Daughter

    I was alone. The adults in the institution told me that all they had on file was that my father had died before I was born, and my mother had disappeared when she put me up for adoption. What they didn’t say, but what I knew, was that I hadn’t been adopted then, and now I never would-be; like all the kids over-5, I spent my childhood passing in-and-out of different foster-homes. Unlike the others in the orphanage, I had no interest in meeting my mother, just like she had no issue getting rid of me. When I turned-18 I took what little I had to my name and got a job at Macy`s. I didn’t make a-lot of money but I had enough to pay rent at a small apartment where most would call the wrong-side of the tracks. My apartment was one-room and shady: it was a kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom all together, and my neighbors were like the inhabitants of a jail. However, by 20-years old I was content there; that was when I got the call.
My mother that I had never met, never wanted to meet- had died that morning. Her lawyer said that she requested I be found, notified, and if-possible be at the funeral. I wanted to say no I had every right to say no, she never even loved me why should I care! Later that week I was at a funeral. Following the funeral the will was read per-her request, and to my absolute astonishment, everything was left to me. When I left, her lawyer gave me a house-key, address, and fireproof-box containing her social-security card and bank-account information. Despite my contempt towards her I was not going to turn-down money and a house. I went back to my apartment and packed my few things, during the next-few days I left my lease and drove to my new home.
When I entered the old Victorian-style house I was welcomed by a warm, charming, blast-to-the-past, foyer. As I went from room to room I saw every room had its own charm and beautiful furnishings and I began to unconsciously build a portrait of the woman I never knew. Some rooms were dressed up with bright-colors while others were done in warm earth-tones. Some had formal sitting-room furniture while others were simply casual-bedrooms. Each room had its own personality except one. That room was completely-empty except for a rocking chair and was painted in plain, mournful, white, I found it strange and saddening compared to the other-rooms, but I continued on. Soon, I had seen every-room in the house except my mothers.
When I entered the bedroom I took-in the deep-blue walls and the white-lace curtains, I studied the dark-stained bed, dresser and nightstands with their ornate-wood working.  I saw the classically-carved crown-molding and the blue-bed spread. I didn’t know why I wanted to because I didn’t even care about my mother, but for some reason I walked over to the dresser and opened the top-drawer, to my astonishment it was-filled with baby-clothes, I began to wonder if she had had another baby or a miscarriage. As I sifted through them though I found one little onesie with my name embroidered on the front in an elegant-font. The emotions swirled through my head as I sat on the bed and stared at the small-lettering. Overwhelmed I turned to the nightstand on my right and opened the drawer, it was empty except for an envelope, once again with my name on it.
The envelope contained a picture of my mom holding me at the hospital. She had the biggest-smile on her face, but the tears and haunted-look in her eyes belied the happiness she was trying so hard to portray. Also in-the envelope was a short one-page letter which to this day is still the most meaningful letter I ever received. *
In the short note, my mother relayed to me that my father had been killed in action while overseas in the army. She had no job or family to help support me. She said the reason she had let me go was that she had been diagnosed with a terminal disease (the name of which I cannot say or spell) that potentially could let her live until she was old or kill her instantly at any time. She expressed that she loved me but she said that she couldn’t have me without knowing what could happen to her, she had no one that could take me if she died, no money to support me with and she didn’t have the heart to know that she could possibly die with me heartbroken and scarred from a young age. She knew babies were exponentially more likely to be adopted so she did what she believed was best. Most of all, and what stuck with me the most, she told me she loved me and never let go of that love. It gave her the drive to be better and brought her to her knees with grief over not having me each and every night, she said that in her grief she would sit in the lone rocking chair inside the would-be nursery and cry.
As all of these thoughts sunk into my mind I looked at the baby picture of her holding me. I saw the pure joy in her face as she doted over my scrunched up baby face and now I understood the pain. I felt her love even though she wasn’t here to give it any longer, and for the first time since I got the call I wept for my loss. All of the pain and rejection I had grown up holding onto were now being smothered by my mother’s love. I lost my bitterness and resentment, and began to forgive my mom now I was able to let-go of my deep set anger. I was free to feel now that I knew someone had loved me.
For the rest of my life I will remember that day filled with an all-consuming feeling of joy for finally realizing that I was truly loved mixed with the heartbreaking-sadness at losing the source of that love, my mom.

