110 words a minute...not all correctly anymore... thank goodness for spell check...thank goodness for Mrs. Petit's typing class.)

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! And this "friend" on facebook was something that was suppose to happen for me. It was suppose to lead me down a path that I would not have taken. It was someone that was suppose to open up locked doors for me. I listened intently as he told me his story...from the beginning when he wanted to marry his sweetheart at 17 years old, but was blocked by her parents approval...to how he searched for his daughter for so long and finally found her via a adoption registry site just a month or so before...he told me how he had to contact her though 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 was hesitant to believe that this could finally really be happening)He explained how he contacted his daughters' mother (someone he had not seen in so many years) after he found out her married name and her reaction to the news. Only her mother could register with the New York Adoption Registry in order to get confirmation that they were indeed a match. (He could not do this as he was not listed on her 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 also had no knowledge of this registry, I was under the impression that New York state wanted us to know NOTHING about our children. However, if both child and parent are registered than they can provide you with names and addresses for both parties.) It was an unbelievable story...it filled me with hope  on May 8th of 2012. I felt safe talking with him and told him my similar story, minus the reuniting. Once again I had to admit that I did not remember the 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 17th...I felt my heart explode and I started 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. I said...No, that is not it...I remember the date...I know the date...It was November 15, 1969...November 17th was the last day that I saw him. The day that I placed him in the arms of a stranger. I quickly asked him what site he went on where he found her (because there are hundreds of sites...some free but most want money from searchers...some are legit...some are fly by night). He gave me the name of the registry that was FREE 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 to 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 felt was his actual birthday. I was never going to find him looking with the wrong birth date...this was such a HUGE new discovery...

I turned on the computer, nervously typed in the site that my new/old friend had told me and held my breath, this was a site I had never been on before: http://registry.adoption.com/

I was taking the first step down this new path...

Memories...

The past scampers like an alley cat through the present, leaving the paw prints of memories scattered helter-skelter.  ~Charles De Lint


Before I proceed, let me go back for a minute.

1989-1990
When my daughter and son became of age where they were now teenagers with raging hormones, I had to sit down with them once again and discuss the birds and the bees. Ah...what mother doesn't love that talk...where they roll their eyes and they think they know so much more than you do. But, I had a story about raging hormones...I had a story about the consequences of what happens when you act on those hormones without being cautious. I shared my story...so now they knew their Mother's deepest "secret". I assured them that they could come to me or their step father and we would make sure that they were "safe" when they felt they were in the frame of mind that they were going to have sexual relations. I wasn't sure if they would but I hoped that they knew that I would not judge them but rather I would help them from feeling the pain that I had been carrying with me for so long. Now they knew that they had a brother out there and now they knew that their mother was human, and now they knew exactly why every November I would be so sad.

2001
Then there was the strange call that I received from a local prominent judge. He asked if my maiden name was Patricia King...to which I answered Yes...He then assured me that I was not in any trouble, but that he had a very personal question to ask me that I may or may not be willing to answer. He asked if I had a child in November of 1969 (he gave me a date, but I do not recall it now) that was placed for adoption. My heart raced and got stuck in my throat...I was shaking...I told him that Yes, I did have a child then, but quite honestly I could not remember the date. That was fine he said, could he ask a couple more questions. What hospital? Private or Agency adoption? I must of answered his questions correctly because the next words he spoke were:...I have a young woman who I believe may be your daughter. My heart sank...I started to cry. I know this comes as a shock to you he said...No, I said between gulps....searching for air...I had a boy child. As I cried I told him that I was so sorry...that I wished I was the one that she was looking for...that my heart was with her on her search, and that I hoped that she would find the mother that she was looking for but that I was not her. My good husband held me in his arms for the next several hours as the tears poured forth. Where was my son? Was he looking for me too and running up against brick walls? Why couldn't this have been the phone call I longed for?

My good husband was a huge support to me. He was the biggest advocate to finding my son. He also searched web sites and would direct me to different organizations that he would find on the net. He was a computer geek, so was much better at it than I was. He believed in me much more than I believed in myself.

September, 2008
My good husband was diagnosed with a rare and incurable cancer. The next 3.5 years would be filled with a different kind of heart ache for me. Filled with several near death hospital stays, doctor visits, blood transfusions, and so much more. Emotions that ran from being angry with him for being sick to being a compassionate caregiver. On April 14, 2011, one day after our 26 wedding anniversary, my good husband lost his battle with cancer. I thought I was prepared...I thought I knew pain...this was something that I was not prepared for...this pain was unbearable. (I kept a running journal about our journey with living with cancer at :  http://livingwithmyshadow.blogspot.com )

November 2011
Here we were once again...now I was feeling the loss of both my husband and the different feelings of loss for my son. There has only been one person who ever acknowledged my pain during this time. A good friend that had the same story, only 13 years ago she received her happy ending by reuniting with her son and his family. She called, as she usually did and I was extremely tearful...she told me that I had to continue my search, that my good husband would of wanted that, and it would certainly help me to heal my broken heart. But this year because of all the pain and loss I was dealing with, I told her that I did not believe in my life time that reuniting with him was going to happen. That I was going to have to be good with that...that I was going to have to be fine and get on with life...

