A Letter From Your Birthmother

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

Coming to Terms With a Special Needs Kid

Last year, I took my daughter Anna on her turn to help me at the Sheep and Wool Festival.  Within two days, three people asked me if she had problems.  Fortunately, a friend who also homeschools and has a business at Sheep and Wool is also a child occupational therapist and recommended we go to our doctor and get a prescription for occupational therapy.  I was starting to get anxious.

I took her advice, and we got an appointment with the doctor.  We also had a blood test done, because she was 11, 5 feet tall and weighed 190 pounds.  The doctor asked her if she felt self-conscious about her speech, and, to my joy, she didn't.  While she had difficulty with her "r's" and sibiliants, the atmosphere that she had experienced was encouraging enough that her family and friends had never made fun of her speech patterns. That was my happy.  After that, things were not so happy.

The first thing we found was, she was an 11 year old Type II diabetic.  We have tried so many things, but she has only gone up and is now 12 years old, 5 foot 2 inches and 125 pounds.

The next thing we found out, at the occupational therapist, was that mostly, her brain is fine, and the fact that she reads like a fiend is beneficial to her.  Beyond that, she is delayed almost, but not quite, to the level where she would get therapy at school in two areas: fine motor coordination and visual perception.

Next, the speech therapist discovered that her tongue is actually too large for her mouth, which explains the speech difficulties.  She also had difficulties finishing sentences that begin with prepositional phrases.

So, I lay in bed one Saturday morning praying about Anna.
"God, does Anna have learning problems?" "Yes."
So, I cried.  I could not be happy to have an over-sized daughter with speech impediments, chronic illness and learning problems.  I want her to be loved and admired and for life to be easy and happy for her.

But then, God made me be honest with myself.  I know other kids who have learning problems and physical problems and, really, she was so much better off!  She has people around who love her, she is a fantastic reader and storyteller, has compassion for cats and is one of the favorite playmates of her 6 year old brother.  At homeschool camp later that summer, I talked with a friend of mine whose 6 foot 7 inch son has severe Aspberger's Syndrome.  She was so encouraging to me of different things to do and gave me beautiful perspective on Anna.

She is smart.  Advanced Math is not important for life, but arithmetic is.  Playing games and doing chores is vitally important to her education, perhaps even more than academic work.  And, on top of that, I have had my pride well and truly squashed, which is always a good thing.  I had to grieve for what I had hoped she would be, but now I see all the things she can be.

She took the Iowa tests at the beginning of the school year.  I realized that, with her birthday at the end of September, I can actually call her a 6th grader, rather than 7th grader.  While that does lower the standard, I want her to be successful for her heart's sake.  Interestingly, that didn't affect her testing at all!  Yes, her math concepts were about 3rd grade.  So were her understanding of the use of reference materials.  Guess what: I never taught her how to use them, so how could she know them?  The same went with the prepositional phrase starts to sentences that the speech therapist gave her: I never worked on grammar or sentence construction with her -- how could she know them?  On the other hand, her reading comprehension and vocabulary were at 8th and 9th grade -- above average by any standard -- and her spelling was in the whopping 13th grade!  A college freshman!

Does she have challenges?  Yes.   Her math stinks and she has a hard time manipulating a pencil.  Is she going to be awkward socially?  For a while, definitely, until we give her the tools to understand other people's needs.  Does she need to lose weight?  It is life and death that she does.  Do we need to expect more from her?  Yes.  She is not a baby and if we treat her as one, she will behave as one.  But, is she capable of contributing to society?  Yes.  She is either going to be a crazy cat lady or a vet, but both of those contribute to society.  And right now, she is skating with another awkward, overgrown little girl who desperately wants a friend.  And she is being a friend.