The process of adoption itself is filled with a lot of paperwork in the beginning, and then a lot of waiting. It was 14 months from the time we signed with an agency until we received our baby. In January towards the end of the month we got a call from our agency worker. I remember that call like it was yesterday. ‘Lauren, I’m calling to tell you that you have been chosen by a birth mom. She is due in 9 days and she’s having a baby girl!’ I was listening with my mouth wide open, staring at my husband as he was wondering what in the world is happening.
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We got the chance to have dinner with our birth mom before delivery. I’m pretty positive I threw up the entire day before this meeting and the day of the meeting. That’s my go-to emotion when I’m overwhelmed; I throw up. How was I supposed to act to the women who is literally giving me the greatest gift in life? I knew it would be hard to fight my tears out of gratitude. You know what’s crazy? The whole time over dinner I almost forgot why we were there. We were having such a great time and I felt as if this were my friend. I remember telling my husband that exact thing, that I felt like I just had dinner with one of my best friends. She was so kind, her personality was so inviting, and she was hilarious. I’m pretty sure I laughed the whole dinner. Before we left I told her my desire for open adoption and luckily it was her desire too. I knew in my heart this was meant to be.
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Our birth mom chose for the baby to be brought to us right after birth. We waited in a room for about 3 hours, and of course I’m throwing up because I realized this is the moment I’m about to become a mother. At 11:12 that morning I see the nurse as she opens up the door, her face so bright with a smile, and she says, ‘Here’s a delivery!’ I leap out of my chair, open my arms and just cry.
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I remember those first moments when I got to hold her on my chest. All those hard years led to this moment. Here I was standing in my own delivery room, holding my baby on my chest. As I looked down at my sweet baby girl’s face I thought, ‘You were worth it. You were worth it all.’ After getting off the phone, I told my husband the good news, and we began to celebrate. We literally ran to the store that night, bought a few baby girl onesies, wrapped them up, and took them to our families to surprise them with the news.
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We left the future of our relationship up to our birth mom. We wanted to be respectful of her heart as well. I can say though I was doubtful that anything further would come. I didn’t think she would actually want to see us again. In my head I had just assumed that birth mothers would have so much trauma from the experience that she would not want to see us again. Even though we had a great dinner and a great time in the hospital, I just thought emotionally she would not be able to do it. Typically you don’t see open adoptions, and a majority of birth mothers want to walk away and never see the child again.
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But about a year into baby girl’s life, I got a notification for a friend request on Facebook from our birth mom. I was so excited I instantly messaged her and we began catching up. It was at that point we began to establish a relationship through Facebook. I sent her tons of photos, told her how sweet Roslyn was, and she thanked me for being her mother. We decided what the future looked like for us. And now, at this point in time, we meet every few months. She will attend birthdays and some holidays, and we are communicating through Facebook.
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Roslyn is very aware of who her birth mother is, and even at her young age we tell her the birth story every night. There is a picture of her birth mother with her that we keep on her dresser. In my mind, open adoption is not a contest or rivalry. We are family. We are one big extended family all coming together to love on one sweet girl.
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My desire is to bring her up in this world with her knowing her identity. I want her to have a worldview of acceptance of her own journey, who she is, and how she came to be. All of us feel that the best way to do this is through open adoption. Since this isn’t a very common thing, I have been very thankful that her birth mother has been open to it.
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Through the hardest season of my life, I had some of the most dreaded memories I can remember. However, I have come to learn this, the very trials that produced those hardships have turned into the best part of me. Sometimes circumstances in your life aren’t what you planned, but end up changing your life for the better. The journey is not always easy, but it’s worth it.
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One day when the manager invited me in, he didn’t give me a job. He told me his boss had seen me and said I was an eyesore… a nuisance, and that I had to go. He then gave me some extra food and sent me on my way. The food didn’t last long and after a couple of days I was hungry and without a plan. I was laying on the park bench when a woman happened by and asked, ‘child, are you hungry?’ I nodded my head yes. She said, ‘well come on then, let’s get you some food.’
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The shower was a tiny stall with nothing more than the leftovers of a melted bar of soap that doubled as shampoo. After I showered, I dried myself off with a towel that was so transparent it looked like the heel of a worn-out sock. I put my dirty clothes back on and as I exited the bathroom the air was filled with the aroma of Chef Boyardee Ravioli. I remember it so well because it was my favorite after-school snack.
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In the morning she asked me if I knew what she did for a living. I nodded my head no. ‘I’m a prostitute.’ She must have realized from the look on my face that that had no meaning for me. ‘I sell my body for sex because I do drugs, or maybe I do drugs because I sell my body. It’s been so long I don’t remember anymore. This is no place for a little girl like you. I want you to promise me that you are going to go home.’ I nodded my head yes. ‘I want to hear you speak the words,’ she said.
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When I was 5 years old, one of my earliest memories is of my mother dropping me out of a two-story window which resulted in both of my arms being broken. To this day I can feel the sensation of the fall. It was drizzling out. I remember the scent of the rain. The rain that softened the grass that broke my fall. I must have passed out on impact because my next memory is of my mother scooping me up in my blankie and taking me to the hospital in a taxi. I passed out again and woke up in two straight casts that wrapped around my hands leaving only my fingers free and ended just below my shoulders. I have no memory of the time spent in those casts, only the day they were removed. It was during this time that I was sent to live with my mother’s parents. My grandmother was a functional alcoholic. My grandfather was a child molester. This marks the beginning of my running away from home.
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