So much was about to change...A new year...A new life!

A way to finally search...

A journey of a thousand sites begins with a single click. ~Author Unknown

They say a journey starts with a single step...for me it was a single click! How do I go about finding the son that I relinquished to the adoption system? Did I have a "right" to do that? After all, I do believe that on most of the legal papers for adoption the words used are "gives up parental rights". Even though he had never left my heart, what was I really to him? I was the woman who gave birth to him...I did not raise him, I did not comfort him, I did not watch him grow. So what right did I have to search him out?

I use to wonder if I would somehow recognize him if we passed on the street. Would my heart call out his name to me. When he would of been college age I remember that young men use to come to the door selling encyclopedias. I would talk with them a little longer...give them a glass of water or lemonade...even though I knew I was not going to buy the encyclopedias. I would look at them and wonder if it might be him...as they walked away I hoped that they would turn around and tell me that they were my son, but that never happened.

I told myself that I only wanted to know if he was okay...that he had a good life...that I had made the right choice, and that he was fine with everything in his life. I told myself that I would be able to live with that...that to impose myself on him...to disrupt his family was something that I could not and would not do. I told myself that he already had a mother...that I was not the one who held his hand...took his temperature when he was sick and comforted him...I did not take him to school functions...or help him prepare for college. I was not there for him....someone else was. Maybe he wouldn't want to know me at all, but I would accept that I told myself as long as I knew he was healthy and happy. He was always with me, safe in my heart, where I continued to love him...I had 3 days with him...I always loved him....and so I started clicking.

I searched over and over in so many configurations his parents names...the ones that I thought I had seen on the final adoption papers so long ago, questioning myself if I had made those names up.  I was told that they were Doctors, I knew that they lived in the New York City area, how hard could this be? This was a time of the new technology...you could supposedly find every thing and anything on the Internet. I searched for the name that I had given him except I used their last name. I came up against one brick wall after another. I signed up as a member of ALMA  ( Adoptees' Liberty Movement Association.) I wrote an article about searching for USA Today, from which I received lots of people answering hoping that I was their mother. None of which were.  I would search during my depression every November...I would search every month of May (for Mother's Day)...I would search for hours...for days...for weeks at a time. I signed up at various adoption sites, I composed letters to the lawyer (which I never did send)...I wrote poems and journal entries and I kept the faith alive in my heart. I had whispered to him that we would be together again some day but, it was so disheartening.  With each disappointment of finding nothing I would suddenly shut down once again and stop the search. It hurt, it brought up so many of those raw emotions and I was not getting anywhere. I would wait and start again....it was a circle of searching that I did for many years.

Life shifted and changed for me in 2008....

Timeline...

Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You.”
~ Dr. Seuss


I could go into the timeline of MY life. I could tell you all the ups and downs of it. All the things that made me into the person I am. All of it is important...some of it is important to this part of my story line...So here it is in a nut shell.

When my daughter and son were 3 and 1.5 years old I moved with two suitcases and a steamer trunk to San Diego, California. I went out there to help friends who were having their 4th baby and to find myself. I know that sounds cliche but it was true. I went there telling myself I would stay a year, but I ended up staying five years. It did everything I hoped it would do for me. I learned how to stand on my own two feet...I learned the art of hair styling and working...I learned how to take care of my children by myself without depending on others to help out...I learned a lot about myself and how to use my own voice. I was no longer living by the standards others thought I should live by. I was successful at my job, I was providing for my children, and although my love life had gone sour I was happy. I brought the children back to our home state for a visit, and they did not want to go back to California. I said that everything we owned was there...they said everyone we love is here. You can't fight that. I went back to California alone to sell my part of a co-op business I had, and to get rid of most of our things. This was the first time I was without my children and I was lost...my motherhood role was taken away and I could not wait to return to them. I had been a single parent for so long now that being without them I felt I had no purpose. I arrived back home on my 30th birthday, with a little more than two suitcases and a steamer trunk. We were starting over.

I met my second husband through friends. He made me laugh...he made me happy...and he always included the children in the things that we did together. We were a good fit, and we were married in April of 1985 . I was 34 years old and had been a single mother for 10 years. We all had adjustments to make, as my children were use to having me all to themselves. We wanted to have children together, although he had been married before he had no children of his own. I had several miscarriages, which left me sad and broken. We did everything we could to have a child, we charted ovulation...we did artificial insemination. Every time I got my period I was heart sick. After being unsuccessful at what I felt I was so good at, I was finally diagnosed with cancer. I would have to have a complete hysterectomy. So much of my life changed that year. My beloved Father passed away, I was mourning not only him but the fact that I could not have children. We purchased a new home , which should of made me so happy but I found myself in such a depression, that I finally had to admit that I needed to go on medication. All through these years since the birth of my first son the depression was always there...always with me, but I would not truly admit to it. Realizing that I was never going to have any more children brought my first son to the surface so much more. He was such a missing piece of my life. I finally had no choice I needed to go on some medication to help myself. My husband feared for me as I spiraled down. I feared for myself.

