Please forgive me for posting this unedited. I had to post it before I lost my nerve. (Thanks, Jerry...) Also, please forgive that my date is off by one day. I decided that after twenty-nine years, one day wouldn't make a difference. ~Tami
Dear Cherub,
(It’s taken me twenty-nine years to write to you… It’s ironic that I should write this letter to you today.)
December 1, 1974: I was seventeen; young, spirited, and in love. Your biological father was a very handsome man, and I was the envy of many women. For a while. When I told him I was pregnant with you, he skipped town – with his former girlfriend. I’m no longer angry with him, because I know that, like me, he was scared.
Of course, I lived at home with my parents at the time, and they told me I was not permitted to bring a baby home to their house. At my tender age, I had too few skills and knew I couldn’t provide the kind of life I wanted for you, especially without the support of those around me. I imagined a life on welfare and years of simply “getting by”. I wanted so much more for you. I also knew there were so many couples who were unable to have children and would be able to provide a good life for you – you deserved that, and more.
At the time of your birth, I was absolutely alone, save the doctor who delivered you and all other white-garbed medical personnel. I had never felt so scared and alone as I did that night. It was discussed and arranged prior to that time that, after your delivery, I wouldn’t see you and hold you… I was too afraid that if I did so, I’d change my mind – and I knew in my heart that the decision I had already made to allow a couple to adopt you would ultimately be the best for you.
The day following your birth, I couldn’t bear the pain, and I asked to see you, to hold you, if only for a few moments – I had to. I was denied. I demanded to see the nurse in charge and was still denied. But I was never a quitter, and this would be no exception; I wasn’t going to give up. I was eventually allowed to see you and hold you, if only briefly. I can still remember your face, and I remember thinking that you looked like an angel. I’ll never forget how precious those moments were; nothing can ever possibly take that away from me. After the nurse took you, I cried for hours… nay – days, weeks, months… (And the tears are flowing as much at this moment as they were then.)
The following day (as was the “rule” at the time), you were handed to me and, then, I was required to hand you to the attorney for the adopting couple. Supposedly, that was an official gesture of my “giving” you to that couple. I suspect it is more symbolic than anything else. How hard that was to do! I had a ninety-day period of time in which to reconsider; after that time, I signed the final papers. My hands trembled when I signed those papers, but, still, I knew I was doing the right thing – for you.
For so many years, not a day went by without thoughts of you. I read about the developmental stages of babies and wondered if you were walking and talking. I wondered what you looked like, and I wondered if you had what you needed. But more than anything, I always, always wondered if you were loved.
I’ve wondered what your name is. As you’ve gotten older, I’ve wondered if you’re doing well in your endeavors and what you might be doing as a profession. I wonder if you’re married now, and I often wonder if you might have children of your own. Today, I pray you’re happy.
In 1977, I was married and, in the subsequent years, we tried to achieve pregnancy, without success. I cried many tears, believing that Creation was punishing me. After several years of medication and surgery, surgery and medication, I became pregnant. (My friends used to tell me that I glowed throughout my pregnancy. I knew I did, as I was ecstatic about being pregnant and excited about being a mother. ) On March 10, 1982, I gave birth to a son. His name is Mitchell, and we are especially close. (I can barely type through the tears…) We have always been able to talk about anything and everything. He knows about you, but I don’t think he knows how emotionally painful it has been without you. Although Mitchell’s life has been far from perfect, I have loved him hard – and as fully as I know how.
I have so much to share with you, and I hope that one day you’ll want to know about me too. I’ve tried to find out about you, but this state has a closed adoption policy, so I’m not able to learn anything about you. Perhaps one day you’ll try to find me. If so, I’ll embrace the opportunity. Meanwhile, be well. Be happy.
Perhaps one day you’ll be able to understand. And, perhaps one day, you’ll be able to forgive me, knowing that I did it because I loved you. Then… and Now.
Very real and touching. As Phyllis said, I hope that one day you will hold your baby boy in your arms again. God bless you.
Jean
Reviewed by Phyllis Du'Gas
5/15/2005
God bless you for having the wisdom and courage to post this loving and beautiful story of real love. I sincerely pray that one day your wish is fulfilled and you have the opportunity to embrace your baby boy, though he may be a grown up now. This was a beautiful write.
Wow, true courage and true love... you did what was best and continue to do what's best... I'm in a similar situation and I often think about it... but I also know, my needs may not be his, but if he ever does look and finds me, I will greet him with open arms...
Tami, you made me cry, and I needed that. I know someone who was adopted and always knew who his adopted mother was but would not rest until his half brothers, his biological mother's sons raised by her knew of his existence. He revealed the information against his birth mother's wishes not understanding or perhaps not caring about the trauma his birth mother had endured bearing him and in giving him up for adoption. She became pregnant with him in the 50s, definitely a time unfriendly to unwed mothers and had grown up in a religious family. His revelation did not earn him the acceptance of his half-brothers because it devastated his and their birth mother. She became clinically depressed and fearful that her peers, knowing the truth, would look down on her as society would have during the 50s.
I just mention this to say that this is a case where an open adoption went amuck. The adopted man involved had been raised well and loved by his adoptive family, but being able to see how his birth mother got on with her life and how much she loved and cared for her other sons ate away at him. We never know how the human heart will handle its pains.
Reviewed by Joe McCarthy
6/13/2004
This was very sad to read. I'm not afraid to say that it choked me up a little. I grew up learning guys don't cry, but this brought me close.
Tami, I read this and I have printed it out for a freind of mine. You see, he is an adopted child and he has a lot of difficulty coming to terms with the 'abandonment' factor. I have tried (in vain I must add) to tell him not to judge his mother. She probably had problems of her own to deal with. I could not explain to him what I was trying to say. Thank you. For now, through your courageous words, I will tell him that he should never feel he was abandoned. He was loved, Then ... and Now.
<tearsss>
Bless you Tami
I hope in writing this your heart is lifted in some way.
I know the pain you suffer.
I pray you will be reunited with you son , and all of
your questions will be answered. Maybe somewhere...somehow
he's searching for you too.
*Linda*
Reviewed by Robert Blackwell
11/30/2003
I hope that the cherub will decide one day to come to you and re-connect. Thank you for such a moving letter.
"But more than anything, I always, always wondered if you were loved."
Oh Tami, he was so loved. What a heart you have to do what is right for your son at such cost to you. You know he is worth each tear you still willingly pay. Every child is worth it, but not enough parents see that.
Thank God you did.
I hope somewhere the proud mommy and daddy keep thanking God for that special lady that made their family possible.
John
Dozens of Frequently Asked Questions regarding Pathological Narcissism, relationships with abusive narcissists, and the Narcissistic Personality Disorder.
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