I represent two parts of the adoption triad. I am an adoptee and I am an adoptive parent. The part of the triad that I cannot know about – have not a clue how they must feel – is the birthparent. What an agonizing choice that must be to give up your child… their own personal “Sophie’s Choice”.
For some it may be an easier choice. They know that they are unable to raise this child – and they choose adoption. For others, probably most, the choice is agonizing. While their heart may be telling them to keep this precious baby, their heads tell them it is not possible. These parents make the selfless choice to give their child up for adoption, and then they hope for the best. I would imagine for the rest of their life, unless it is an open adoption, they wonder how their baby is. They think about that child on their birthday and pray that they are OK, well loved and cared for and happily adjusted.
My adoption was in 1959. There was no such thing as “open adoption” back then. In fact, in many cases the child might not have even been told they were adopted. I was a very lucky baby. I was sent to the most perfect parents. I have always felt that I was born to be with the family that raised me. I am very artistic like my Mom and have her sense of humor. I have my Dad’s work ethic and sense of right and wrong. They did an amazing job of raising me and making me feel special and loved and very very wanted.
Many adoptees choose to seek out their birth family. It may be out of curiosity. It may be that they want to know more about their medical history. Perhaps, although they were loved and happy in their adoptive family, they have always felt there was something missing and they need answers to questions they have always had. This has not been my personal experience. I’ve never desired to seek my birth parents out. I’ve always said that I love them for making the choice they made and I thank them for that choice. However, if I was ever contacted by one of them I would welcome them and thank them in person.
Last year, while doing genealogy on my adoptive family I discovered the maiden name of my birth mother. My husband has played off and on through Google to see if he could find her. This week Richard found my birth mother. At least we’re pretty sure, probably about 99% sure. It seems I have a half sister, a couple of nieces and some uncles.
When I talk about my Mom and Dad, they are John and Sylvia Porter. The people that raised me, cried when I was hurt, laughed when I was happy and loved me unconditionally. They made sure I was taken care of and enjoyed some of the better experiences in life. They were my real parents. Our family was made out of love, rather than by blood.
I am faced with a serious a choice of my own. Do I contact the woman that gave birth to me and chose my happiness and well-being over her own? She is 70 now. There may not be too many years left for me to get in touch with her. Does her family know about me? The last thing I would ever want to do is disrupt her life and force her to explain an event that happened almost 51 years ago. If I do contact her, what do I hope to gain from this connection? Or maybe I’m being selfish in wondering “what’s in it for me”? Perhaps I should be looking at this from a different angle. What can I do for her? Has she wondered about me all these years? Does she hope and pray that she made the right decision? Should I let her know how much I appreciate the choice she made all those years ago?
After writing all of this, you probably think I’ve already made up my mind. One minute I say I am going to write her a letter; the next I say I am going to leave it alone. I wish there was a clear cut path and I had a guarantee that I was making the right choice. But, instead I waffle back and forth.
So, here I sit with my own “Sophie’s Choice”; a momentous decision.