TO GIVE THE GIFT OF LIFE

        You had your eyes open a little while ago, but now you just want to sleep. I wish you would open your eyes and look at me. My child, my precious, my angel sent from heaven...this will be the last time we are together. As I hold you close to me and feel your tiny body warm against my own, I look at you and look at you...I feel as if my eyes can't hold enough of you. For a human being so small, there is a lot of you to look at...in such a short time. In a few minutes, they will come and take you away from me. But for now, this is our time together and you belong to only me.

        Your cheeks are still bruised from your birth--they feel so soft to my fingertip,like the wing of a butterfly. Your eyebrows are tightly clenched in concentration--are you dreaming? You ave too many eyelashes to count and yet I want to engrave them all in my mind. I don't want to forget anything about you. Is it all right that you are breathing so rapidly? I don't know anything about babies--maybe I never will. But I know one thing for sure - - I love you with all my heart. I love you so much and there is no way to tell you. I hope that someday you will understand. I am giving you away because I love you. I want you to have in your life all the things I could never have in mine--safety, compassion, joy and acceptance. I want you to be loved for who you are.

        I wish I could squish you back inside me--I'm not ready to let you go. If I could just hold you like this forever and never have to face tomorrow--would everything be all right? No, I know everything will only be all right if I let you go. I just didn't expect to feel this way--I didn't know you would be so perfect and so beautiful. I feel as if my heart is being pulled from my body right through my skin. I didn't know I would feel so much pain.

        Tomorrow your new mom and dad are coming to the hospital to pick you up, and you will start your life. I pray that they will tell you about me. I hope they will know how brave I have been. I hope they will tell you how much I loved you because I won't be around to tell you myself. I will cry everyday somewhere inside of me because I will miss you so much. I hope I will see you again someday--but I want you to grow up to be strong and beautiful and to have everything you want. I want you to have a home and a family. I want you to have children of your own someday that are as beautiful as you are. I hope that you will try to understand and not be angry with me.

        The nurse comes into the room and reaches out her arms for you. Do I have to let you go? I can feel your heart beating rapidly and you finally open your eyes. You look into my eyes with trust and innocence, and we lock hearts. I give you to the nurse. I feel as if I could die. Good-bye, my baby--a piece of my heart will be with you always and forever. I love you, I love you...I love you...





        No, Dorothy, I'm Not Angry...

        Taken from The Union.Com/Grass Valley, Nevada City, CA

        By Deborah McAdams - Mon, Mar 9, 1998

        Dorothy must have been tall, and probably nearsighted. She may have bitten her lower lip when she felt shy. Her little fingers probably bowed in at the last knuckle.

        She was of Irish and Scottish descent, and her mom played concert piano, they say. Dorothy had two daughters. The second was born in the Emmanuel School of Nursing Orphanage 37 years ago tomorrow. It was 1961. She wasn't married. The baby was born and quickly shuttled to a nursery down the hall. The two never laid eyes on one another again.

        The baby was adopted by a couple whose childbearing was precluded by a nearly fatal ectopic pregnancy. Adoption was simpler in those days. Voluntary single parenthood was unthinkable. Abortion was the realm of bloodletters. Young pregnant women lived in homes for unwed mothers, far from the eyes of neighbors and the minds of the young men with whom they had shared transgression.

        A healthy, white baby at the Emmanuel School of Nursing Orphanage cost just $300 in 1961. There were so many babies available, they were actually free at the Nebraska Children's Home. The abundance made for a generation of adoptees.

        People say foolish things to adopted children, like how grateful they should be someone gave them a home, or don't they ever want to find their "real" parents, as if the ones they've known since cognizance are somehow temporary. There's no blanket reaction to being a party to adoption. Not everyone cares to ponder a completely speculative life, yet the curiosity is likely there, tucked away in a file that comes out maybe once a year, on the anniversary the connection was severed.

        Tomorrow is such a day for Dorothy. She may wonder, as she's getting dressed, if someone else searches high and low to find pants that are long enough. She may look at her hands and wonder if that someone has the long, angular fingers of a pianist. Passing a mirror, she may smile and think there can't be a whole lot of faces like hers out there - angular, sharp, lopsided, dimpled. She may return for a moment to that day in the delivery room, when a skinny little caterwauling piece of herself was whisked away forever.

        She might wonder what kind of a person became of that arrangement of cells. Perhaps she both dreads and desires a knock on the door from an unmistakably familiar stranger.

        She could be doing the math as she pours a cup of coffee, or probably tea. There could be a few seconds of disbelief when she realizes it's been 37 years, and that somewhere on Earth, a grown woman she's never met shares one of the most profound moments of her life.

