When I counsel people who are adopting, I talk with them about the importance of developing a good relationship with a prospective birth mother. In my mind this is the key to a successful adoption: One where the child may have the opportunity to know his birth mother—either growing up or later on in life.
I wish my son Ethan had the opportunity to meet his birth mother—to spend time with her, and understand why her life made it impossible to raise a child at the time of his birth. Over the years though, I’ve learned that while Ethan accepts that his birth mother didn’t stay in the picture, it is I who seems to have had the most trouble with her absence.
I would have liked to have shared Ethan with his birth mother, Sarah*. No doubt this would have stirred up complicated emotions at times—maybe some rivalry, maybe some insecurity as I accepted her into my life.
I have learned that it is not uncommon for an adoptive parent to bond with a birth mother and feel her absence sorely in the first few months of an infant’s life.
Back when Sarah called me on my 800 number on an early Summer day, she was tearful about her pregnancy and feeling alone. She hadn’t told anyone she was pregnant and she sounded scared. I remember her telling me her father had just died, and I told her how I thought it unlikely that she would place her child while dealing with such a loss.
Believing Sarah wouldn’t place her baby took the pressure off me. Usually during a birth mother call I tried to sell myself, painting a picture of me as the happy mom of a little boy, married to a successful lawyer, living in a warm and loving community. But this time was different: I was really focused on Sarah and what she was going through. I didn’t expect to hear from her again, but told her I hoped she would call if she needed someone to talk to. I would be there for her.
Months rolled by and my husband and I were wondering whether we would ever find a birth mother who would follow through and place her child with us. Even my four-year-old was feeling the strain. One day he asked me, “Mommy, when are we going to find a birth mother who doesn’t change her mind?” His words spoke volumes! I felt guilty and sad that my husband and I hadn’t yet adopted.
Then early one Autumn morning Sarah called our 800 number again. “Are you still interested in adopting my baby?” she asked. We were! Sarah was already in labor, so we called our attorney to get her a lawyer and looked into adoption-friendly hospitals in her area.
Sarah and I talked about my being there for the birth. I told her I’d gone through childbirth with my son and maybe I could help her. I was surprised and excited when she agreed.
Later that day I met up with Sarah on the hospital’s labor and delivery floor, and began coaching her through labor. I will never forget Sarah—with her tall frame and wavy red hair, she was gorgeous in an earthy way. Somehow between contractions we got to know each other. Sarah was larger than life—funny, opinionated, and strong. She was even able to crack jokes between contractions.
When she asked me to promise her that her child wouldn’t try to find her when he was 18, I realized this wasn’t going to be the open adoption I’d dreamed of. Sarah would not be dissuaded, and I promised her if my grown child wanted to reach out to her he would contact her attorney first.
I knew I wanted Sarah’s baby very much. I also knew that, if I didn’t adopt on Sarah’s terms, someone else would. So when I understood how strongly she felt about remaining anonymous, I stopped trying to convince her to do things my way.
Ethan was born just after midnight. When he had been cleaned and swaddled, Sarah said, “Go, look at him. He’s yours.” Three days later he came home with my husband, my older son and me. My attorney and Ethan’s paternal grandparents were there too when a hospital nurse placed him in my arms.
I will never forget that morning. The nurses had told us Ethan was a good baby and, indeed, he slumbered peacefully while we took him to our lawyer’s office to sign some papers.
After we brought Ethan home I began missing Sarah deeply. Our baby soon became colicky and I wanted her help. Would he have been less colicky and more comfortable if Sarah had been there? Did he miss her voice and the way she moved? Did he miss her laughter? I felt that Ethan was her baby as much as mine and things felt incomplete without her there.
Ethan is 24 now, and has never met Sarah. We have talked about her and I have described her to him many times—her beauty, her love of music, fiction, and gardening. I had memorized all that Sarah told me during her labor, knowing I would want to share these things with my child one day.
Having a (relatively) closed adoption means losing someone essential in your life. Ethan and I talk about Sarah sometimes but the conversation is always about how she was back then, at 26. It’s as if she is frozen in time.
There is so much I would like to tell Sarah about Ethan. About his graduation from college, his love of the arts, his sense of humor and his capacity to get along with everyone. How Ethan walks into a room and makes everyone there feel comfortable. How he befriended the new kid at school—more than once. Mostly, I would like Sarah to know what a fine human being Ethan is. And the gratitude I feel for her placing her confidence in us to raise him.
I will always miss Sarah. I often feel she is my invisible partner in raising my son. When I go to the town out on the shore where she said she partied with friends, I catch myself looking for a tall woman with flaming red hair. In my mind I’ve introduced her to Ethan and we have stood for a moment together, smiling—our bodies outlined by the gold of the setting sun.
It’s one of those moments you know you will remember for a lifetime.
*Name and other identifying information have been changed to protect birth mother’s anonymity.
Carolyn Berger, LCSW is a New York licensed social worker and adoptive mom. She has a private practice in New York City and Westchester, specializing in adoption, fertility, pregnancy and pregnancy loss. She is a writer for Adoption.NET and a Board Member and Chair of the Adoption Advisory Council of Path2Parenthood. Carolyn runs a Parenthood Through Adoption group at NYC’s LGBT Center and a Pregnancy Loss Support Group at the National Council of Jewish Women in NYC. Reach her at www.carolynberger.org