Mary Beth
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I am 51 years old and have started searching for my daughter, Mary Beth, whom I gave up for adoption at birth in April of 1965.
It all began in July of 1964, during my summer vacation. I was in love with a guy that I had been dating for a year. His name was Ross. When I turned 16, he was the first boy I was allowed to date, and then only double date.
Ross got into trouble with the law and went to jail for 18 months. While visiting him one Sunday afternoon, Ross told me not to come back. He said I was too good for him and I should forget him and find someone else. He told me that he had been married before, which I later found out was not true. He knew I would never marry a separated man, as it would go against my Cathloic religion.
Needless to say, I was totally devastated. My good friend Bill, went to the same Catholic High School as I did in Ft. Lauderdale. Bill liked me and he always wanted to take me places. He even took me to the jail to visit Ross. A few days after I had broken up with Ross, Bill called and asked if my sister and I wanted to come over to his house. He was having a few friends over for a pool party.
Bill's parents had gone out of town and he had the house to himself. I was pretty lonely and crying a lot. I didn't want to go, but Bill said that it would do me good to get out. When we arrived, only Bill and his friend were there. We got into the pool and started drinking beer and having fun, laughing and playing.
I started to think about Ross and was crying again. Bill close and tried to offer comfort. Believe it or not, I must have had a mental block, because I do not remember how we got from the pool to his bedroom. It was not my first sexual experience as I had become sexually with Ross about 6 months earlier. (I did not want to have sex before marriage, but Ross had worn me down, telling me that if I didn't have sex with him, he would get it from someone else. I was madly in love with Ross, so I finally gave in.
I missed my period and I knew I must be pregnant when it didn't come. I am ashamed to say that I prayed for a miscarriage. But that was not to be. A few days later, Bill came by to see how I was doing. I told him that we were pregnant. He said, "If you are, I will marry you."
I couldn't marry someone I didn't love. I told Bill that I would get back to him as soon as I found out for sure. I never saw him again. My mom talked to his parents, and they agreed to pay whatever it cost to send me away to have the baby. I had always looked forward to my senior year and being in the Class of '65. I would never be able to experience that now.
I knew, that in our society, I would be labelled a "bad girl" who got herself into trouble. I was the third child of 10 in our family and probably the one that my parents would have least expected that from. I was their sweet innocent little girl. I had done my best to please them in everything I did at home and at school. They were strict Catholics, but loving parents. My dad worked hard everyday, as a carpenter, to try and make ends meet and to see that we had what we needed. He was a quiet, timid man.
My mom did not work outside the house. She was always happy and whistled and sang as she cleaned the house. I found myself pregnant, confused, afraid to tell my parents for fear of disappointing them. So I made up a story.
Timidly I went to my mom and told her that I thought I was pregnant. I said it was the result of being raped by a boy at the local Jr. High School grounds one day. Being young, scared and not very rational at the time; I didn't think of the ramifications of what I had said. Mom freaked out and took me straight to the police department. After a few hours of interrogation, the officer told my mom he thought I was not lying. I finally told the truth.
From there mom took me to see the doctor, where it was verified that I was pregnant. We then went to see the pastor of our parish. It was decided that the best thing for me to do was to go to an unwed mothers' home, have my baby, and give it up for adoption. They said I did not have the means to be on my own and keep the baby myself. Society would be cruel to my child, to my family and to myself, they said. I was told it would be a bad example for my younger siblings, and it would bring shame to my family.
My mother made the final decision: my child would be given up for adoption. There were so many emotions going through my mind at that time, more than any child should have to endure. I felt these adults were guiding me in the right direction, and they probably thought they were. All I wanted to do was crawl in a hole and die.
I was pregnant and not going back to school. I had disgraced my family, broken my parents' hearts, lied about how I got pregnant, humiliated myself and my mother at the police station. Above all, I knew I would have to go through 9 months of carrying my child and then leave her at the hospital, for someone else to have. A hole was not deep enough for me; I wanted to get under it. And the worst was yet to come.