        Dorothy might bump into the memory periodically throughout the day. She might remember the labor of pushing another person out of her body and into the world, and later being greeted by the silence of a family insistent on shame. It could be she never spoke a word of it, never told a soul. It could be that words established reality in Dorothy's world, therefore silence erased the unpleasant, the painful and the unresolved.

        It's neither tragic nor transcendent to give up a child, or to be such a child. Every family has its convolutions and struggles. Everyone chooses between connection and estrangement, yet adoption suggests that both are temporal, figments of our waking sleep.

        Wherever she may be tomorrow, Dorothy may wonder if a 37-year-old woman is angry with her for choosing estrangement. If there were any way to let her know, I would tell her I'm not.



        Bonding Before Birth


        We now have research that "proves" without a doubt what adoptees and birthparents have known for ages. Several researchers have studied these theories and in every case, indications are that infants separated from thier birth parents at birth suffer trauma and broken bonds.

        Noted researcher and author of "The Secret Life of the Unborn Child", Dr. Thomas Verney, and his associate Dr. Brian Sapp, have done some amazing research on prenatal development and found ingenious ways to test the cognitive and emotional responses of unborn children. He has found that pre- born infants are able to recognize their mother's voices in utero, and have a distinct preference for them after birth. They can detect sounds, and emotional tone by 6 mos gestation if not before. They can learn and will make attempts to influence their mother's behaviors. He spoke to an Adoptive Families of America audience about his methods and findings and their implications for adoptive families.

        During his presentation he stated:

        "The importance of these findings cannot be over-stressed. It used to be thought that an infant adopted at birth "never even knew his birth mother". We now know this is not true. He has a 9 month history with her, in which bonding has likely taken place, and in which most certainly he has become accustomed to her sound, smell, chemistry and interaction with him. There is no doubt that when that child is born and he or she is put to live with someone else, it is as if you and I from one moment to the next were placed on the moon. It's just a total, total separation from everything that you had ever known. This is a tremendous trauma. And then, if they are unlucky enough to have multiple care givers, in other words, if they are unlucky enough to have two or three foster homes and then finally come into an adoptive family, by that time, they have been through hell. And to pretend that things are otherwise is just being awfully unrealistic. We might as well face the facts and try to overcome them rather than play ostrich hide our head in the sand."

        (An audio-tape recording of Dr. Verney's talk is available from AFA at 612-535-4829. The title to ask for is "Pre and Perinatal Perspectives of Adoption" by Thomas Verney.)

        Birth parents and adoptees who for years have been telling us about the bond they feel with each other, now have scientific explanations and validation for those feelings. Searchers who might once have found it hard to explain their overwhelming determination to find some meaning in their complusion to 'find' now have a basis for understanding their deep and heartfelt emotions.

        Adoptive parents need not feel threatened by this information, as much as they must be made aware of and accept it as a reality of adoption. Their support and understanding is crucial in helping thier child cope with the loss of the first important people in their lives.

        When we accept that all adopted children have suffered trauma and loss and must be taught how to grieve and resolve that loss, we can then begin to integrate and use that knowlege to enhance our family systems.

        From God's Arms to My Arms To Yours... 

        
So many wrong decisions
In my past I'm not quite sure
If I can ever hope to trust my judgement anymore
But lately I've been thinking
Cause it's all I've had to do
And in my heart I feel that I should give this child to you

And maybe, you can tell your baby
When you love him so 
That he's been loved before
By someone who delivered your son
From Gods arms to my arms to yours

If you choose to tell him, 
And if he wants to know,
How the one who gave him life 
Could bare to let him go,
Just tell him their were sleepless nights
I prayed and paced the floors
And knew the only peace I'd find
Is if this child was yours

And maybe, you can tell your baby
When you love him so 
That he's been loved before
By someone who delivered your son
From Gods arms to my arms to yours

Now I know that you don't have to do this,
But could you kiss him once for me
The first time that he ties his shoes
Or falls and skins his knee
And could you hold him twice as long
When he makes his mistakes
And tell him that he's not alone,
Sometimes that's all it takes.
I know how much he'll ache.

This may not be the answer 
For another girl like me
But I'm not on a soap box
Saying how we all should be
I'm just trusting in my feelings
And I'm trusting God above,
And I'm trusting you can give this baby 
Both his mothers love

And maybe, you can tell your baby
When you love him so 
That he's been loved before
By someone who delivered your son
From Gods arms to my arms to yours

-Michael McLean

This song origionated from a girl going to Michael McLean, troubled that if
she placed her baby for adoption, then the baby would feel abandoned, not
loved, etc., and she needed a way to let the baby know that he was infact
loved. So Michael McLean took a few passages from the girl's diary, and made
this song.  The girl singing this song is actually the one who went to him.


