Maybe There's Still Hope
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This is a short piece I wrote after attending a wedding where I saw the 2 boys I gave up for adoption many years ago.
When the invitation arrived, my fist instinct was to not go. I'd been subjecting myself to the worst pain I've ever known for over 25 years. Now my brother (Greg) was gone and his wife (Robin) was getting remarried. It would be the first time in so many years that I would not be obligated to attend an event involving Robin's family. It's not that I don't love Robin, I do, it's not that I don't like her family, I do. It's much more complicated then that. Let me go back in time and try to explain.
I had not yet turned 20. I had 3 children ages 1, 2 and 3. I was recently divorced from a husband who abused my children and me. I was working 15 hours a day trying to keep my head above water, but slowly drowning. Paying baby sitters, rent, utilities and buying groceries took every dime I made and more some weeks. I was doing the best I could. Paying what was about to be shut off and letting something else go so I could feed my children.
Between working and taking care of my kids, I tried to spend time with my mom who was dying. It was a vicious cycle. I was sleeping very little and was already severely depressed when my house caught fire in the night due to faulty wiring. Thank God, I got my children and myself out safely. Out being the key word, out on the streets, homeless with nothing but what we had on our backs.
Of course I didn't have renters insurance, my budget wouldn't allow such luxuries. The Red Cross helped me get a small apartment and gave me some clothing for my children. Things had gone from bad to worse. My mom was sicker by the day and money was even more scarce now than it had been before. I didn't know how I would ever replace the things we had lost. The kids had no toys. Christmas was coming, but I didn't have any money for anything. As crazy as this sounds, my biggest worry was how I would explain why Santa didn't come. It was during this time that my sister-in-law (Robin) approached me about her sister Debbie taking care of my baby.
The story was that Debbie and her husband Al couldn't have children of their own. They loved children, had a nice home and were good people. They would do this free so I could get back on my feet. It seemed like a win-win situation. They would have a child to love and I would have one less to worry about for a short time. The days turned into weeks.
My mom died. Before I knew it Debbie and Al had both of my boys and my boys had them. I was so confused. I was still living paycheck to paycheck with no luxuries of any kind. My boys seemed so happy! They had everything I could never give them. A nice room of their own, lots and lots of toys, cute clothes, plenty to eat and more attention than they had ever known before. Oh how my heart ached when I saw them. I went to bring them home more than once and walked out empty handed. My heart said bring them home and my brain said don't take this away from them. Debbie and Al both cried when I went to get them. They begged me to leave them and pointed out all they could give them that I could not. They said if I would allow them to adopt the boys, I could always see them and be part of their lives. They said that the boys would always know how much I loved them. My boys were so happy there and I was so sad without them. The pain of losing my mom and the situation with my boys was more than I could stand. From my state of despair and depression, I had a nervous breakdown that landed me in the hospital psych. unit. It was while I was there that I signed the adoption papers. From that day on, things changed. I couldn't call my boys anymore, the number had been changed. I went to visit but they had moved. I had lost my boys forever. I tried to see them on many occasions, but because they were legally adopted, I failed.
Eventually I got out of the hospital and I still had my little girl. I was determined to build a good life for the two of us. I went back to work and did the best I could. I cried myself to sleep for years. I was broken and would never be the same. Bouts of depressions were normal for me now. No medication took away the pain of losing my sons. I survived by asking my brother, sister-in-law and her family about the boys and getting all the information I could about them. It was always the same answer "the boys are great; you did the right thing".
As the years passed and my boys grew up I saw Debbie and Al (now divorced) from time to time at events for my brother's sons. I even saw my boys a few times, but they didn't know me, and Debbie made sure I kept my distance.
There were many ups and downs through the years. I never blamed my brother or his wife for the way things turned out. If there was anyone to blame, it was me. I accepted the situation as God's will and knew that no matter how great my pain was, John and Jeremy had a good life.
The last time I'd seen Debbie was at Greg's funeral, almost three years ago. Jeremy was there too with his wife who was expecting their first baby. Jeremy had made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with me, and even refused to ride to the cemetery in the same car as his sister. It was a very painful day; I cried for my brother who had just turned 45 one month before he died. I cried for his wife. I cried for their two sons. I cried for my daughter. I cried for the grandchild I would never know, and I cried for me. I knew if I could just get through that day, I would be okay. I could cry alone. I would never again have to put myself in a situation with Robin's family.
My brother, Phil, convinced me to go to the wedding. If for no other reason than to hear the remembrance toast for Greg. I went. I thought I was prepared. I would keep my distance from Debbie and the rest of the family, listen to the toast and bow out gracefully. Should Debbie catch me, I was even prepared to look at pictures of the granddaughter I would never know without crying.
My nephew walked me to the second row where I quietly took my seat. I had noticed Debbie a few rows back on the other side. I was relieved about the distance between us. Feeling pretty confident for the moment, I looked around to see who was there. Nothing could have prepared me to see who was sitting directly across from me. The second I caught a glimpse of him, my eyes welled up with tears and my breath caught in my throat. I wanted to run; I wanted to stay, but mostly I just wanted to hug him. What a good-looking young man Jeremy had turned into. As hard as I tried I couldn't stop the tears. 25 years had not eased the pain. The second shock came when the good looking young man seated next to Jeremy stood up. It was John! I couldn't believe my eyes. There, 10 feet away from me, were both of my sons! The first chance I got, I was out of there to let the tears flow and then try to regain my composure. Maybe this time they would talk to me, I could only pray and try.
I approached Jeremy first. He was standing next to Al and I walked up, said hello, asked him how he'd been. I asked to see pictures of his baby and first he said he didn't have any, but Al started to show me his pictures so Jeremy got his out too. What a beautiful little girl! It was clear that time had not made a difference in the way Jeremy felt. He still wanted as little to do with me as possible.
Johnny's wife introduced herself to me. I didn't know what to say, and to keep from causing any problems, I just said that I was Greg's sister. What a sweet young lady. She must have known who I was. God bless her for being kind to me. I will always wonder if I did the right thing by not saying I'm Johnny's birth mom.
Johnny was sitting with my brother's son when I went to say good-bye. I said hello, congratulated him on his marriage and baby on the way. He thanked me and he smiled at me!
Did I blow my chance to ever get close to my sons? Should I have said more, been bolder, withered in a corner, been pushy? I may never know. I can only pray that I said and did the right things. I did the best I could.
When I left the wedding, I was as sad as I've ever been, but I also was on cloud 9. Johnny smiled at me! Maybe there was hope. Maybe someday he will allow me to be some small part of his life, maybe they both will. Maybe I will get to see my two grandchildren. Maybe someday they will forgive me. Maybe.
link: www.writeplace.homestead.com
e-mail address: mroot1@charter.net
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