Words for a birth mother

I have a whole new post just about ready to go but I just watched a clip that made me screech to a halt and start anew.  I'll put up the other, fun post, tomorrow.

I just watched a clip from the show Smash.  It's towards the end of an episode and Julia (Debra Messing) is reading a letter she wrote to her daughter's birth mother.  I don't know what the context of it was as I only watched this one tiny clip. But as good (and admittedly cheesy) TV proves, it was powerful.  And haunting.  I can't recall the words exactly but I'll try to give you a good feel for it...

She's reaching out in a letter to her daughter's birth mother.  She tells her that she will guard her like a lion. She will raise her with love.  She will protect her from the wounds of loneliness.  She will be a child of two lands and will wear that knowledge with pride.

There's a part of me, a big part of me, who can feel these words already.  But there's another part of me, the lioness, who cannot freaking imagine leaving a baby in a field to DIE!  We are unbelievably fortunate that our little girl did not die.  Who does that?  It's beyond me.  I don't know whether I want to hunt her down and shake a little sense in her K-town style, or simply ask her why would you, how could you, do that to a baby struggling to live. What forced you to do something so inhumane?  To a little girl. To our little girl. MY little girl?  What kind of mother does that? But I can't be too angry, right?  Because if she hadn't done that, if she couldn't have done that, then I wouldn't be given this chance.  Like many things along this path, this is hard to reconcile.  I should be happy, but there's a part of me that is angry for my little girl's sake.  Or maybe just pissed off that this world is so effed up that you can leave a kid in a field and it's somehow acceptable.  Where the heck are we?  It's two thousand freaking twelve people!  I don't care that you live in a communist country. There is no excuse for abandoning your child!

DEEP BREATH.... Sip of chardonnay .....

The other part of me somehow has to find the graciousness in it. The selflessness in such an act.  Did she do it to save her?  The slim chance that someone would find her "in the bush" and help her?  Or did she do it out of fear?  Or was she forced?  By family?  By a husband who desperately needs the help of healthy, strong, male hands?  Or did something go tragically wrong with her, forcing her into distress and an early delivery?  That would be my worst fear. As ticked off as I get when I think about it, I also hope my little girl's mother is happy and healthy and lives a good, long time.  But sadly, I will never know.  And even more disturbing is that baby sister will never know.  I have first-hand knowledge of what that feels like. The not knowing, the wondering. But what I do not have is any feeling of abandonment.  I was cared for in a hospital by nurses and doctors that surely were smitten with my toaster head, squinty eyes and creepy freakish 2 pound 9 oz body.  A few months later I was taken in by a very caring foster mom for a few months before I was handed off to a very loving forever mom and dad.  Now I know we can make up for most all of what she's been through by being in an orphanage, but when the questions bubble to the surface, as they're bound to, about her family, about her story, I don't know what I'll say.  Will I find peace with it?  Am I harsher in my thoughts and reactions because I was adopted?  Or is it because I'm a fiercely protective, obsessive mama bear who would never abandon her cub under any circumstances?  I don't know.  Thankfully I have some time to figure it out.  Even if it's just a few months after we bring her home and she starts asking things in English!

I have thought about what I would say to her. To the birth mother.  The words come easy, because they're much like the words I would say to my own birth mother, should she ever want or need to hear them.  I would want to put her at ease. To close the wounds and start, or finish, the healing.

To the woman who gave my little girl life,


Although we will never know each other, I am thankful for you.  I am thankful that you gave a home to my baby girl for as long as your body could keep her. I am thankful she survived an early trip to the outside world, and I hope you made it through safely as well.  While you couldn't keep her, for many reasons, I'm sure, we are happy to be able to welcome her into our lives and provide to her a family and a home.  We promise to afford her every opportunity and pleasure in life. We will protect her.  We will guide her. We will teach her.  And most of all, we will love her with everything that we are.


Please take comfort in knowing our little girl is strong.  She is a fighter. She is a survivor. She is a sister and a daughter.  She will have an amazing life.  Thank you for doing your part and allowing us the opportunity to do ours.  You never again have to wonder.  You never again have to worry.  Let go of any guilt you've carried since that difficult day.  Let your conscience be free and may your heart begin to heal.  She is alive. She is safe and she is loved..........

With deepest gratitude,


Jen