A Letter From Your Birth Mother

I have spoken to a lot of people over the years about adoption.  What I have heard more than anything else is a question from adoptees: "How could you give up your daughter?" It seems that, while "adoption is the loving option", there are still many challenges to being adopted, particularly in a closed adoption, as my daughter was. Questions like, "Who do I look like?" "What is my real ethnic derivation?" "Didn't you love me?" "Where do I belong?" are common and heartbreaking for a birth mother like me, who hoped that my daughter would never miss me.

I wrote her a letter, which I never let anyone else read and never sent. For the sake of so many adoptees out there, and their healing, I would like to offer this.

                                                                                                 May 28, 1984

Dear Little Darlin',

I don't know how you must feel about this imaginary person who gave birth to you.  Either anger at having abandoned you or being willing to give you to somebody else, or blessedness that I loved you enough to give you a real family.  Perhaps I should tell you the basics.  Maybe you'll understand this/me a little more.

Your father was a dear friend, not a love, but we shared many things in common, and I wouldn't have given up his friendship for the world.  I only saw him once after you were born and then we talked about how you had affected our lives.  I remember wondering, "How can a 15-second old baby look like a twenty year old man?"  Whatever, it was true.  Your birthday was six days after his.  He loved history and fantasy and when I had contemplated keeping you, he said, "Send me a picture.  I want to send it a sword on its 14th birthday." I loved him for that.

At first, he wanted me to have an abortion though he didn't even offer his opinion till he'd heard mine.  You'll no doubt be please to hear that that never even was considered.  You were starting to live, and you were going to stay that way if I had anything to say about it.

At first, I was shaky when I found out because I was afraid of disappointing my parents. But I was happy at the same time, because I'd ruptured an ovary once and I felt that God was saying, "See, you don't have anything to worry about." I have to admit, that though most people wouldn't think having an illegitimate child something to be proud of, in these days when there are so many couples incapable of having children, I couldn't help feeling a trifle smug.

My parents and I prayed about you (fortunately, they agreed with me on the no abortion) and they figured that adoption was the best thing.  I was relieved and happy for several reasons.  One of the major ones was realizing what  a child I was and how incapable of being on my own, let alone caring for a child of my own.  Another big reason was that I would be steward of a very special Christmas gift. God had an important purpose for me.

I had hard times, but overall, I loved being pregnant. It was a happy time, with not a huge amount of tears, surrounded by loving, Christian people.

One thing you should never, ever be afraid of. And that is that you weren't wanted. On the contrary, everyone wanted you. They put you on my stomach and I wanted to touch you so badly, and I had a great deal of trouble saying that I didn't want to see you. Every once in a while, I wish I had, but just because I promised God I would give you up didn't mean I had to be a martyr. The day after you were born, the lawyer called to make sure I hadn't been coerced into giving you up. He asked me if I was sure I wanted to do this. That was the hard time, but after I crossed that hurdle, God took me in His arms just as I wanted to take you.

My mom and dad looked at you and my dad said afterward, "I wouldn't have minded keeping her." It took all my strength not to say, "Neither would I."

My grandmother called to hear how it had gone and said that it was a good thing she hadn't seen you; she would have wanted to take you home.

The choir director at our church, who also taught me piano, was willing to move out of the state to have you.

Your father said to me when I last saw him, "It's hard to keep up the devil-may-care attitude I always try to come across with when there's something I do care about." I think you really made him.
 
There's an old saying, "Any woman can be a mother, but it takes someone special to be a mom." I'm your mother, not your mom, but as the lawyer told me, you're doubly blessed in having two sets of parents, all of whom love.

Lord willing, someday, I'll have other children, but I don't think any of them will be what you were, because you were mine; no one else really had a claim on you. In my mind, I always called you L.D.: Little Darlin'. I had been pretending about a someone like you since three years before you were born. I imagined traipsing around Germany with you on my back, and going for hikes in the Indiana Dunes and the Northwoods. If you love the woods, that explains it; both your father and I loved the forest.

I expect that you'll be fascinated by anything imaginary; a combination of both him and I couldn't be anything else. And thanks to the loving household that I was told about, I know that that imagination will work wonders.

Mother

Don't Forget the New Crew!

A couple of years ago, Steve and I went to a homeschool conference and came home with the same thought: we can't forget the new crew.

We were so careful of how we brought up the top half of the family: no T.V., little sugar, lots of Bible, lots of reading aloud, family time and all the other things that you know are important and make such an issue of when you have your first children.  Unfortunately, the busyness of the older kids and their involvement in the world, simply because they are older, means that the younger ones are both exposed to things at a younger age that the older ones weren't, and that we don't have as much time to make sure we do the important things with our younger ones. 

