Letter to my Birth Daughter

I never met you, I don’t know you, I only saw you once - through a nursery window thanks to a sympathetic nurse. But today, September 8th, 2010, is your 43rd birthday. So Happy Birthday. In that 43 years not too many days have gone by that I don’t think of you in one way or another. Each year your birthday is the hardest.

I know I did the right thing. In 1967 it was close to impossible to keep an out of wedlock baby. My parents (father and stepmother) were humiliated that their daughter was not only sexually active, but had been caught. They had to send me away. I was distraught that my boyfriend wouldn’t marry me - he was off to fight in VietNam. I was too young, at not yet 19, to have been a good mother – especially with no parental or societal support. I was smart, but had to drop out of college in my second semester because I was pregnant. High school education and no skills. I was still reeling from my mother’s death two years before, I could barely keep myself together, much less raise someone else. I gave you a chance, and by doing so it gave me a chance too. But it wasn’t easy – don’t ever think it was.

My older sister was adopted, and then two years later I happened along (surprise!). The two of us were really sisters – we never knew anything else but each other. And she became my sole support in my time of need in early 1967 even though she too was still grieving for our mother. I talked with her about topics we hadn’t broached before – how did she feel about being adopted, was she mad at me for not being adopted, weren’t we still sisters even though not blood kin, was it ok to think about giving you up to someone else? Was love about being able to let go at the right time?

So I grew up, thought I had dealt with my grief and loss, married, had a son. But it was only while going through my divorce that it became pretty clear that I hadn’t dealt with my grief and my abandonment issues – over my mother, and over you. Counseling helped. I finally healed, am still healing. Healing doesn’t mean you forget and it doesn’t mean I don’t miss you, miss knowing you.

But I won’t search for you - you need to search for me. From what I’ve seen online, it is best that way. I never changed my name when I married – not just for professional reasons, or because I am the last of my line with this surname, but to make me easier to find. My sister eventually searched for her birth family, too late to find her birth mother alive, but she has several half siblings and has established a relationship with them. I’m so thrilled that it worked out well for her – it certainly doesn’t make me any less her sister. Her oldest son, also adopted (followed by two surprises), searched out his birth family, but unfortunately it didn’t work out as well for him.

So, here I am. Long ago I registered with a match agency - nothing so far, maybe never. Who knows, maybe someone will forward this post to you. My husband, my son, and my close friends know about you, so there’s nothing on my side that needs to stay hidden or secret. I’m too old, at almost 62, to care what others think.

Happy Birthday. I hope your life has been filled with love and happiness.