The Letter

Hello Blogville friends! Welcome back, it is so nice to see you. This morning I am drinking a ginger green tea as I write to you. As an adopted person I feel it is important to open up a dialogue about adoption topics (and sometimes other topics too) that impact on so many of us. 


I also hope that adoptive parents read my blogs so they can talk with their children about tough things and help them know that their feelings about having been adopted, and having been freed for adoption, are normal and that they can, and should, talk about them without feeling guilty. 


I have been thinking a lot lately about what my birth mother might have done differently that may have made my journey a little easier. I began to wonder what a difference it might have made if she had left me a letter. I wonder what she might have written in that letter to me.


What if she had left me a letter explaining why she was leaving me behind? Would that have helped me feel less worthless? Maybe if she explained why she felt that she had to give me up, or whether or not it was fully her decision, maybe I would have felt less like an inconvenience, or a mistake that had to be corrected? 


What if she had left me a letter telling me about herself, what her dreams were, and how keeping me was simply not an option? Maybe I would have felt less disposable. Instead, I could have grown up knowing whether I was like her in any way. Knowing I was like her even the smallest way might have comforted me when I felt alone. Honestly, you really can miss someone you never even knew.


I wish she would have left information about her relationship with my birth father, or even just what he looked like and the kind of person he was. I always wondered if he loved her and was kind to her. It would have meant a lot to know if he knew about me, and if he cared. It would have been important to know if he had agreed that I was not worth keeping.


In her letter she could have offered her rationale for having to leave me behind, sparing me a lifetime of wondering what was so wrong with me that my own mother did not want me. You can see how that can leave an impact on a child, even as that child grows into an adult. Perhaps I may have found some peace in  knowing that it was her hopes for her own future that drove her decision instead of some act I had committed in utero.


Maybe even just  knowing how she felt being pregnant with me and what her labour and my delivery had been like would have brought me some peace. I know how much my children enjoyed hearing about the day they were born. I would like to have known that too. Did I cry when I was born? Did she hold me and look me in the eyes before they took away. Did she speak words of explanation that I may not have understood, but I surely would have stored on some cellular level. 


In her letter she could have told me if she would think of me on my birthday each year, and if she would miss me, even a little bit. Maybe I would not have been so sad on my birthday, wondering if she missed me and was thinking of me too. In her letter she could have told me what she named me when I was born and what, if anything, the name(s) meant to her. Then I would have known what name she used when she thought about me. I cannot imagine that she went through life without ever thinking about me. I hope I mattered more than that.


In her letter she could have told me if she planned to come and find me one day. Maybe I would not have been wondering if she was secretly in the audience when I was in a school play, or when I would perform on stage as a ventriloquist. I often wished she would have left a letter telling me if there were any ventriloquists in her family, besides me that is, because maybe I got that talent from her. Or she could have told me about other talents in her family. I might have had more confidence to try new things if I had known what some of my birth relatives were good at. 


In her letter she could have told me it was ok for me to be raised by other parents and to belong to another family, and that by choosing an adoption plan she actually wished this for me. Maybe I would not have felt disloyal for really loving the family that chose me. Somehow, I think it would have been easier if she had given her permission for me to love my adoptive family.


It hurts my heart when I think about how she never left word in a letter that I had a half-sister who was also signed away, left behind in our birth mother’s quest for happiness. I think it may have helped to know that there was someone just like me out in the world and that I was not alone. Maybe my sister and I could have found each other sooner.


In her letter she could have prepared me for the future. She could have told me not to look for her, that she planned to get married and raise a family one day when she was ready, and that I would not be welcome. She could have warned me that when she would be offered the chance to meet me one day, she would say no. I might have been better prepared, or at least have been somewhat prepared. I never expected her to say no, or that she was capable of abandoning me twice.


In her letter she could have told me that she did not plan to tell her future children about me, and that to one day meet and introduce me to them would somehow sully her reputation as their parent. In her letter she could have told me she was afraid of altering who she was and what her children might think of her. I wish she would have known that one day when I actually met them they would welcome me and her other birth daughter with open arms as their sisters, their mother’s other daughters. That might have brought her some peace.


I wonder if my parents had had a letter to share with me, if it would have helped them to answer my endless questions about my birth mother? Well, it could not have hurt, that is for sure. Finally, I wonder if knowing whether or not she cared about me and hoped that I would be loved and happy in another family would have helped make my existence feel less accidental, or knowing that she had held me in her arms, even once, would have made me feel, well, less disposable. I wish she would have left me a letter.


Thank you so much for visiting with me today. I so enjoy your company and I hope you enjoy or at least benefit in some way from my thoughts. As always, feel free to comment here or send me an e-mail at [email protected]. Also, you follow me on Goodreads to be one of the first to get new blog post notifications. See you next time.