My daughter graduated from High school in 1991, she went off to college out of state. She was an artist who eventually ended up working for Carter's Baby Clothing Company. She really did not return home again accept for visits for seven or so years. My son graduated from High School, got an apartment and job and eventually learned to tattoo. My husband and I were alone for the first time. I got fired from my job and it was decided that I would finally follow my heart and do my art. I entered paintings into gallery juried shows, and got in quite a few and sold my work. I was chosen as one of the artist out of 300 to paint life size horses that were displayed around the city. I painted 3 of them.
I opened a studio/gallery with some friends and once again life was going well.

But, still it never failed, that early fall into and just past November I would sink into a deep depression, it did not matter if I was on the medication or not. I would play that film of those months in 1969 over and over again. Where was my son? What kind of life did he have? What was he doing? Did he ever think of me? Would I ever get the opportunity to meet him? By now, everything about his birth was locked in that box deep within. I could not remember the date of his birth anymore, I picked November 17th for the date, although I was sure it was not that date. My son, would now be 30 years old. And although I knew that...he was still just a 3 day old baby in my heart.

In 1999 my good husband got us a computer. Life for me would start to change because of this machine.

motherhood...

The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new. ~Rajneesh

I liked being a mother...I liked everything about it. I liked feeding my daughter, she took a bottle because my milk glands did not produce enough for her. (Seems they had given me some kind of pills with my son that told my body to stop producing milk seeing as I was not going to be nursing him, and those pills made my milk glands shrink). I loved rocking with her and dressing her...heck, I didn't even mind the dirty diapers. She was a really good baby...she slept through the night upon coming home, she ate well,and had a sweet temperment....must of been all that cinnamon toast!

Some of my friends had babies and we would get together for coffee as the children got a little older and could play together. We were living the suburban life and life was good! But it never failed in the month of November I would sink into a deep depression. I went about my life as normal as possible but I would cry at the drop of a pin...I couldn't do or say anything right. My Doctor suggested anti depressants, but I wasn't sure about taking them. What did help was my Doctor, who delivered my daughter, called me up one day and asked if I could help him out. He was working with Catholic Charities and he had a few teenage girls who were pregnant and would I mind talking to them. Remember I had to fill out those health papers and he know about my pregnancy with my son and the adoption. Every time they would come to the office I would go in and talk with them...I would listen to their fears, and doubts about giving up their baby. I think I was the only person who told them that they had a choice...that the decision of adoption was final...and it would stay with them for the rest of their lives. That it wasn't easy, but that they did need to do what they thought was the best thing for the baby and them self. I think that perhaps I was the one person that they could count on to tell them the truth. I truly wished someone had talked to me about the way I might feel afterwards, how I should have counseling to help me deal with the raw emotions. Out of the 5 girls I counseled, one of them decided against adoption and choose to keep her baby. I was very proud of her, and secretly envious of her too.

I am not sure that I was a very good wife. I spent so much time wrapped up in my daughter that I barely had time to dolt on a husband. My husband was working at a local  camera factory. He was working trick work which meant that some weeks he worked days, some weeks he worked evenings, and some weeks he worked nights. This was hard on me because how do you keep a baby quiet during the day while someone sleeps. I did not know how to drive so getting places meant that I needed to take a bus or depend on someone to take me. That also was hard on me. I am not sure what happened but I started pulling away from him slowly pulling away. I became pregnant in 1974, it wasn't a good time in my marriage for this. My husband was discontent with his job, we were discontent with marriage, and we had very little communication skills. I remember a lot of yelling, but once we realized that we were having another child we tried to fix things, we tried to make them better. We went though the motions of being married...of being a family...of being happy. We really weren't. My husband started coming home late, working over time he would tell me, and yet the paycheck did not change. I won't go into detail here, as that is a different story, but we ended up separating. I was 4 months pregnant and we were just shy of our 3rd anniversary.

I was separated, my husband had quit the job he hated so much,  I had a 1 1/2 year old to take care of and no means of income. I did what I had to do and I went on welfare, and I got food stamps and medical coverage through the state of New York. I had a roof over my head and food on the table. 

I had a difficult pregnancy, I fell down a flight of stairs, I was extremely emotional, I wasn't eating properly. Nothing seemed to be going well, especially once again during the month of November. Now I really was questioning myself, how was I going to take care of two babies and myself? I continued on one day at a time, and prepared for the new addition. In February of 1975, my son was born. It was a hard delivery, he wanted to turn back around and stay inside the womb! So they had to use forceps to turn him around. He had a coned shaped head from the forcepts, which they assured me would go away, he had scrapes and bruises from scraping against my pelvic bone, he looked like a little old man. But he was my boy...and to me he was perfect. I loved him immediately and I just knew somehow everything was going to be fine.

Because after all I was a mother...and motherhood was something I was good at.

The second birth...

"Be thankful how beautifully God has given you another chance in your life, not because you need it but because someone needs you."  ~ unknown

In August of 1972, I realized I was pregnant. Although this pregnancy was not planned, it was welcomed by me. I was not afraid to tell my boyfriend, I was not afraid to tell my parents, I was not afraid to tell the world. There was nothing that was going to stop me from having and KEEPING this child.

