Connected by Our Hearts

It seemed like an ordinary day. I had some work to do in a nearby city and upon completion, decided to run into a department store to purchase a pair of shoes. Much to my surprise, that little trip to the shoe department would be far more than just a ten-minute stop.

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As I picked up my third pair of shoes to hand to the sales clerk for her to retrieve my size, I heard a barely audible shaky voice say my name, as if asking a question. I slowly turned around and within a split second; all three pairs of shoes, along with my purse were strewn on the floor. There she stood, looking as innocent and beautiful as she did just a year and a half ago. I skimmed her from head to toe, as I'm sure she was doing the same of me. It seemed as though time had stood still momentarily while I searched for the words, the right words to say to her. The words never came, but I felt myself putting my big sturdy arms around her small shoulders and holding her tightly. It was in that moment that my eyes succumbed to tears and I finally mouthed the words, "How are you?"

So many memories were running through my mind, and all I could mumble was a lame "How are you?" That is something I would have said to a complete stranger, not the birth mother of my 1 1/2-year-old son.

After what seemed an eternity, I finally suggested we go get a Coke. As we sat down, we did so interrupting one another as we were both trying to speak at the same time. She wanted to know all about my husband and of course the baby, and I wanted to know all about her, if she liked school, did she have a boyfriend, and how was her family. Most of all, I wanted to know if she was still happy with her decision.

She wanted to know specifics, like "are his hands soft, and are his legs so chubby they had wrinkles on them?" She asked specifically; "Is his hair so curly that your fingers get stuck in it when you stroke it?" I thought the question odd at the time, but later realized that she wanted him to be dimensional. She wanted to feel all of his pictures. All of the things I take for granted, she was trying to see through my descriptions. We went through his daily routine and all of his crazy gestures and the words he could say.

Then came a silence. She said, "sometimes when it is very late at night, and it is dark and mysteriously quiet, I hear him." I imagined it to be like he had died in her eyes. It wasn't like the occasional nights that we left him with his grandparents and I was so lonesome for his cry in the night, I thought I wouldn't get through it. No, this was much greater than those nights. As I thought of the analogy, again tears welled up in my eyes. I loved her so much I physically hurt.

We have always had a great relationship with each other and I sensed that it was as strong as ever. When I asked her if she was happy with her decision, I half wanted to put my hands over my ears, to block out her response. She said, "If I had to do it all over again, I wouldn't change a thing." It was a relief, but I still detected a sense of loss in her eyes. It was a feeling I still can't seem to put a name on. It was as if we were both mothers, knowing what each other was thinking. It was a feeling that touched deep in my heart and a memory that will be forever etched in my mind.

It had been two hours and we had covered so many subjects, I was mentally exhausted. I suggested that it was time for me to go home and she agreed. We just couldn't seem to say goodbye. She walked back to the same shoe department with me and finally after some small talk, I put my arms around her small frame again, this time holding tighter and visibly sobbing. She broke away for a brief moment and in a desperate voice, with mascara streaming down her cheeks, she said, "You could come visit me and bring the baby." As much as I wanted to say yes, I responded with, "It would be too difficult for all of us, and we would start the separation process all over again." She agreed that the baby would be too confused over time if we continued. We embraced in another tight hug, not noticing all of the onlookers. She broke away again, and this time cried out, "Don't forget to show him my pictures and tell him how much I love him. Please don't let him forget about me." I began to cry even harder as she whispered in my ear, "You know, a mother's love lasts forever. It never goes away."

During that hour ride home, I rehashed the conversation several times, wondering if I had told her enough, or told her too much. Did she think we were doing a good job parenting her child? The questions ran through my head as the tears streamed down my cheeks.

I walked in the door of my home and began to sob again as I held my little boy and re-told the events of the last few hours to my husband. It seem as though I was relaying a dream I had had the night before. I couldn't convey all of the emotions I felt, and found myself frustrated. He understood and was very compassionate, but I couldn't make him feel my soul. I wondered whom she had to go home to? Was she all alone? Did she call someone? Was she crying? Was she sad? Did it bring back all of the feelings of parting ways in the hospital lobby?

I couldn't get her out of my mind. It is weeks later and my heart physically aches when I think of her. I hope she knows that we have a very beautiful baby boy, a miracle that she created. The love I have for her is difficult to convey, and goes much deeper than what could ever be written into words. It is deeply rooted. We are two mothers, forever connected, connected by our hearts.

Note: Renee' Rongen has since started Adoption Resource Group to assist other hopeful families realize their dreams of forming a family through adoption. She can be reached at renee@adoptionresourcegroup.com or www.adoptionresourcegroup.com

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