        In Honor of Birthmother's Day...
        Mothers are teachers of LOVE to their children and to many children that are not their own. Mothers are truly the power on our planet. This newsletter is dedicated to all Mothers who have nourished "the small people" in their lives.

        Some folks have requested a Kleenex rating on the newsletters, on a scale of 1-5 ... to prepare them for the newsletters. So grab a Kleenex before reading on ... this letter will touch and open your heart.

        Mother's Day Message
        Story written and contributed by Peggy Avant

        Below is a letter I wrote to My Son's Birth Mother ... I think of her every year at this time ... Mother's Day right around the corner ... I cannot send it to her.

        But, if my letter can touch the heart of a birth mother... or a child that has been adopted ... or someone who has adopted a child ... then so be it ... this letter is written with all my love.

        ~*~
        Dear Birth Mother,
        As Mothers' Day approaches, it seems a special thank you is appropriate; but how does one say thank you for so great a gift of love?

        At this time every year, I have a deep longing to connect with someone who will always be important to me.

        I feel sure that you think of me also on this day, or rather know you are thinking of a special young man that is "our son."

        I must thank you for the many Mothers' Days when I was the special person honored ... because you had given me the greatest gift and you deserved an honorable mention.

        My wish is to have the chance to thank you for giving birth to that beautiful baby boy and trusting that I would somehow do the best job I know how to raise him.

        I want to thank you for the opportunity to tiptoe up to his bed . I used to stand there, marveling at his perfectness, with tears running silently down my cheeks. He was so tiny, so beautiful; I somehow knew, even then, my happiness was at the expense of your pain.

        Or there was the time, in a parking lot, with my arms full that I felt his small hand tugging . . . As I reached down for his hand, I was caught off guard by his eyes, so trusting, looking up at me. I do thank you for that sticky little hand, that moment when he looked to me for guidance.

        And long after the debate about who is the "Real Mom" and the dirty diapers and the up-all-night-fever-and-vomiting have been forgotten, I will still thank you.

        Without the diapers and without the hours and fevers, I would never have known the love share in so many hours of holding, rocking, and soothing.

        I have to thank you also for these pre-teen-age years -- these years of chaos for both child and family ... Without these years, understanding would not have been so deep.

        Somehow, looking at the world through your child's troubled eyes and heart colors your own world a deeper shade of blue.

        But how can I ever thank you for the sparkle, the dance, the rainbow that you wove through my life with your gift?

        There is no way to ever capture the wonder of his song and give it back to you.

        The melody drifts in the winds of the years. The song of his childhood is my own--I can only share with you the Beauty of the young man he has become.

        So much of me, and some of you ... he has grown to be a handsome, creative, and very sensitive young man of whom I am extremely proud of and I love with all my heart and soul.

        Perhaps that is the way to say thank-you--by sharing with you now the beauty that is my son and the miracle you created.

        I thank you with all my heart,

        Your Son's Mom

        
  REFLECTIONS OF A PARENT
  
       I gave you life, but cannot live it for you:
        I can teach you things, but I cannot make you learn.
        I can give you directions, but I cannot be there to lead you.
        I can allow you freedom, but I cannot account for it.
        I can teach you right from wrong, but I cannot always decide for you.
        I can buy you beautiful clothes, but I cannot make you beautiful
        inside.
        I can offer you advice, but I cannot accept it for you.
        I can give you love, but I cannot force it upon you.
        I can teach you to share, but I cannot make you unselfish.
        I can teach you respect, but I cannot force you to show honor.
        I can advise you about friends, but cannot choose them for  you.
        I can advise you about sex, but I cannot keep you pure.
        I can tell you the facts of life, but I can't build your reputation.
        I can tell you about drink, but I can't say "no" for you.
        I can warn you about drugs, but I can't prevent you from using them.
        I can tell you about lofty goals, but I can't achieve them for you.


        For some great poetry, Click here



        Home | Gallery | My bson's adoption | The story of my adoption | Child Protective Services
        Finding my birthfamily | My Reunion | In Honor of my Birthparents | Adoptee Identity Crisis | A Gift of Love webring
        ICQ Network for Bmoms | Webrings | BirthMother's Day | Links | Pink & Blue Ribbon Campaign









        Advertisements displayed above are not necessarily endorsed by the WebMistress