On October 16, 1972 I was getting married. My boyfriend said he loved me...I said I loved him too. There were those who thought we did not know each other very well, we had only been a couple for six months after all. But, I was sure this was what I was suppose to be doing, nothing was going to stop this from happening. I wonder now if anyone could of talked me out of this, but I realize that nothing was going to stop me from having this baby. And being married would make it alright, everything was going to be perfect this time. Though I would never admit to it then, there was a part of me that knew that this was not the right thing to do. I knew all the right reasons for getting married...you love and are loved...you make each other happy...you respect each other and have each others best interests at heart. But, there were also the wrong reasons...do you want the same things out of life...do you value the same things...do you want to raise children the same way. The wrong reasons often are deep within and a repetition of your past. My wrong reasons were very deep, but the surface one was that I was going to have a baby, and this was the right and only thing to do. On my wedding day as my Dad was getting ready to drive me to the church he said, "you don't have to do this you know". My reply was that everyone was waiting for us to get there. The word love never came into play.

The wedding gave me a sense of being. A sense that I was an adult making my own decisions. That I would finally have the "happily ever after" ending this time. That the journey would be wonderful and life would be good because we had this union and we were going to have a baby.

I so loved being pregnant. I was good at it. My husband's uncle was an OBGYN and for a wedding present you were given your first child FREE! I loved going to that office, being with all the other women in our various stages of pregnancy. Everyone comparing notes about how they felt...what stage they were in...there was the excitement of birth in that office. How totally different from my first pregnancy this was...this time I had a ring on my finger that made everything alright. I remember the first time I went to the office I had health history papers to fill out. One of the questions was how many full term births I had to date. Do I truthfully answer that question? These were good Catholic men, but they were also Doctors and would know that I had already given birth. I put down the number one in the appropriate spot. When his uncle asked about the birth, I had to say, it was a normal delivery...no complications...ending in adoption. Nothing more was said after that. It was a good pregnancy...a happy pregnancy...I finally felt as if I was good at something...that I had been given a second chance to show what a good mother I was going to be. I would show all of them how wrong they were in 1969. I did not know if I was having a boy or a girl. Somehow I knew it was a girl...I craved cinnamon toast all the time...she was going to be so sweet I thought.

My first baby, my son was never far from my memory during my pregnancy. I knew that he was three years old now, but in my heart he was always a baby...he was always three days old, which was what he was the last time that I saw him. He was a loss that was put into a locked box deep within my heart where we were safe from harm. This pregnancy was different. This was a baby that would be mine to have and hold...to cradle more than three days..there would be no pain associated with this baby...I could feel all the feelings of joy...all the love of having a child. I did not have to be afraid this time, I knew about labor and delivery...I knew what to expect...I knew I was prepared because I had already done this before.

This pregnancy was so very different from the first one. I was married and had a ring on my finger to prove that there was a mother and a father to make this family whole. I did not have to hide my pregnancy, I was welcomed to come visit my mother at work to let her co-workers marvel at the fact that my mother was going to be a grandmother. I could proudly walk around during the day instead of under the dark of night so that everyone could see that I was going to have a baby. Everyone talked about the baby...did I want a boy or a girl...(I secretly wished for a girl)...how was I feeling and was I ready to change my life. I was told that I looked absolutely radiant with that natural mother glow about me. There were child birthing classes that my husband and I took together in order to be prepared for the birth of our "first" child. He would be by my side in the labor and delivery room as the baby was being born. I would be awake for this birth so that I could see the moment that the baby was born. There were showers with gifts and a nursery that was set up with just the right crib and bedding. There were people and things anxiously awaiting the birth of this child.

Mother's Day, May 13th of 1973 was a difficult day for me. My baby was due any day now, but I found myself in a depression and always on the verge of tears. I thought so much about my first baby, my son, and I felt ashamed because of the adoption. Here I was having another baby only three years later, here I was happy and waiting to hold my child. I couldn't take care of my first child, even though at the time adoption was the best thing I thought I could of done. How could I take care of this child? I couldn't remember the date he was born, or how much he weighed, what time he was born, or how long he was. What kind of mother was I not to remember these milestones? They were in that box locked so deep that I couldn't open it, or maybe I just didn't want to open it because it was too painful.  I was feeling the loss of him, the guilt and the fear of whether or not I was "good enough" to be this child's mother.

On May 15, 1973, my daughter was born. She was born at 6:31 in the morning, she weighed 8 pounds 6 ounces and was 21 1/2 inches long. She was perfect...pink and so pretty with her rose bud lips, and shocking red orange hair. I couldn't of loved her more. I would look into her beautiful blue eyes and see the need and the love she had for me also. I did not have to memorize the sweetness of her face...I never had to place her in the arms of a stranger...she was beautiful and she was mine. I could wrap my arms around her and comfort her when she cried...I could sing songs to her...I could be the "perfect" mother to her. As I held her I couldn't even think about giving her up, I couldn't imagine that ever happening.  I felt as if I was given a second chance to do the "right" thing not only for my child but also for me. For the first time I saw my own parents in a different light also. I saw my mother holding this child with such loving care and giving me "motherly advice"...my father was already spoiling his little princess by buying up every pretty little dress he could find. I saw that they too finally had a grandchild that would  never leave them...they too would feel the love of this little baby girl.

It was the beginning of what appeared to be the perfect family.

