“Mommy, are you going to give me away too?”
Time stood still.
My heart raced, and tears blurred my vision as I struggled to process her innocent yet piercing question. It felt as though a weight had settled upon my chest, making it difficult to breathe. This was the moment I had dreaded since I decided to share my story as a birthmother with my children. My daughter, in her sweet innocence, had pieced together what adoption meant and now questioned her own place in my life.
“No, sweetheart, I won’t,” I replied, perhaps more abruptly than intended. I longed to pull over, to embrace her tightly, and reassure her fiercely: “Never. Never think that.”
I had always aimed to be honest about my past, sharing that they have a half-brother—a child I placed for adoption long before they were born. I wanted to normalize this reality for them, to show that families can take many forms. My intention was to demonstrate my imperfect humanity and the complexities of love and loss. However, it was the fear of secrets surfacing that compelled me to have this difficult conversation.
In earlier years, discussing these topics was simpler. My children viewed me as their steadfast anchor, and concepts like a half-brother seemed as fantastical as imaginary friends. Their world revolved around play, love, and simple choices like juice or milk.
Now, however, the truth weighed heavy.
“But, Mommy, what if someone says you have to? That’s why Tyler isn’t here with us. You weren’t allowed to keep him.”
My heart ached as I gripped the steering wheel, tears streaming down my face. How could I explain the nuances of adoption to her? She only knew that Tyler was absent and that, like me, she wished he were with us. She had created drawings for him and cried when I had to tell her he couldn’t be part of her birthday celebrations.
This was not the honesty I had envisioned.
How do you articulate to your child that their place in your life is irreplaceable when the first child you had contradicts that notion? How do you convey the intricate feelings surrounding a decision that still puzzles you?
The hardest part was that her fears, while unfounded, were rooted in logic.
As we arrived home, I turned off the ignition, my cheeks still wet with tears—though anger at those who said adoption was the uncomplicated solution began to surface. She leaped from her car seat, eager for reassurance.
“It was different then, my love. But you aren’t going anywhere. I promise.”
Her lips pursed in skepticism. “How do you know?”
“Because I won’t let it happen,” I replied, wishing to instill trust despite my past.
“It hurts your heart that he’s not here, doesn’t it?”
I nodded, tears still glistening.
“Do you know why I know it hurts your heart, Mommy?”
I shook my head.
“Because you love us so much. You love us a million billion, and when someone you love is gone, it hurts. When you go away, I miss you, but you always come back. But Tyler can’t come back, and that makes your heart hurt.”
I scooped her into my arms, desperately hiding the way her words shattered my heart. She had articulated, in her innocent five-year-old way, the profound grief that accompanies the loss of a child.
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Summary
This poignant reflection explores the challenges of explaining the complexities of adoption to a child. Through a heartfelt exchange between a mother and daughter, it reveals the deep emotional wounds that accompany the experience of relinquishing a child and the profound love that remains.
Keyphrase: Grieving Over a Child
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