Good bye is not forever...

This is the second installment of the blogs I'm writing about the child I had as a teenager and put up for adoption. To read the first in the series you can follow this link.

When the day came for Becca Christine to make her grand debut it was bittersweet. The nurses weren’t exactly kind after they heard I was giving Becca Christine to another family. They discouraged me from holding her and didn’t want to even allow me to see her but knowing that my time with her was extremely short I soaked her in. This child was mine for a few days, I counted her fingers and toes the same way all moms do, I kept her with me as long as I could and I memorized her little face. The way she would suck her bottom lip in when she was ready for her bottle, the way she would yawn sleepily after she burped and was ready to nap, how impossibly  light blond her hair was, her eyebrows almost invisible from the fairness of them, the weight of her in my arms. Beautiful. Perfect. Heartbreaking. But much like Hannah had promised Samuel to God, I’d promised God to give Becca Christine to the family we’d chosen and trust that He would protect her. Words cannot describe the pain of saying goodbye to this child I loved so completely. I handed her to the social worker, wrapped in the blanket I made for her, along with the letter I wrote to her explaining why I did what I did and telling her I hoped one day she’d find me.

Soon after that I had to meet with her father to sign the papers. I hoped against hope that he would change his mind when I showed him her picture. But as I have come to learn in life, you don’t always get what you want. I never saw her father after that day. I have no idea what happened to him. He left town and no one ever heard from him again. I wonder if he hurt as badly as I did…I hope not. I loved him. This was about 6 weeks after she was born. Alabama gives the birth parents 6 weeks to change their mind. I went to court and finalized the adoption.

Utter despair set in. Although I knew that she was fine, she was loved, she would have everything I couldn’t give her, I felt guilt about it. Then I felt shame. When I went home no one wanted to talked about her. No one wanted to hear me speak of how perfect she was or how much I missed her. I was told that if I just put it out of my mind the pain would go away. They were wrong. The pain just shifted from a piercing sharp pain in my chest to a dull ache in my entire being. It didn’t go away. I did stop talking about her. But I never stopped thinking about her. I’d see a blond girl with a brunette mother and my heart would clench, was it her? I’ve lived that for 25 years. All the questions that resurfaced…Did she know she was adopted? Does she know how much I love her? Does she blame me as being selfish? Did she think I gave her up easily? Did she know I agonized over it?

The guilt and shame I felt for giving her up persisted. There is a stigma I suppose to giving one’s child to another to raise. I experienced it with some of the nurses at the hospital. It reinforced those feeling. Once at a conference I opened up to someone about giving her up for adoption. It wasn’t easy bearing my soul to anyone. I was trying to comfort this woman who couldn’t have children and reassure her that there are babies for her to love, don’t give up. She accused me of being selfish and a horrible excuse of a mother. I didn’t talk about it again for a very long time. Still, wherever I went I wondered about her, prayed for her, her mother and father, brother, the man she’d eventually marry, I wanted her to have all of God’s blessings on her life.

Over the years young women who find themselves “in trouble” have made their way to my doorstep. Strange how this happens since I was never really open about what happened with us. I always counsel them to consider this; their temporary “inconvenience” isn’t worth stealing the entire life from someone else. There is someone out there who shares my DNA that is prayerfully living a good life, blessing others, making a difference in this world because I chose to give her life. Even though ending that life would have been a “quick fix” for me, it would have ended someone’s entire future and I would never have the hope of a reunion one day. I’m so grateful to say that because of the road I’ve walked others have made a choice for life and there are some beautiful children out there who are living God’s plan for them. So, I’m thankful for the tears. They were the water that grew the seeds that developed into a small ministry for unwed mothers.

As the years went by and Becca Christine turned 18, 19, 20,  I thought I was prepared for the possibility that she might find me. I wouldn’t try to find her. I didn’t want to cause her any pain. But I wanted desperately to be found. I made sure that my entire maiden name was on my facebook account so I was easily located. It was on January 11, 2013 when I just happened to check the email for my fb account (I no longer use it because of all the spam). I hadn’t checked it for weeks. On the first page of the account there was message titled, Becca Christine…