Keeping the "secret"...

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.

When I was feeling physically better I started down the path of numbing myself. Pushing the emotions as deep as possible and keeping myself in a state of refusing to deal with anything. My sweetheart came home for Thanksgiving vacation...I ran into him at a gathering. He would not talk to  me...he did not acknowledge me...so I drank a little and then a little more and pushed everything deeper still. I hated that Thanksgiving. I found nothing to be festive about and no reason to give thanks for anything. I had a black cloud surrounding me and once again I found I had no one to talk to about any of this. I began to live the life of a party girl. I would work at the local drug store during the day and then I would go to the bar every night...repeat...repeat...repeat almost every night of the week. I found I disconnected from my high school friends and would find groups of different friends over the next several years. Never getting to close to any of them, never letting them know the "secret". I went through the motions of life...day by day.

 I even got back with my sweetheart for a short time, we never talked about the baby or the pregnancy. I know that disappointed me, and shortly after getting back together we broke up again. There was still that physical draw to each other, but I could not fix him or get him to love me the way I thought I needed him to. And he could not make me into someone who liked all the things that he did. We were so very different and although I felt this huge connection to him because of the baby, I also knew in  my heart that it would never work out between us. That I had to move on, and so I did.

It was a year after my son's birth when I was contacted by the lawyer that had helped in the adoption placement. I would have to fly to New York City to sign the final adoption papers. I could take someone with me, everything would be paid for and I would be able to stay several days in the city to explore. I had no idea that the final papers had not been signed. I took my sister with me and off we went. We got into NYC early on a Friday morning, the adoptive parents lawyer picked us up and settled us in the hotel. I was to be at the court house that afternoon, he would come and get me and my sister should I wish for her to go along. I felt a little nervous, but I wasn't sure why after all it had been a year. Once inside the judges chambers he asked if I was "willing" to sign the final papers, was  I being forced by anyone to do this. I answered the questions and then he asked me again. I answered that Yes I was willing to sign the papers and NO that no one was forcing me to do this. Then he asked me if I would like to see my child before I signed the final papers. SEE HIM? I never thought of that happening. I answered NO, as he continued to ask me this question several times. Finally I said yes. I walked out of his chambers and down a hall past lots of doors, till finally the court appointed personal stopped and I looked through the two way glass window. There he was sitting on the floor...he was healthy and he was happy...and he had been with his parents now for a year, he was no longer mine. I walked so quickly back to the judges chambers and asked where do I sign. I was shaking and holding back tears...as he placed the papers I was to sign in front of me there was a piece of paper covering the names of the adoptive parents. It slipped and there at the top of the page were the names: Jane and John Doe,( these are not their real names) or so I thought. I ran out of that office with both the lawyer and my sister following me. Once I got on the street I had no where to run, the lawyer came up and said he had arranged for us to go to a play that evening. I looked at him with tears in my eyes and said..."NO...you will get me  on the next plane out of here, and he did. Just when I thought I was getting on with things pretty good, I had locked so much away in the safe box this set me back. I had to start all over again in a lot of ways and it was not pretty for the next couple years. It would be almost 20 years before I went back to NYC.

I continued to go about aimlessly. I tried nursing school, but that was not for me. I tried doing secretarial work, and that was not for me. I continued to do my writing and reading and even some art work, all which still was kept under lock and key.

By 1972 I was living with my boyfriend and working as a waitress at a large hotel. I was happy enough...although I have to admit that I did not know what happy really was or if I deserved to be happy. I was in love, or at least what I thought was love...still dealing with the sex verses love thing was something that I had a hard time deciphering. I shared my "secret" with him and he accepted it without judging me.

My life seemed somewhat normal for the first time since 1969.

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 Robert...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 instints 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.  

Doing the right thing...

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


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.

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.

Fear...

"FEAR is an acronym in the English language for, "False Evidence Appearing Real" ~ Neale Donald Walsh

Fear freezes us in the moment. It can hold us back from doing things we know in our heart we want to do. It can place us in a situation where we believe others know better what is right for us than we do. Fear takes away our belief of possibilities if we allow it. I was full of fear.

I was afraid of doing the unthinkable, of going against my parents and disappointing them. Would they ask me to leave the house? How would I support myself and the baby? Where would we live? All questions that I had no answers for. How do you go against what your parents are telling you is the best thing possible?

All of our lives we have choices to make, some are just larger than others. This was the largest one I had ever dealt with, and I did not know how to follow my heart when everyone was telling me something different. At what age in life does your own courage come into play? How do you stand up for yourself at a young age? Can you? At what point does one become totally responsible for living their truth? Do we ever give up the need or want of our parents approval?

I believe that there are those who never live their truth, they never follow their hearts calling to find their happiness. They continue to follow the direction others believe is the right one for them, the direction that others expect them to follow. A path that they would not choose for them self if they could only find their voice. That years later they regret the choice, they wish they had done what their heart told them to do, but time ran out and something was always missing. Why is it that we put so much value on what others think of us? Why do we have such a need to be perfect and in control? That somehow by living by other peoples standards we might become better, even happier when truly one knows this can't be true. Your heart...your spirit...needs to be heard...needs to be honored...needs to be free in order to live your authentic life.

