I Love You, Jessica Elizabeth!

In 1981, at the age of 24, I became pregnant. To say that I was scared was the understatement of the year. I was petrified. So petrified that I actually managed to hide it until two weeks before the birth.

I hid it from my co-workers, from my mother, and from my best friend. They all thought I'd simply gained weight. I never told the prospective father, who had once made the statement that if he got a girl pregnant, he didn't want to know about it. Needless to say, I hadn't seen him in months, anyway.

My mother finally cornered me right after New Year's of 1982 and threatened to send me to an internist about my weight gain. At that point, I finally broke down and told her. Her reaction, after getting through her shock and disbelief, was that I should give the baby up for adoption. I agreed, not realizing how heart-wrenching that decision would prove to be.

On January 9, 1982, I gave birth to a beautiful little girl. Right after her birth, a washcloth was thrown over my face so that I couldn't see her. However, I asked a sweet little nurse what my baby was, and she squeezed my hand and told me that I'd had a little girl.

I was taken to my room, where I agonized knowing that my baby daughter was in the newborn nursery and I couldn't see her. Reality was setting in at a quick pace, and my heart was beginning to break.

A day later, a clerk came to my room and asked what my daughter's name was going to be. I looked at her, my mouth dropped open, and I began to cry. "You mean I can name her?" Bless her heart, the clerk was so flustered by my tears that all she could do was stammer, "yes."

I managed to control myself and give my daughter the name of Jessica Elizabeth. The clerk escaped as quickly as she could. I cried into my pillow for hours afterward.

When the adoption caseworker came to my room the next day with papers for me to sign, she asked if I'd seen my daughter. I told her no that I'd been advised not to. The Mecklenburg County DSS caseworker was a dear sweet little lady by the name of Ruth Conger. She told me that I had every right to see my little girl before I left the
hospital, and accompanied me down to the newborn nursery.

They wheeled her out in a little bassinet with a card on it that read "My name is Jessica", and I got my first look at this beautiful, sweet little baby. I'll never forget that moment. She was a warm, precious little bundle who simply gazed up at me. Not a tear, not a whimper.

I held her for as long as possible, told her I loved her and that I was proud of her. It hurt more than I could ever imagine to walk away
from her.

Later that day, I left the hospital. No one had warned me about how empty my arms were going to feel, and about how I was going to grieve. I went straight up to my old room in my mom's house and proceeded to fall apart. I felt as if she had died. And the worst part was that my family didn't understand.

When I told my mother how much I missed my daughter, her reaction was that it wasn't like keeping a puppy or a kitten. I was 25, and she was talking to me as if I were an irresponsible teenager. My brother couldn't understand why I didn't just get back to normal.

I found a newspaper article that same week by a reporter who had adopted a baby girl in which he was thanking the anonymous birthmother for the gift he and his wife had been given 2 years before. I called him at the Charlotte Observer to tell him that I was a new birthmom, and to thank him for writing an article that reassured me so much. I was crying so hard that the poor man didn't know how to react.

My best friend came two days later and took me to her house, where things were quiet and I could think. I actually reached the decision that I wasn't going to give Jessica up - I went so far as to call the hospital and tell them not to release her to DSS - but when I told my mother of my decision, she threatened to disown me and told me that she wouldn't give me one iota of support. I know now that she was speaking out of fear and frustration - but back then, it felt like rejection.

So this was reality. I had a job, but if I kept my daughter I had no place to live, no child care, no way to support her the way she deserved -and didn't know about options that might have been open to me.

I let her go.

I went back to work two weeks later in order to try and keep my mind occupied. My co-workers, who after their shock were the sweetest and most supportive people in the world, let me run to the bathroom to cry as often as I needed, and became extremely protective of me.

I met with the caseworker 30 days later, signed the final papers, and gave her a letter and a little stuffed dog for my daughter. When I asked how my daughter was, I was told that she was beautiful and healthy and that I shouldn't worry over her. I was encouraged to get on with my life. I tried. Believe me, I tried. I got involved in theater groups. I worked. I went out with my friends. But there were nights alone at home that I cried my heart out, lonely, wanting my little girl.

In 1983 I married, and two years later I had a daughter of my own.

When Michelle was born, I was fiercely overprotective, simply because this was MY baby and no one could take her away. If she ran a small fever, I panicked and called the pediatrician.

When my stepdaughter was once allowed to feed her while I wasn't around, I completely overreacted as if murder had been attempted on her. If I came home and Michelle was sleeping in her bassinet, I stood over her, willing her to awaken so that I could hold her. In short, I was almost obsessed. It took the birth of her younger brother before I could learn to relax and enjoy my children without worrying that they would disappear from under my nose or die from some incurable disease.

A total of four more children came after Michelle. In the year 2000, I was amazed to realize that my birthdaughter was 18 years old...and I began to wonder if she would ever search for me. I had always said that I wouldn't actively search for her, since I didn't know if she knew she was adopted - and even if she did, I didn't want to disrupt her life.

In March of last year, out of curiosity, I found a couple of sites on the internet devoted to adoption, particularly one devoted to members of the adoption triad in North Carolina entitled "Whentheboughbreaks.net". Just for the heck of it, I posted my information there.

Last month, I came to work to find a message from the owner of the site. She had found a posting from a young woman on the adopteeregistry.com site whose non-identifying information matched mine completely. The only problem was that her e-mail address was no longer active. My reaction? I completely fell apart in tears of joy.

No matter that I couldn't reach her...my daughter had been looking! Ever since, I have been posting my message on every single site I can find, hoping to find another post from my daughter or hoping she'll read mine. So far, I've come to believe that this site is the only one she ever posted to - but I firmly believe that she'll post or look again. I pray fervently that she does.

There are things I want to say to her. I want to tell her one more time that I love her. I want to reassure her that she was wanted. I want to touch her one more time and look into those beautiful eyes. And I want to know that I made the right decision twenty years ago.

Credits: Susan Walker