I have found a certain freedom in finally allowing myself to admit to myself and to others that I clearly made a mistake in choosing to give my son up for adoption. I have thought many times about what I would say to him if he ever asks the question he has every right to ask: Why? I can finally freely admit that I made a mistake, and now that I can, I can give him a truthful answer. It is somewhat of a relief because I no longer have to live under the shadow of the illusion that it will all get better somehow “magically” by osmosis. I have finally come to realize that if it is going to get better, it will get better only because I finally decided to stop being a chickensh** and face the cold, hard truth of it all. It’ll come because I took ownership of what’s mine.
When I say there is freedom in this I say it because, for years, I felt I had to justify it to myself and to others. There had to be a reason, after all. Of all those reasons, some were smokescreens and the rest were just straight-out lies. I never even allowed myself to consider the possibility of becoming a mother. As soon as it became clear that I could not, with any kind of clear conscience, terminate the pregnancy, I immediately looked to adoption. Looking back, had I told no one about the pregnancy and just let it be what it was – me pregnant and contemplating the reality of a child on the way – who knows…
Jesus said, the truth shall make you free. The truth is, I made a decision based on flimsy logic. Now that I can freely admit that, from that place of freedom, i.e., of no longer hiding from the truth, I can start, perhaps, to learn from it. I have said for quite some time that I really would like for there to be some kind of purpose to all the pain I have endured with this. And from this place of being able to own what is mine, the responsibility of there being a purpose in it is mine as well. A higher purpose will not happen by osmosis either. If there is to be a higher cause then I am to be the champion of that cause. I cannot just sit back and expect meaning to come from this. I must put forth the effort to ensure that it is not meaningless.
I do not deny that my son probably had some advantages to being raised where he was that will be beneficial throughout the remainder of his life, and I’m not just talking about financial advantages. The stability they provided, the perspectives, all sorts of things that I saw in them will be assets to him, I’m sure. They are good people, and I know they did a good job of raising him. That doesn’t do away with all the nights, with his head upon his pillow, when he wondered about me and wondered why. I put him in the position of having to, as a little kid, try and comprehend and make sense of what I did – when there just is no making sense of it. I did that, no one else! My actions brought about those times when he had to grapple with why his mommy didn’t want him, and I wasn’t there to tell him that I did want him, I just believed that I didn’t deserve him. It’s not to say that he didn’t love his parents and that he didn’t have a happy childhood. I got the pictures, every year around his birthday, and they all clearly showed that he was having a happy childhood. It’s just that, there was another mommy out there that he couldn’t get away from the reality of, and he was not allowed to know her. That mommy was alive and walking around under the same sun and moon, but all he could do about it was go through his young life, wondering, with no real answers. How can a person ask that of another human being, especially a little child? Yet…I did…just that.