I made the decision to place the baby up for adoption...my baby...my love  . It was not a decision that was easily made, it was not a decision that I made totally from my heart. But it was a decision that was influenced by others, a decision that would follow me for the rest of my life. However, it was a decision I felt was in the best interest of the baby, mostly because I bought into the fact that I was not capable of caring for a baby; wasn't I proving I couldn't even take care of myself. Decisions sometimes carry great repercussions...people who we thought once held our best interests walk away when we follow the path we think is best for our self. Other times when when we follow our heart we are told that we are brave and strong for doing so. Both disappointment and bravery come at a cost...the question is, at what cost?

I believe with age, I have learned to travel down my own true path, but it took many years to know that I deserved to be happy. It took a great deal of time to stop listening to what others thought I should be doing, and to follow what my heart told me to do. Could I have done that at 17 years old? My mind says I could not...my mind tells me I wasn't strong enough...or wise enough...or good enough. Silently now, 43 years later my heart tells me differently...but it also tells me that "for everything there is a season".

 I was becoming more attached to my baby every day as it grew within me. This baby that was a part of me, was not going to be mine to raise. This would be the hardest thing I have ever done in my life, and just where would I put all these motherly emotions that I was suddenly feeling?

And so the process of putting my baby up for adoption was about to begin.

White Knights...

White Knight: (noun)  A state of mind whereby a male feels the need or obligation to rescue maidens from unfortunate circumstances.

I do not know what makes some boys/men step up to the plate when things seem as if they are going badly, and others to run or hide their head in the sand. But, I do know that I had several unexpected "white knights" that came to my side that summer of 1969.

One was a very good friend of my sweethearts. It was the night of graduation, and for whatever reason my sweetheart and I were enjoying a "good" night. We went together for a little celebration party at the home of a class mate. Being pregnant meant that I could not party to the extent that he wanted to, and I grew tired quickly. He said he was going to go outside for a minute to have a smoke, and I waited inside. I waited...I waited...and when I finally went out to see what was taking so long I realized he was gone. Gone to party with other friends without so much as a word to me. Now, I realize that he probably did that to avoid a scene at all costs, but there I was alone again. A good friend of his saw what happened and offered me a ride home. He couldn't understand how he did this to me, why he was being so mean. Once again I was crying, (seems I did a lot of that for a while) but this boy was listening to me. Then out of the blue he suggested that we drive to Canada, and get married. That he would treat me the way I should be treated, that he would take care of me. I remember that I sort of laughed between my tears and said that I did not think that was the answer. So he just wrapped his arms around me and let me cry. He was a white knight coming to my rescue.

When I wasn't going to school much anymore there was another one of his friends that would show up at my door around lunch time. We never talked about anything of importance, but he always made me laugh. He would eat his lunch and then go back to school. It was almost as if he just didn't want me to be alone. Another white knight.

Another white knight enters the kingdom. There was the boy who worked with my sweetheart. If I called my sweetheart at work, this fella was the person who got caught in the middle. He was suppose to either tell me he was busy or that he was not there. Rather than do that he started to talk with me, he would even call me at home to talk with me. Most of the time it was about music or art, but there would be times when he would just listen to me or tell me how he just could not understand my sweethearts bad behavior.

The one that road his horse into my life for the longest period of time was totally unexpected. It was a boy from another school whom I met right after graduation. All the sororities and fraternities rented cottages at a lake and I did go down for a couple days. This fella approached me one night and point blank came out and said that a rumor had me pregnant. Now, I did not know this fella, but I did tell him that the rumor was true. He took it upon himself that summer to make sure I was eating properly, he would take me to the movies, take me out for ice cream, he would call or stop over every day that summer. He was kind and sweet to me, and was one of the only people who would talk with me about what my options were for the baby and myself. All I was hearing from others was how I HAD to place the baby up for adoption because I certainly couldn't take care of a child. He talked to me about how he thought I would be a good mother, that he thought that if I wanted things to work out they could. He also talked to me about adoption and what that would mean to not only myself and the baby but to a couple who could not have a child. He was the one who helped me make the biggest decision I was going to make. He helped me believe that I did have a choice and that I had already made the biggest choice, I choose to carry the baby to term.  He certainly was the most influential white knight to enter my life.

Its not as if people weren't telling me that I was incapable of raising this child because they were. It is not as if I had all the support around me to keep this child because I did not. I knew exactly what my sweetheart thought, his parents thought, and my parents thought, I was just having a hard time finding out what I thought.

I would have to make a decision soon...a decision that would change the lives of everyone, but especially the babies and mine.

Post Script:
(After the baby was born, after the white knight duties were no longer needed. These boys rode off into the sunset. I have never forgotten any of them and the part they played in 1969 and I will be forever grateful to them for all they did for me.)    

Dad...

The main reason why a 'Daughter' needs a 'Dad' is to show her that not all the boys are like the ones that hurt her.  ~unknown

 

I had been at my friends house for a couple weeks, when my Dad came over and said it was time to come home. Home to my own bed, home to my art supplies, and music. Home to where nothing was the way it was before. But, my Dad came and got me, which meant that my Dad was on my side.
 