Part of that is just choosing your battles.  The older kids are always saying, "We never got to do that when we were their age!"  And that's true.  The older the kids got, the more there were of them than us and the bigger they were.  The worst thing that happened to our family was The Lord of the Rings and that is one of my favorite books and movies of all time.  The problem is, it opened the door for PG13 movies that has never closed.  Coincidentally, we moved in with my mother and she brought cable TV into the house, which we got used to.  Now, the New Crew, as we call them, has decided that if a show is not animated, it's a grown-ups movie, as opposed to the Old Crew, who watched John Wayne and Gary Cooper movies.  Partly, it was just easier not to fight, and partly, we decided some things were not worth fighting over.

But, at the same time, there are things we need to review. I recently realized that the New Crew don't know the New Testament!  They are pretty good on the Old Testament, but we need a refresher on the New Testament.  Right now we are reading through Matthew.  We need to have another go around on the Little House on the Prairie Books. We need to throw a baseball around for recess. We need to take the dog for a walk. I need to make sure they practice their instruments, since we aren't going to the public school for band anymore. We need to make beds! I must be the one to get them to bed so that we pray together, instead of relying on an older sibling to do it.

Steve has observed that if the older kids turn out well, life is easier on the younger kids. If the older kids don't turn out well, parents are tougher on the younger ones. That seems to have held true for our family, since the older kids are godly dears. Since we are moving next month, we get a chance to start fresh in so many ways, like cut down to one T.V., cancel the cable, take walks with the dog, get going on a chore chart and pray diligently with my children when they go to bed. And onward with Little House and the book of Matthew!

Mom, Marriage and Valentine's Day

How do you have a romantic time on Valentine's Day when you have a crowd of kids who need to go places, you're packing to move, and your daughter's in-laws are coming for dinner?  You do something different, that's how.

Today is Friday.  Sunday is Valentine's Day, but my daughter wanted her in-laws to come to see our house before we moved out of it, so she asked if we could have a couples dinner on the day.  I love my daughter, so I said yes.  I forgot I love my husband, too.  So, after we we started planning the couples day, I thought about my dear husband. 

"How about we go out on Friday night and go to the Habitat Store to look for things for the new house before dinner?"  He very nicely said yes.

So, today is Friday.  Our house is so big, we have cleaning day because I'm more of a project person than a maintenance person.  This is it.  However, I stayed in bed and finished reading a Ted Dekker book my college daughter took out of the library before she went back to school.  I told Steve to go away when he started creeping towards my side of the bed.  I finished the book, got up around 9:45, ate a bowl of cereal while the kids watched Phineas and Ferb, and gave them their marching orders.  Then, I started cleaning my bathroom.  Cleaning bathrooms are the bane of my existence.  They need so much cleaning!  And you're not usually in them for long unless you are in a hurry to get somewhere else.  But, since I spent last cleaning day packing, I had to do the bathroom.

 As I was cleaning the bathroom in my nightgown, I realized that I didn't want to smell like this when I went on my Valentine's date this evening, so I planned to clean my personal corners after I did the bathroom.  Which I did.  However, we are moving and, since I'm the mom, I am trying to use up all the dribs and drabs of cleaning materials around the house.  While cleaning my corners, I realized that I had used some kids body wash and I was going to smell like bubble gum for the rest of the day.  How romantic.  I got out of the tub, was drying myself off and found, to my horror, that my legs looked like a gorilla's.  Back in the tub.  Once going with the razor, I found that it had been even longer since I'd done my underarms and I thought I might have to take scissors to the hair in my armpits!

Does this sound familiar?

The fact is, this is life for people who are responsible for others' needs and wishes, maybe not for people who have only themselves to worry about.  We are moms.  This is our life.  And we wouldn't want it any other way, would we?  I'm down to six kids in school around our house and I already feel like there are holes in the family structure.  But, the most important person in this whole deal is the one person I have hardly mentioned in this article: my husband.

At our wedding, the pastor exhorted us to keep our marriage first.  That Steve shouldn't let work or sports or hobbies come before me and I shouldn't let kids or crafts or house or friends come before him.  And that includes sex.  Yes.  The "S" word.  It is the only thing that differentiates the marriage relationship from any other relationship.  It results in an intimacy and vulnerability and even sacrifice that no other relationship on earth provides, not even twins. As evidenced in my story today, life demands so many unromantic things of us; what do I do to counteract that? 

I will do what I planned: go on a date with my husband and put on my red silk nightshirt and my black lace panties for bed.  And hope the kids go to bed early!