Obviously, these thoughts are mine alone while dealing with my children’s birth mother. My husband and I do not share all the same beliefs and I am well aware others may not view the first families of their children as such, but this was something I wrote for myself-and maybe someday, her.
To the woman who gave birth to my two adopted babies,
First, I want to say thank you. Thank you for choosing to carry them, for bringing them into this world, for allowing them to exist. I love them more than words can even describe, and as I approach my second birth in the same time frame I know you had them, I am so grateful for every pain you endured, every hip growth you cried through, every morning filled with sickness and a toddler you ran after as you managed to make it through. I know that pain, and I got to do it surrounded by love, an amazing husband, and a support system the size of a town. I know you didn’t. And I am so thankful you went through every moment of that.
I also want to say thank you for choosing us a year ago. I don’t know what that choice was like to make, but I do know it wasn’t made lightly or without tears on your part. I remember sitting next to you in the waiting room, you eyes flying over papers as you tried to concentrate on school while our lives were being shaped and molded around us. I want you to know I have never rooted against you. I truly wanted you to win, every step of the way. Even when I was “against you” in that court room, we were still fighting for the same thing-these kids to have the most perfect future possible.
And then we got the call you chose to sign an open adoption. I cried harder that day than I did the day our youngest son was born. In my eyes, it was the best of both worlds for us-we would continue to provide a family and love for these two children we had loved for years, but we would also be able to foster a relationship with you and offer you a friendship and a family.
I hope you know I wish everyday that could have worked out like that.
I understand you had to walk away. I hold no animosity towards that choice. In the months since we heard from you, I still pray your name will find it’s way into my inbox, asking for another chance. I’m not sure what that chance will look like at this point, because we still want the same thing-these kids to have the healthiest life possible-but I want to offer you love no matter what it looks like.
I want you to know we pray for you. I pray for you. When the little lady told me she wanted to put your name down for something she was thankful for, I eagerly did it. I wrote mine next to hers. Because we are thankful for you. I don’t want them to only have the rough feelings or the tough start in their memories. I save the photos of you guys playing, to show them someday.
I want you to know we tell the kids the good things. If they ask about you, I tell them the positives I remember. That you loved school. That you read awesome books to them. That you brought projects to do on the holidays and you wore your “mommy” necklace every time I saw you. I don’t want to take the mama label from you. I never did. I only wanted to share it with you, each of us being mom in our own way.
Someday they will have to hear the ugly parts. Not because I want them to hate you, but because someday the things they will remember won’t be enough for them to understand. Someday I’ll have to explain some of their history to them, the little I have from your family. I’ll tell them how hard I saw you fight and how they need to be careful because some things are genetics.
But I promise I will never make you the enemy. There are a lot of things in this story that are the villains; there are a lot of places the blame should be placed. I never want them to blame you.
I try to reiterate in their lives that love and forgiveness is so important. I pray they give it to us both someday, and I pray they give it to a world that created the situation they were in. A situation that created and destroyed a family in a single motion.
Most of all, I want you to remember we love you. I love you. You weigh heavy on my heart on nights I sit here surrounded by this family. I pray you are still well and you are healthy and happy. I pray you are still fighting. I pray for you. We all do.
We all still love you, even if it is from afar.