“Mama, are you going to give me away too?”
Time seemed to freeze. My heart raced, and my vision blurred as tears welled in my eyes. Bile rose in my throat, making it hard to breathe. Her voice was so small, so innocent, and the weight of her question crushed me. It was the one inquiry I had dreaded since I shared the truth of being a birthmother with my children. I thought I could navigate this conversation skillfully, believing that my openness about adoption would shield them from such fears. But my perceptive daughter had pieced together the implications of what adoption meant for me and her half-brother.
“No. No, I won’t,” I replied, my voice shorter than I intended. I wanted to say more, to pull her into my arms and reassure her fiercely. “Never. Never. Don’t you ever think that. Don’t you ever.”
I had felt so noble when I revealed to my kids that they had a half-brother, a child I had placed for adoption long before they came into my life. My intention was to normalize what was, for them, an unfamiliar concept. I wanted them to understand that families can take many forms and that love isn’t defined by traditional structures. However, it was the fear of the secret being uncovered that drove me to have that difficult talk.
When they were younger, it was simpler. My words were law, and they couldn’t grasp the complexities of relationships. The concept of a half-brother felt abstract, like an imaginary friend, and their worries were limited to snack choices and playtime.
But now, the reality hit hard.
“But, Mama, what if someone says you have to? That’s why Lucas isn’t here with us. You weren’t allowed to keep him.”
My teeth clenched as tears streamed down my face. “It’s not… It was… I just…,” I stumbled, gripping the steering wheel tightly. I had no way to ease her concerns. All she knew was that he was absent, and like me, she wished he could be part of our lives. She had drawn pictures to send along with the letters I wrote and cried in my arms when I explained she couldn’t invite him to her birthday party.
This wasn’t the honesty I envisioned.
How do you convey to your child that her place in your life is irreplaceable, especially when the existence of her half-brother challenges that notion? The complexity of adoption is something I still grapple with.
The hardest part is that her fears, while unfounded, have a foundation in reality.
I parked the car and turned off the engine, my cheeks still wet with tears. Anger began to overshadow the initial shock—not at her, but at the notion that adoption is a simple solution to complicated issues. She hopped into the front seat as I began to explain.
“It was different then, sweetheart. But you’re not going anywhere. I promise.”
She pursed her lips, searching for reassurance. “How do you know?”
“Because I won’t let it happen.”
The air was thick with emotion as she looked at me, trying to find trust in my words, even when my past actions suggested otherwise.
“It hurts your heart that he’s not here, doesn’t it?”
I nodded through my tears.
“Do you know why I know it hurts your heart, Mama?”
I shook my head, curious about her insight.
“Because you love me and Lucas so much. You love us a million billion times, and when someone you love is gone, it hurts. When you go away, I miss you, but you always come back. But you couldn’t come back for Lucas, and that makes your heart hurt.”
I scooped her up, unable to hide how her words shattered me. In her innocent five-year-old understanding, she articulated the grief of a birthmother losing a child—an ache that never truly fades.
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Summary:
In this heartfelt piece, Rebecca shares her emotional journey as a birthmother grappling with her daughter’s innocent questions about adoption. The narrative captures the complexities of family, love, and loss, illustrating how grief can manifest in unexpected ways. Through open conversations, Rebecca aims to reassure her daughter while navigating her own feelings of loss and love.
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