This post is hard for me to share as I’ve let very few people in on my few days in the hospital with my firstborn. But as Maya Angelou said, “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”

The last image I have in my mind of my baby boy is of a kind nurse holding him in her arms. I had walked down this empty hallway of the hospital just prior to my discharge. I was going into a room, which seemed cold and harsh, where the social worker who had been meeting with me was waiting. She had the legal papers that I was required to sign to permanently relinquish my parental rights. I don’t remember anything that was said. I don’t remember reading the papers. I do remember being told where to sign, and being completely numb and devoid of feeling. Once the papers were signed I turned to exit the room, and there standing in the hallway was a nurse holding my son. She just stood there silently with him swaddled in her arms. 

This was the same nurse who had found me in my room the day before crying inconsolably. She shared with me that if I was struggling with whether or not to keep my baby I could put him in a foster home for a short time until I decided. I didn’t know what she was taking about—a foster home was for children who were at risk of being harmed or neglected. That wasn’t the case in my situation. And besides, I was crying because I wanted my baby! I couldn’t bear the thought, the sheer agony of losing him. But at the time, I honestly believed I did not deserve to keep him, that I was not worthy of motherhood. I believed the lie that a married couple who was financially secure and couldn’t have their own baby was more worthy than I was to raise my child. The social worker who had been assigned to meet with me certainly didn’t tell me otherwise. In fact, I was told that I would go on with my life, have more children one day, and forget about this one. And that my baby would have a better life and wouldn’t need me. Sadly, she never talked to me about the option of parenting my own child, nor was I ever advised to get independent counseling or seek legal advice. 

I continued walking past the nurse about ten feet, then I stopped to turn around and take one last look. When I did I saw my baby’s little head turn to look in my direction. He seemed to look right at me. He knew his mommy had walked by. He would have known my scent. And most likely would have been in distress as I was. Then I turned away and kept walking. I had cut myself off emotionally. That was the last day I saw my baby boy.

This memory has caused me the most sorrow. It has left me broken with gut-wrenching regret, beating myself up over and over again and asking WHY? Why did I just walk away? Why didn’t I go back and take him into my arms? Why didn’t that nurse say something, do something to help me? And HOW? How could I have been so deluded to think I was not enough for my baby that I actually abandoned him? 

Since my son has been back in our family I’ve cried out to God for answers. I’ve screamed at God in despair and in anger. Why did You let this happen to me? I would have been a good mom to him! And since his dad and I stayed together the adoption was completely unnecessary! I reasoned that even animals know how to care for and protect their young. It is common knowledge that if you would happen to come across bear cubs in the woods you never approach them as the mother bear would most certainly be close by and would kill in order to protect her cubs. So what was wrong with me? Why didn’t I fight to keep my baby? Why did I walk away from my own flesh and blood? These questions have caused agonizing turmoil inside of me, I just could not let go of the fact that even animals instinctively know how to fight for and protect their babies. Yet I abandoned mine.

An aunt who was very special to me, who saw my struggle, and also knew the pain of losing a child to adoption, said to me, “you have to forgive yourself.” I’ve really struggled to forgive myself because this was a decision of my own making. I had willingly walked away. 

One evening a couple of years ago, I was reading about forgiveness and the importance of forgiving others as a step in my own healing. As I sat alone in my living room I decided I would forgive those who had wronged me or let me down. I named each one, and  then almost without intention, I named my 19 year-old self. At that moment my eyes welled up with tears and I cried. Hard. I had to forgive my 19 year-old self because she was alone, with no support and no one to talk things through with. 

The very next morning I had what I am certain was a Spiritual experience. I was in the shower and saw a clear vision in my mind of a mother bear and her cub walking in the woods. The mother bear unknowingly walked into a trap. Her leg was caught. Out of nowhere hunters appeared, grabbed the bear cub and were gone. The mother bear tried to reach for her cub. She fought and thrashed around violently to no avail as she cried out in distress. Then I heard a voice in my head that was quite clear say, “You were that mother bear. You were caught in a trap of shame and fear. It wasn’t your fault.” 

As I remained there, in the shower, those words echoed in my head, “it wasn’t your fault.” Tears began to flow freely, steaming down my cheeks. I began sobbing, my body slumped and my legs weakened, though I could feel the burden of guilt and the weight of shame lifting. I turned my face heavenward as I wept allowing the water and the tears to wash over me and cleanse me. That day I was set free.