Arrangements had to be made for where I was to go when I started to show. We went to the Catholic Department of Family and Children's Services. They made arrangements for me to go to an unwed mothers home and to place the baby for adoption. I went to live with my older sister and her husband until I started to show, which was shortly after Christmas.
While I was at my sister's house, Ross got out of jail. He looked everywhere for me and finally someone told him where I was. He came to visit and told me that he could not stop thinking of me, and that he still loved me. He asked me to consider going back with him. Since I was still madly in love with Ross, and still hurting inside with a great need to feel loved; I naturally melted into his arms and said OK. There I was, in love with Ross, 4-months pregnant by someone else, and getting ready to go to an unwed mothers' home. It was a nightmare - I just wanted to go to sleep, wake up and find out it was all a dream.
One day my parents came to take me to the unwed mothers' home in Miami. It was located on the grounds of a hospital and was staffed by Domincan Nuns. It was built like a travel motel with a long line of rooms.
Two girls shared a room. Ross lived about an hour away, but I was able to talk to him on the phone everyday. I tried not to think about being pregnant since I didn't show a lot yet. My parents drove an hour every Sunday to come see me. One night Ross showed up at my door after the nuns had gone to bed.
My roommate went to another room and left Ross with me. He left before daylight. He came to see me often, until one day I was called into the office, and asked if I was entertaining a male guest in my room after hours. (Ross had been spotted by someone while going over the wall and they called the home and told them. I was then asked to leave.)
My parents found another private home for me in Ft. Lauderdale where 4 other unwed mothers also lived. The home was run by a very strict woman. I was forbidden to leave the house or to have any contact with Ross. I snuck out once and called him though, just to tell him that I loved him, and to ask him to wait for me. He said that he loved me too and would wait for me, no matter how long it took.
During this time, I had plenty of hours by myself to really think about what was going to happen to me. I felt my baby move inside of me often, making both my pregnancy and my child a reality. This is when I started to bond with my child and dreaded the day when I would have to give my baby away.
After all that had happened, I did not feel that I could change anything. So I waited and I cried knowing there was no way that I could stop this rolling stone. The day finally came for my baby to be born - on my 18th birthday. I woke up during the early morning in labor and was taken to the hospital. I remember nothing of that day except being told to count backwards from 100 and out I went. I woke up once as the doctor broke my water bag. They must have given me more drugs, because I did not wake up again until after the delivery, late into the night.
The next four days were a total blur to me, as I remained heavily drugged. I do remember crying a lot though. During that time, papers were brought to me to sign. The papers gave the agency or foster parents temporary custody of my baby, until I was strong enough to go to the courthouse to sign the surrender papers.
I was told that I could not hold my baby. The rules were such that I could only see her for a little bit through the nursery window, as I was leaving the hospital. They recommended I not even do that. They said it would be easier if I just walked away and forgot about it, as if it never happened. Those words still ring through my ears.
I said, "I will not leave this hospital until I see my baby; that's the least you can let me do." I don't recall anyone coming in to try and ease my pain or to comfort me. My mother was my only visitor and she could not stay for very long, because she had a house full of young ones to take care of herself. (She had given birth to her tenth child just 8 months earlier.)
Being the obedient child that I was, I did not go out of my room. I felt that I had caused enough trouble for a lifetime. I didn't care if I lived or died. When the day finally came to leave, my mother brought me a new outfit for my birthday. I got dressed and gathered up my things, and my mom wheeled me down to the nursery. The nurse picked up my precious little girl and held her for me to see, and to say good-bye. That was and still is the worst moment of my life.
With endless tears flowing and my heart feeling like it was being torn out of my chest, I said, "Look at Mary Beth, Mama. Isn't she beautiful?"
My mom said, "What do you mean, Mary Beth?"
"That's what I named her Mama," I answered. She said, "Linda that's not Mary Beth; you had a boy."
"I did not have a boy. Look, she has a pink blanket wrapped around her. That's my Mary Beth, Mama."