It was decided that there would be a meeting of the two sets of parents, my sweetheart and my self. That meeting was going to take place around our kitchen table. The two sets of parents sitting directly across from each other, my sweetheart at one end of the table and I at the other. You could feel the uncomfortable tension around that table. And the discussion began. What exactly was the plan for our future, what should or shouldn't be done. My sweetheart remained completely silent the entire time we were all together with his head down, with my head down also all I could do was cry. They talked back and forth as if we were not at the table. My father was of the mind set that we all needed to find the right solution for this situation. And then the heat entered the room. I listened as did my parents as his parents said that I had led him down a BAD path. That somehow everything was my fault, that their son was going to college. And well, quite honestly my parents would have to deal with their daughter whatever way that they saw fit. That their son would no longer be involved with me and he would be signing off on any parental obligation that he might have, if indeed this was his child. Now, my father was a big man, not only tall but full of girth, and he had a temper too. But when they said "if it was really his child", my father stood up and calmly said that he thought we were done and that anything else would be handled between lawyers...and it was. He did not lose his cool, but rather he just dismissed them. I will never forget him coming to my defense in such a composed manner, when I am sure he just wanted to hit him or tell them off before he threw them out of our house. After that meeting my sweetheart and I hardly ever had a nice conversation or meeting again. He wouldn't take me to prom, he even had a little flirty kiss with one of my very good friends. He would run, hide and turn away from me whenever he could. I remember screaming, swearing, hitting and begging him to come and see me, to talk with me. For as naive as it sounds now, I still was holding on to the happily ever after fairy tale. The physical attraction, the intimacy, the chemistry that we had complicated things. It was like we were magnets in conflict with like poles either repelling each other or different poles attracting. After graduation we had virtually little  to no contact, and if we were somehow in each others company it always ended badly. My visible pregnancy was a reminder of how bad he thought things had become for him. He sought all kinds of escapes  and distractions that summer for himself, he drank, he dated and he partied. I on the other hand stayed close to home.
 

I started having cravings, and one of them was steamed clams. My Dad would take me out and let me eat one dozen after another. Good brain food for the baby we both would say. By July there still was no clear plan as to what was going to happen. It was as if no one wanted to talk about it, certainly I didn't want to talk about it. I was loving being pregnant. The morning sickness had passed and I felt really good and I was extremely happy carrying a baby, this baby that I still felt was a product of love. But in five months the baby was going to be here and there just wasn't a plan. My Mother never talked about it, she seemed detached and indifferent toward me. My Dad was the one who was always asking me how I felt, did I need anything, or could he do something for me.

My Dad became the second "white knight" that came to my rescue with  loving care and concern.

 

 

disappointment...

Be clear that expectations are demands. Demanding that life turn out the way we prefer is a sure path to disappointment and suffering. Happiness lies in having no expectations, and accepting life as it comes.  ~Jonathan Lochwood Huie

Here I was without direction, without a clear future plan, and without my sweetheart. I was feeling as if I was finally living up to all the negative things I had been told about myself. Things began to shift when I received a phone call from the first of several "white knights" that would enter my life during these next six months. There was an English teacher who noticed that I was withdrawn, that I wasn't taking my passion for reading and English to the lengths I once had. I had miss so many classes and way to many assignments. He called me at home, and asked if we might meet to discuss what he could do to help me graduate, because at the rate I was going I surely would not. I wasn't sure what was going to take place at that meeting, I wasn't even sure if it mattered if I graduated or not. We sat in the class room where he taught his classes and he asked me what was wrong. What wasn't wrong? The flood gates opened and I tearfully told him that I was pregnant. He was the first adult that I opened up to. To my surprise he was sensitive to my feelings, he was kind and caring as he talked to me. He gently told me that I needed to let my parents know as soon as possible. That I needed to go to an OBGYN Doctor for prenatal care. He explained to me without being judgemental that these were very important, much more important than the assignments I had missed. But, this teacher went beyond that. He knew that attending school was becoming more and more emotional for me. That I was getting sick in the morning now and it was getting more difficult for me just to pull myself out of bed. So, he went to the school board and said that he would tutor me, he would make sure I read the final book of the year and did all the assignments because I was suffering from depression.  He explained how the only credit I needed to graduate was English and that he would make sure I was prepared for the Regent's exam. He went out on a limb for me, and I did not fail him.  I took that final exam and got an A so that I could graduate with my class. I would be able to walk across the stage and accept my diploma as if everything was normal. Knowing all the time that nothing was. Once I had told him the "secret" I felt maybe my parents' reaction would be the same. After all they loved me, they had always taken care of me, they were my parents.

