What a Mother Knows!

I think I always knew I would search for the daughter I relinquished in 1972. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but when I said goodbye to her that last day together in the hospital just five days after she was born, it didn’t seem like a final goodbye: I had faith that we would meet again, somewhere, somehow.

Still I bore the pain that every birthmother knows so well. Each time her birthday came around I would find myself in tears from the hurt, the empty space in my heart that couldn’t be filled. The loss. The questions.

I wanted to know her so badly, know all about her life and the person she was becoming. Most of all, I wanted her to know that I gave her away because I loved her so very much. At 18, with a low-paying part-time job, no boyfriend, much less husband, and no plans for the future, how in the world could I give her the life she deserved? Adoption was my only choice, not forced on me, but taken because there were no other good options. I don’t regret the decision: I know I did the right thing for her, the only thing I could. I just regret the pain.

I was a lucky one in that I was able to have another child later, while married to a dear husband and in a good life. Another daughter. A second chance.

In 1991 I had the most intense feeling that she was nearby. Perhaps she had started college in Madison, near where I live. (As I found out later, she had!) Yet I didn’t pursue my feelings and begin my search: It just didn’t feel right yet.

In 1996, something clicked. Maybe it was the internet and its vast resources that gave me a kick in the seat. I found myself signing every registry I came upon, just so I would be there, available, if she was looking. I had no intention of seriously "searching." I just wanted to make sure she could find me if she was.

Of course I found I.C.A.R.E. and began occasional communication with Diane.  She was so caring, so generous, and it was great to learn an adoptee’s viewpoint and feelings. I did not ever want to barge into my bdaughter’s life unwelcome, and Diane offered insights that I could never know as a bmom. As someone touched by adoption, she also offered support and empathy, something I couldn’t find in my friends and family who hadn’t experienced it.

Armed with my information and looking through records as only an experienced searcher can, Diane found my bdaughter’s name! I’ll never forget the feelings I had after she called: I was crying and laughing at the same time. My whole body was buzzing! I paced for hours thinking about it. A name! She is Susan!

I owe Diane a debt that I can never repay. Still she is so modest: "It was nothing" she said.  To me it was everything: The beginning of filling the space that I thought could never be filled. A pain that can now heal. A sense of peace for the first time in 25 years.

Diane encouraged me to go ahead and try to find Susan. She said that it would be very difficult for Susan to find me. But I was hesitant. It was one thing to make myself "available," quite another to make the first approach. What if she wanted nothing to do with me? What if she is angry with me? What if I don’t like her? But I had gone this far – She is Susan! – and somehow I just couldn’t leave it at that.

I found Susan’s address but she had moved out of state. (At least I knew which state.) We searched databases for a new address. No luck. Then, drawing up all the courage I have ever found in my life, I sent Susan a letter in care of her parents. "Please forward" I wrote on the envelope.

And I waited.

And I heard! She wanted to learn about me! and the circumstances about her birth. She was open to hearing from her birthmom! I walked on air!

Since then, many letters later, we have developed a wonderful relationship, if not a strange one. She lives far away on the west coast so we communicate by mail, and e-mail, and once in awhile on the phone. (Funny, neither of us likes talking on the phone.) We’ve shared photos and she looks a lot like me. (What an eerie feeling getting a photo from someone you don’t know who looks so much like you!)

It’s wonderful because we really connect. We have the same sense of humor. We are interested in many of the same things and have some of the same talents. We both have an irreverent attitude.

It’s strange because, in one way, we are only two strangers brought together by an accident of birth and nothing else. But we have a deep bond because of an accident of birth, a bond that can’t be explained, a mysterious connection that is not rational but is real. We both feel it.

And finally, this year I was able to wish her "Happy Birthday" and she actually got the message! After a decade of daydreaming about it, I was finally able to send her that Garnet necklace (her birthstone) that I’d imagined. And she loved it.

We haven’t met in person yet, because of our distance. But we will, we both say it, probably this summer. It is still a roller coaster ride for me because I want to know her more than I can right now. I wish we could meet for coffee once a week and share what’s going on. I wish I could invite her and her beau for dinner. I wish she could get to know my dad and my siblings.

But thousands of miles don’t let that relationship happen. So I’ll be content with what I have. It’s a whole lot more than I had a year ago. It’s knowledge, and it’s peace. And now I do have two daughters.