The Birth Mom's Perscpective

I lifted my head from James' comforting arms to look at the clock. My heart dropped. Had it been three minutes already? Turning my head with a big sigh, I gazed at the bathroom door while an aching fear gushed to the back of my head. I knew that what lay beyond would alter my life forever. Slowly, I pulled myself away from James' protective hold and made my way to the door. For a moment, I thought, "Oh, it can't happen to me! It'll be fine. Just open the damn door and get it over and done with!" That moment of naivety was actually what I needed to muster the strength to swing open the door.

As I switched on the light, from across the room, the pregnancy test screamed and mocked an undeniable bright pink positive sign. After hearing my wail of horror, James came running in with his eyebrows lifted still thinking that it couldn't be true, but once he saw my eyes, his face turned to white stone. The only thing he knew to do was wrap me once again into his arms. We stood in the bathroom for what seemed like hours, and the only noise was the echo of my cries. While I saturated his shirt with tears, terrifying questions invaded my head, "How can I be pregnant?" "What will my parents think?" "What will my roommates think?" "And school, oh my God, what about school?!!!" "How am I going to graduate now?" "How can I live?" At that moment, I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole.

It was only the beginning of a tremendous journey for James, my boyfriend at the time, and myself. It is, and has been, a journey that became so much bigger than either of us because of the decision we made--adoption.

My name is Hope. When I was 24 years old, James and I placed our daughter for adoption in June of 2000. In September of 1999, I was beginning the last year of university with two stress-filled semesters packed with upper division classes ahead of me. It would only be a month later that my world would come crashing down with that moment in the bathroom.

That night, we tried to make some sense of the situation by listing all our options. Abortion was out at the very beginning. I was not going to stop the existence of a child just because it was inconvenient for me. Marriage or moving in together was out of the question. We were on different paths, and I knew it would never work out between us in the end. I knew I could feasibly take care of the child financially since I would be graduating, but I didn't want to be a single mom and wasn't ready to settle down. James even talked of raising the baby himself, but we knew that would be very difficult if I was not going to be there as well. Our hearts wished there was another option, but adoption was the only thing left.

Right away, James and I went to an adoption agency and started looking for adoptive parents. We were surprised and pleased to hear that there was such a thing as an "open adoption" where we could stay in touch with the family and possibly have visits. For over five months, we looked for parents who had a close match to our values and lifestyles. Meanwhile, my dad was diagnosed with cancer and none of my family could really be there for me. I felt I had lost my family and went through the rest of my pregnancy with tremendous support from James and friends.

When James and I finally found the perfect parents for our baby, a huge weight was lifted from our shoulders, but at the same time, now this baby was not only ours. We'd promised her to someone else, and even though it was what we wanted, we couldn't help but feel like we had already lost part of ourselves. We met with the parents several times. Our goal was to initiate some type of relationship to build on after the placement. Openness was important to us. James was adopted himself, and so he knew firsthand how awful it was to live without ever knowing who his birthparents were. We knew that our baby had the right to know us when and if she wanted to.

As our little girl grew peacefully inside me, I struggled to keep afloat. I couldn't sleep, eat, and had trouble studying. I kept on thinking that there was no way I would be able to get through the year and graduate with the pregnancy, adoption issue, and my dad's cancer. I took it literally one day at a time, and at eight months pregnant, I was able to wear that well-known cap and gown!

I spent the next month really coming to terms with what was ahead and enjoying being pregnant--feeling her kick and move. At that moment, I knew her more than anyone else. I could tell already that she was going to be a cuddly baby and an affectionate child. She would probably suck her thumb like I did--in fact I thought I saw her doing it once during an ultrasound. I would sing to her and dance around the room holding my stomach. Once, I even felt the bottom of her foot pressing against my belly, but the moment I touched it with my fingers, the foot was gone--"Bashful" I thought. That month, I had no distractions and really was a mom. I couldn't wait to see what she was going to look like! Was she going to have James' olive complexion or my Irish fair skin? Would she have my blue eyes or James' brown eyes? Would she be tall like James or short like me? It was all unknown and exciting! Then reality hit--I was not going to be her mom. James' and my daughter would call someone else "Mom" and "Dad." They would see her take her first steps, hear her first word, bring her to kindergarten, and help her with her homework--not us. My body, my soul, and my mind would always know I was a mom, but I was going to have to conceal that from myself after she was born.

In early June of 2000, I helped bring a new life into this world with the loving help of James. We spent three indescribable days in the hospital with our daughter after she was born, and the adoptive parents came to visit. That was when they told us they were planning on naming her a word in Latin that meant "Alter of the Stars." It was perfect, they were perfect, but I was falling apart inside. I held this beautiful, delicate, blue-eyed baby who recognized my voice knowing that in a few days time, she wouldn't be mine any longer.

When the day came, James and I sat side by side and signed our rights as parents away while I held our baby in my arms, tears pouring over her, crying out loud, "I love you. I love you." Over and over again I said it. Everyone in the room was in tears. Before I finished my signature, I gave her one last kiss on her forehead as her mother. I can honestly say that it was the most excruciatingly painful thing I have ever done in my life. I couldn't breath, I couldn't see because of the tears, I couldn't talk, and my whole body tightened up into a knot. So much of my heart did not want to sign those papers, but I knew it was for the best.

The night after the placement, I cried myself to sleep. She had been inside me, apart of me for all that time. We had never been more than a couple of feet away from each other in the hospital, and now she was somewhere else. I was on my own again, and she didn't need me anymore. I was going to have to learn to live without her. I had let go of her on paper, but how in the world was I going to let her go in my heart? I woke up screaming from a nightmare that night with my arms reached up to the sky crying, "I want her! I want her! Please God, I want her!" My body was ready to take care of a baby not realizing there was no baby there.

The first week, I walked in a daze. I started to forget what had happened in the hospital; I started to forget her face. So, I carried the pictures I had of her wherever I went. The grief, loss, and emptiness was like nothing I had experienced before. Yet, even with all that pain, I knew James and I had done the right thing for our daughter. She was with perfect parents who would love her as much as James and I did. I spent the next months trying to get on with life, and James and I did indeed break up but have remained good friends. Dad somehow fought the cancer and seems to have won for now, and my family and I have since reconciled even though we are still not the same.

James' and my decision, has affected everyone we know, in one way or another. Both set of parents have to deal with losing their first grandchild; our siblings cannot be aunts and uncles to this child; and our friends cannot come over to visit her. All are saddened by the fact that we could not keep her, but they are also glad that a whole other family can be happy. We all know that our sorrow will ease with time.

The pictures and letters James and I receive from the adoptive parents are wonderful. We are so grateful that they take the time to think of us. Around our daughter's first birthday, James and I had the honor of visiting her and her parents at a park. To see her smile, play, and walk was amazing, and seeing the absolute joy in the faces of her parents touched our hearts. James and I received a remarkable gift that day! Merely a year after placing her for adoption, we were able to see right before our eyes how our decision had blossomed into a miraculous flower more spectacular than we could have ever imagined.

James and I will always carry our daughter in our hearts wherever we are. The pictures and letters from her parents will be our treasure to remember her by, and we will show people the daughter we had for a mere nine months, two weeks, and three days. She is James' and my beautiful butterfly whom we let free, and we hope she spreads her wings and flies. We hope she enjoys the life that was chosen for her, and maybe, just maybe, she'll fly back to us and learn where she came from and how our love for her was so great that we were able to give her away to the parents she was meant to be with. E-mail: holhausen@hotmail.com