As it turned out I did not have to tell my Mother about my pregnancy. My sudden change in behavior certainly made her suspicious, but I am sure it was the morning sickness that gave it away. She actually said to me, "Your pregnant, aren't you" in that I already know tone. My immediate reaction was to say NO, but we both knew that was not true. She made her disappointment very clear, and told me that I alone would have to break THIS news to my father. My father and I had always had this close relationship, and he felt I could do nothing wrong. I was after all his Queen, his little girl, his darling daughter. Now, I felt I had to shatter all that he believed I was and suddenly I would become tainted, dirty and disappointing to him. When I finally worked up enough courage to tell him all my fears seemed to come true. If my sweetheart had been with me I am sure my father would of hauled off and decked him. Just what did I plan on doing he asked? The I don't know answer was not exactly what he wanted to hear. Perhaps, he had hoped, like me, that my sweetheart and I had a plan. He asked me to leave the house. Throwing a few things in a suitcase I wasn't sure where I was going, but I ended up at the door of a good friend. I thought I would be safe there, I was sure her mother would understand and let me stay with them for awhile. She would help me work things out, she would point me in the right direction, she would rock me in her arms. This woman had always been a person that I could tell things to, and she was very understanding and gentle with my already fragile heart. I was safe. She set up a Doctors appointment for me and began the process of  being the middle person between my parents and myself. She took her time to talk to them about supporting me, and explained to me that they were really not mad or disappointed in me, but rather they were scared and were not sure how to help me.

We were all in the same boat together sailing on a very rough sea of emotions. Slowly we began to accept together the pregnancy and we would have to work together to discover the best course to set this boat on.

But, what course would that be? 

Days went by...

“Where'd the days go, when all we did was play? And the stress that we were under wasn't stress at all just a run and a jump into a harmless fall”
― Paolo Nutini

Days went by and I did not hear from him, he avoided me in the hallways at school and would not take my phone calls. Let him get over the shock of it my friend told me, after all you have had time to adjust to this. The more I tried to get him to talk with me the further away he would pull. I would cry, I would scream and yell, and I was totally and utterly out of control on some days. My hormones were changing and I had no control over them and no idea what was going on. And the fear I was feeling was beyond anything I had ever felt before. I didn't understand why he was acting this way. Didn't we lay side by side declaring our love for one another?  Didn't we talk about running away and getting married before I became pregnant? How could all of that have changed? I couldn't stop crying, I barely ate and being at school was torture for me. How could he turn his back on me so quickly?  Everything I believed to be true, suddenly became just words that were floating around in space. Nothing in my life seemed real, other than the fact that I was pregnant and going to have a baby. Now what?

Now what indeed. I tried very hard to ignore it for awhile, maybe it really isn't true. Maybe I was just really late and I would actually get my period any day now. Maybe the love of my life would see the light and come back to comfort me and marry me so that the world would be right again. Maybe those adults who told me that I had little potential were right. Maybe I was just a stupid 17 year old girl who had no future. I sank into  a depression, a depression that was dark and deep. I had no idea what to do. Maybe I should just end this all and take my life. But, how could I do that when I was carrying a baby, an innocent child that had no voice in this situation.

I watched as my friends and fellow classmates went about their busy senior year lives. Laughing and planning for their futures, they went to parties and activities as if life were somehow normal. Normal!? What was normal? I had no idea anymore, and I separated myself from the group of friends I once hung out with. I became quiet and more withdrawn making up one excuse after another as to why I couldn't do things. I was sure everyone knew I was pregnant. I was sure that they were whispering all those nasty names that girls who were not married and pregnant were called. I was sure that the word sinner was plastered all over me. In 1969, girls were still thought to be virgins when they married, even though I am sure a great many of them were not. After all we were living in the 60's and free love was talked about in every media. Girls in 1969 did not have or keep babies if they were not married. Some girls suddenly got married to their sweethearts, ( a shot gun wedding they use to call it) and before long they were having a baby and perhaps even living the fairy tale. Did people count on their fingers the months between the wedding and the birth? I suppose some did. Other girls mysteriously dropped out of school. They came down with a severe case of Mono that kept them at home, and of course you couldn't visit because they were way to contagious. There also were the sick relatives that they were suddenly sent out of town to take care of. The "secret" was kept. Of course there were whispers of pregnancies, of illegitimate babies that were put up for adoption, but you never knew for sure if those whispers were true. And after a time those girls came back to school and joined in as if the world was right, as if everything was the same. They seemed to have all the right answers to all the questions about their disappearance. It was as if a script had been written that never changed and became a fact to anyone who asked after a while.  Now, I was one of "those" girls and I had no idea what was in store for me.

What price did they pay for that "secret" and the script that they had practiced over and over? Was their life different? Did they feel different? Because, they did not seem to look different. I had no idea what was going on with the girls that had these stories. I couldn't ask anyone these questions for fear that perhaps they really did have Mono or a sick relative and then I would be exposing my "secret". This secret was changing me. Changing my emotions, changing my body, changing every part of my life. One minute I would be laughing and the next minute I would be crying. I would act as if breaking up with my sweetheart was fine with me, and then I was telling people how cruel and mean he was. I was separating myself from friends and then I was calling wondering why I was not included in activities. I would seek out my sweetheart, I would cry and rant at him and the next moment I would find myself wanting to make love with him.  The pregnancy was causing my hormones to run wild and I had no idea what was going on with me. Was I losing my mind? I felt lost and very much alone during what was suppose to be one of the happiest and exciting times of my life. Graduation was getting closer and my pregnancy was now progressing. What was going to happen to us, this baby and me? And just how was I going to tell my parents that they were going to become grandparents in the fall of 1969.

Because you see, I was still holding on to the fantasy that everything was going to turn out alright, even if I did not know what direction I was going in.