Mom

I was alone with my grief. I had just made the hardest decision of my life. My husband had died in the middle of my pregnancy there wasn’t even enough of him to bury. I was left to deal with my grief, and the money they gave me was not even a shadow of what I needed to support myself and the little one I would soon be bringing into the world for more than a few months at most. To make matters worse doctors had just sprung on me that I had dioclotynemiufosnomia, a disease that very little is known about. My doctor told me that it was an illness that affects my brain stem he said that they would try to help me but that they could only prolong my life so much and they didn’t know how long that would be they told me I could die at any time and should probably have all the legal information in order for that possibility they told me I needed to take my new medications and stay on bedrest until I could safely deliver my baby girl. That day I went home with my head spinning, I needed to think about my child I needed to do the right thing the problem was there were no definite truths. I had just lost my best friend and now I needed to take care of my unborn child that I already loved. That night I hired a lawyer to write my will with me (leaving everything to my daughter) and decided it would be best if I put her up-for adoption.
That was the hardest choice of my life. I was destroyed inside.  I knew I had to let her go it was the only way, If I held onto her I could die and leave her alone. I had lost my parents when I was seventeen and knew I couldn’t inflict that pain upon her, I couldn’t let her go into one of those homes later because I know she would have almost no chance of being adopted into the loving home she deserved. I knew there was no choice. I had to do what was best for her I had to give her up.
I went into induced labor as soon as it was safe. It was painful but that pain was overshadowed by pain of separation that I knew was eminent. After she was born I held her for as long as I could I had a nurse take a photo as I held her I had never been happier or sadder, I knew I had  to send her away but I didn’t want to. To my dismay a child-services person came with the final paperwork and I filled it out, that was the first and last time I saw my daughter. I left the public-eye after that day I lived off the money the government gave me for as long as I could, wallowing in my grief, but soon it dwindled from bills and medication, if I wanted to keep the utilities on in my parent’s final gift to me, their old Victorian-style home, furnished by my husband and I before his deployment. I began to work two jobs, one as a waitress and one as a hotel clerk. I made very little money but I had enough to keep the house afloat and buy food. Any that was left I saved to begin online college. Every night though, the world came crashing down on me again and I went to the nursery I had planned to finish after my baby was born and cried in the lone rocking chair, every night I would stare dejectedly at the white-walls while my tears-streamed. Soon I had finished my schooling and I got a solid-job. I worked as an editor for Ablex publishing, getting a new set of books to read every week. I worked to become more because even though she may never see it I wanted to be a role-model worthy of my daughters respect and love though I am sure she hates me.
It had been 18 years since I had given her up and somehow, miraculously I wasn`t dead so I began searching for her. I tried asking the orphanage if they knew where she had ended up but they couldn’t find any paperwork on her so I started to look, I asked the local college if she had registered and they said she hadn’t so I began looking for where she worked I spent two-years in this pattern wakeup, do my work, search for her, cry. Every night I went to bed with a heavier-heart than the night before.
Soon the headache set in. I went to the doctor after over a day of pain and they said that my meds could prevent my death for a few more days at most, my brain-stem had started in its rapid deterioration. I began to prepare for death, I called my lawyer and set-up what I needed him to do for my funeral. I told him to attempt to find my daughter and get her to come and I requested that my will be read during it. After that call I wrote a letter in the rocking chair. I wrote to my daughter saying that I loved her and telling why I had to give her up, hoping she would forgive me as I cried and wrote. After I finished I put it in an envelope along with the picture of me holding her at the hospital, I sealed the letter and wrote her name putting it in my nightstands top drawer. My last thoughts were of her and my husband.

The Letter

    I love you. I can`t tell you how much I love you. When I was pregnant with you your father died serving in Afghanistan, the government hadn’t given me nearly enough to support myself let alone both of us and later that month as if I hadn’t been given enough to worry about my doctor diagnosed me with dioclotynemiufosnomia. This rare-disease my doctor told me, is an illness that affects my brain-stem he said that they would try to help me but that they could only prolong my life so much and they didn’t know how long that would be, they told me I could die at any-time. They told me I should have all the legal-information in-order just in-case, they told me I needed to take my new medications and stay on bedrest until I could safely deliver you, my baby girl because if I died before you were born you would die too.
I had to give you up. I had no-way of knowing whether I could support you or if I would be keeping you just long enough that I would die and leave you without a mother sad, scared and alone old enough that you probably wouldn’t be adopted. I researched and found that babies were over 10-times more likely to be adopted than older kids. I believed that letting you go would be best for you. I never let go of my love for you though, every night since your birth I have gone to the would-be nursery and cried over you not being there.
I have prayed that god would let me see you, prayed that your life be happy. I have looked for you since you turned 18 when you left the home of whoever your adopted-family was, hoping that since you were an adult and I was miraculously alive that you may allow me some part in your life, but when I called the adoption-center looking for information there was no file that they could find. I never found you 2-years I searched but to no-avail. It was when I was starting the 3rd-year of my search that my doctor told me that I had at most a few-days to live, that is where I am now. I will be dead when you read this but when I found out I had little-time I instantly began writing.
I hope you have found the house to your liking your father and I decorated every room filling it with our joy we except for the room we saved for your nursery. I hope you can forgive me for not being there and accept my love and your fathers, he was so excited when we found out we were having a baby he wanted to teach you to ride a bike and throw a ball, we both wanted to see your first-steps and your first-words. I miss you even though I don’t know you and I wish I could have known the beautiful girl, now woman that I know you are.

          With Love,
          Mom