She thought that I had had a boy. She also thought that I was temporarily losing my mind because my sister's name is Mary Beth, for whom I named my daughter. Once that was finally straightened out, I gazed at my precious little girl, while every bit of my being screamed silently, "Please, someone stop this!"
I stood there crying, looking and knowing that this moment would have to last a lifetime. I said, "Good-bye my darling Mary Beth. I am so sorry I did this to us." Then I told my mom I could not bear it any longer and asked her to push me out of there. I bonded with Mary Beth's new parents the day I left her at the hospital. I asked God to bless her new parents, and to allow Mary Beth to bond with them in her heart as if it were me.
For days I could not even function. I just sat and cried. For all intents and purposes, it felt to me, as if my child had died. Every day of my life since, I have longed for my child. I never forgot and moved on, as they said I would. I looked for her wherever I went. When I saw a child who might be the same as her age, I wondered if it was Mary Beth. My body yearned to hold my child.
I held every baby that I could, hoping it would fill the emptiness inside of me, but it just made me want her more. Every year on our birthday, I am especially sad. As the years passed I would say to myself, she's one-year-old, she must be starting to walk. She's 2-years-old now and she is probably starting to talk. She's 5-years-old and starting her first day at school. Has she lost her first tooth yet?
Year after year, so many unanswered questions entered my heart, such as: Are you happy? Are you healthy? Are you being loved? Do you have any brothers or sisters? Do you know I have always loved you and I have never forgotten your tiny little precious rosy face? Do you know you are adopted? Do you think about me sometimes and wonder what I am doing? On Mother's Day, do you know that you once had another mother that loved you also? Do you have a boyfriend? Are you excited about starting Junior High School? Are you going to dances? Do you have a love for God?
The time came for Mary Beth to be starting high school. Are you smart? Do you like school? Oh, how I would love to see you in your prom dress, and to see you go on your first date. And what about your wedding day; did you have a big wedding? I know you were beautiful. And most of all, what was it like when you held your first child knowing this was your first connection with someone that you were connected to by blood - my blood?
You see, my dear daughter, I was there in spirit. You can be sure of that. I watched every reunion show I could, wishing it was us being reunited. I wrote a letter to the Leeza Show, asking for help.
I wrote two poems for my Mary Beth, hoping someday she would read them. In August of this year 1998, we got a computer. I had never touched one before and was computer illiterate. But I had heard that you could find missing people on the Internet. When someone told me to "Keyword Adoption" that is what I did. My search had begun, and I learned from all the wonderful people who came to my aid, how to fill out message board posts and how to do registries, and places to contact and much more. After 3 months of searching I came to the conclusion that my daughter was not searching for me. I don't know why.
Perhaps it's out of respect for her parents and not wanting to hurt them. This I totally understand. Or perhaps she is not interested in knowing me. Or perhaps she thinks that if I gave her away when she was born, I don't want her in my life now, and she doesn't want to be rejected a second time. It is also possible that she might not even know that she is adopted. And lastly, she may not be ready to search for me, or not know how to begin to search.
I do know, that if and when she decides to search for me, she will find me. I have opened all the closed doors that I could find. When we do finally meet, I know for her, I can never be her mother. I gave that place to her other mother, forever. I do believe there can be a place for me in her life, if she has one place left. It won't change the fact that I too am her mother, just not the one who raised her. I was not blessed to be the one to see her grow or to hold her during her joys and sorrows.
But I was the one that gave this blessing to her parents. Putting an "A" or a "B" in front of the word "mother" doesn't give either of them more value. Both can and should be equally important to a child.
I will find my Mary Beth, and when I do, I will be able to start living again. When the time is right, it will happen. I wish all young girls could read my story, and see how one bad decision can touch so many lives. My pregnancy has touched and will continue to touch many lives for the rest of time; some for the good and some for the bad.
By the way, I did marry Ross in 1969, and we now live in LaFayette, Georgia. We have 3 lovely children - one beautiful girl, Angel, and two handsome boys, Ross Jr., and Tony. They look forward to the day they will meet their oldersister, whom wecall Mary Beth.
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© 1999
