Mary, Birth Mother
Mary in 1975
My childhood was abusive, and my father died suddenly when I was 14. In 1975, I was 19 years old and going through a rebellious, immature period. I dated and played the field, relying on the rhythm method. I enjoyed the attention of men, which made me feel good about myself. I realize now that my behavior with men was how I filled the void of my father being gone–I was looking for attention, but in an unhealthy way.
I was living at home when I finally had to tell my mother I was pregnant. Her response was "How did this happen?" (this from a woman who bore five children). My mother and I did not get along. During my pregnancy, I felt scared. I had terrible migraines, and I threw up a lot. I knew nothing about what was happening with my body, and I had no medical care or support from my family. Near the end of my pregnancy, my mother and younger brother went out of town, leaving me alone. I went into labor in the middle of the night, and I would have been alone during labor, except my future husband was with me, and he got me to the hospital as quickly as he could.The pain was like nothing I had experienced before. I have always been grateful to him for helping me.
I gave birth via C-Section under general anesthesia and spent three or four days in the hospital. I told the nurses that I was going to give up my baby, and they contacted Catholic Community Services (CCS), which sent a representative to the hospital. Even though I had just had surgery, I had to complete the adoption paperwork. It all happened very fast, and no one considered the trauma I was experiencing. The person from CCS asked me if I understood what I was doing. I felt I didn't have any other choice. I was barely twenty years old, with no way to provide for a child, and I knew nothing about caring for a baby. My own mother wasn't there for me. Adoption was the only option because it was the only "right" thing to do. I knew what I had to do, and so I signed.
The next day, foster parents picked up the baby girl I named Marie Elizabeth. Her name would later be changed by the adoptive parents. I saw her briefly in the hospital nursery thanks to a nurse's aide who asked me if I wanted to see my baby. I was taken to the nursery where I saw her through the glass. It was the one bright spot of my stay in the hospital.
The adoption records are sealed, but when my daughter turned 18, I tried to find her. I wanted to share medical information and tell her why I had given her up. To find her, I worked with the Washington Adoptees Rights Movement (WARM). Initially, my daughter and I exchanged a few letters, and I learned she was studying to be a nurse. Then the letters stopped. She does not want to meet me. She has not been able to accept that I had other children after her, and that she has siblings that I raised. I try to understand and leave things alone because I have read that it is emotionally traumatic for adoptees to be given up, and that they often feel unwanted. But I view the decision I made as selfless and putting her first. By giving her up, I gave her a chance to be adopted by a family that could provide for her and give her a better life.
I have never forgotten about her–giving up a child is like having a part of me missing. I have wanted to explain that giving her up was not a rejection. I was young, not ready to be a mother or care for a child. But she struggles to accept that I gave her up but went on to have and raise my other children. I wish I could sit down with her and explain. As her birth mother, my love for her, an innocent baby, came first. I have made peace with her not wanting to meet me–she didn't ask to be born or given up, but I do wish she would change her mind.