Postscript

It is only recently that I have fully comprehended the role that society played in my personal experience as a birthmother. At seventeen, I made a decision that profoundly and irrevocably altered the remainder of my life and that of my unborn child. Pregnant and unwed, I fell prey to the judgmental, punitive, and opportunistic whims of society. I was catapulted out of the realm of adolescence into a shattered reality. Shame and blame prevailed. I could no longer trust my judgment. I could no longer trust my inner voice. My fate now rested in the hands of the sages: parents, clergy, social workers.

Throughout the pregnancy, I felt detached from the world - attached only to my unborn baby. I lived those months in a surreal state. My will had been crushed. I did as I was told. And I was told that I would go to a home for unwed mothers. Once the steps were set into motion, there seemed to be no turning back. The system was now in control. Separated from family and friends, I felt forsaken and alone. Admittance to the maternity home entailed leaving my identity behind. We were given fictitious names. The secrets and lies had begun; the false self was born.

I was never counseled about the emotional and physical impact of relinquishment. I never received guidance on how to process my grief. I was never offered post-relinquishment counseling. Neither the impending birth nor the impending relinquishment was ever discussed. The expectation was that we would have our babies, leave, and go on with our lives as though nothing had happened. Surely the sages knew what was best, not I.

I was gifted in that I was permitted to hold and feed my newborn. The nurses told me that he cried in the nursery and they brought him to me often. He always quieted just as soon as my arms cradled him. It was as though our hearts beat as one. I tried to memorize his entire being. I was not prepared for the amount of love I felt for this child of mine. How could I let him go? But the sages said that my desire to keep him was selfish. As the taxi carried me away from the hospital, I imagined I held one end of a string; and the other end was tied to my baby's tiny wrist. As the car sped away, the string grew longer and longer. I imagined that this string would forever connect me to my baby whereever he might be. The years that followed were marked by depression, anger, grief, longing, and searching - always looking into faces, searching for the face of my son. My arms were empty; my heart in pain. I avoided being around other children. I could not bear to be reminded of my loss. Yet the reminders were constant. The pain never ceased. The loss of my child and the imposed secrecy surrounding it permeated my life. Guilt overflowed. Though muffled, my inner voice always questioned the wisdom of the sages. All my instincts told me that I belonged with my baby. Years later, in therapy, I was asked to sever the string that anchored me to my pain. I refused. I knew then the course to be taken. I knew that it was time for me to follow the string to its end. In doing so, I have experienced the joy of beholding my now grown son - who has brought a sense of peace and completion to my life. Breaking the silence has been liberating. Yet, recognition of the 31 years lost is not without pain. I am one of many birthmothers attempting to forge a new role in the adoption triad. Without predecessors to guide me, I listen to the murmurings of my inner voice and I trust in the miracle of our reunion. The selection of this thesis topic was inspired and impassioned by this relinquishment and reunion experience.