Mirror, Mirror

 

29th of September, 2013

What you hate most in others, is the shadow within yourself.
Author Unknown

Last week a Judge placed Baby Veronica Rose with her adoptive parents, the Capobiancos, after her birth father fought a long battle to maintain custody of his daughter. As a birth mother, I mourned for Dusten Brown's loss. I also mourned for Baby Veronica's loss.

I'm reminded of the story in 1 Kings where two women brought a child to King Solomon, both claiming to be the mother of the child. King Solomon wisely ordered the child cut in half so that each mother could have half the child. The true mother of the child told King Solomon to give the child to the other woman so that the child could live. Showing her greed and bitterness, the other woman declared neither of them should have him, and wished for the king to carry out his order. Realizing that only a true mother would mercifully give up her child so that he could live, King Solomon rescinded his order and placed the child with his true mother. (I Kings 3: 16-28 paraphrased)


I believe that Dusten Brown is Veronica's true father. He should have been able to raise his daughter, with his wife. It would have been extremely disappointing for the Capobiancos. I am sure they love Veronica, but they are not her parents. But ultimately the wisdom of Solomon did not prevail. Instead, the greed of the Capobiancos did and Dusten, the true father handed his precious daughter to the Capobiancos.

 I asked myself, "How did this happen?"

You can find biased reports from either side throughout all media venues,  but no matter what you read or hear, it is a sad case for both sides, and especially for Veronica Rose. Not much is being said about Christy Maldonadao, Baby Veronica's birth mother, and honestly, I didn't consider it very much until now. Ultimately, this started with her. It appears that she relinquished Baby Veronica without the father's knowledge while he was serving our country in Iraq. Don't get me wrong; I am not judging her. OK, I did...  I don't know all the details of her relationship with Dusten Brown. I don't know the details of the relinquishment.

Still... I judged her...

I shared various articles by prominent adoption reform advocates. I commented on other posts in a very self righteous sort of way.


 I had a hard time sleeping that night.

 I wrongly assumed that it was because of all the emotions that swirling around the outcome of the case. Then, as I considered my own adoption story, my conscience got the better of me. My self-righteousness and my reality slammed into one another at about 2:00AM and my sanctimonious attitude was immediately humbled.

What came forth was my reality...

My reality is that 25 years ago, I was Christy Maldonado.

By the time I gave birth to my son in 1988, I was 22 years old and I had already decided to place him for adoption. When asked by the social worker about the father of my son I told her I did not know who the father was, which was a half truth. I knew the possibilities, there were three; but I refused to put a name on the birth certificate. After I signed the papers, and the time frame for me to change my mind had passed, which at the time was 30 days in North Carolina, the state sought to terminate the father's parental rights by placing ads in the Public Notice section of the Classified ads in my local newspaper. No one answered the ad and the TPR passed.

About a year and a half later, my boyfriend confronted me about the adoption. Being one of the three possibilities, he was married at the time I became pregnant, but was separated at the time of his birth. We were together until 1993 but never married.  He never had children of his own but did have two step children at one time whom he adored and they adored him. In 2008 our paths crossed again. It wasn't until then did I learn how he had grieved for this child. He died nine months later believing in his heart that he was the father of my son.

In 2010, I finally told the other two men that they could have potentially fathered a child in 1987.

One of  them has known since puberty that he was infertile. He has no children.The other man has two children; a son with special needs now a high school freshman, and a daughter still in elementary school I think. His Facebook pictures show him to be a loving and attentive father, one of them painting his daughters fingernails and toenails. He has no desire to even meet my son that he could have fathered.

Regardless of the circumstances of my pregnancy, regardless of how I felt about the capability of either of them to parent a child, I should have not taken away their choice. I made my decision to place my son for adoption based on fear. Fear that my son's father could be married to another woman; fear that my son's father was someone who I did NOT consider father material; fear of what other people would think of me. There were other factors as well. I wonder what motivated Christy Maldonado's decision. I can't answer that. All I know is I am no body's moral compass.

The guilt is back.

The shame is back.

Has my opinion changed?
No.
Dusten Brown IS Baby Veronica's father.
Their story is not over.
Veronica will grow up.
My son grew up.
When I found him he asked questions.
Veronica will ask questions too.

Somebody will have to answer them.

He Called Me Mom... Because I Am

There are many titles a birthmom can use with which to identify herself. Some use "Birthmom", as I have, and others prefer "First Mom". A few may call themselves the "Biological Mother", and some may say they are the "Real Mother". There are differing opinions as to why each term is more appropriate than the other, but I think the main reason we use these terms for ourselves is to clarify our position in our child's life when talking to other people.

Last week as Logan and I were having  our weekly dinner, our waitress said something to him and referred to me as his mom. I really liked the sound of that. In my eyes, he is just as much my child as his brother and sister. I feel like his mom, but I always referred to myself as his birthmom to identify myself separately from the family that raised him. Later, as we were talking, he told me that a friend of his had asked him to do go somewhere with him that night. Logan said that he told him, "I can't. Friday is when I go have wings and beer with my mom."

Wait...

What?...

He called me "Mom".

It seemed very natural...

Personal...

... like he had been doing it for years.

He didn't preface Mom with "birth", or "first" or "biological", just simply, Mom,

... because that's what I am.

The waitress had said it.

Logan said it.

And then, I thought about  how cool it is to have a 25 year old son, who chooses to spend his time with me on a Friday night, when he could be spending it with friends, or a special girl.

When people ask me how many children I have, I always answer, "Three." In the past, I would also give a short explanation with my response, and depending on the circumstances, sometimes give an abbreviated version of our reunion story. From now on, I will simply answer, "Three." No other explanation is needed.

Happy Birthday!

I was going through some stuff today and came across a big manila envelope. I opened it and found various cards and letters. Most of them were letters Mom had written me while I was in college. I decided to go through them all, and found an envelope that was unmarked. I opened the envelope to find a letter I had written to my son on his first birthday. I will share it with you.

                                                                                                                         April 20, 1989

Nicolas,
    
     Happy Birthday! I wonder what you look like, and I wonder how you are. I hope that you are happy with your new family. So many times I hear about adopted children being abused and I pray that it will never happen to you.

     You are one year old today. I know that you should be walking and saying a few small words by now, but I wish I could have watched you do these things.

     In class I learned how infants form attachments. I figure you were adopted when you were about 6 months old, which is about the  you would have formed an attachment to your foster mother. I hope it was not traumatic for you when you were adopted to be taken away from her, and I hope you adjusted well at that time, and will not have problems later on because of the detachment.

     Today has been very difficult for me. I came home today because I could not stay at school. It reminded me so much of the day you were born. Not that it was a bad day, but because I miss you so much now. I want to hold you, see you, and know that you are okay. I still think of you daily. I wanted you so much, but it just wasn't possible.

     I hope your day today has been as happy as mine has been sad. I keep thinking, hoping, that when you turn 18, you will want to know who and where I am. That's only 17 years from now. That's why I'm writing this now; in hopes that one day you will come, and I can share with you myself, and how I feel, and your birthday wishes from me each year of your life.



                                                                      Happy Birthday

                                                                       Nicolas Calvin!



                                                                            Love,

                                                                        Betty, your 1st mom



                                         

     

Mother's Day in September

I remember several years ago on Mother's Day sitting in my Sunday School class sobbing. Mother's Day was always one of the hardest days of the year for me, second only to his birthday which was about three weeks before Mother's Day which pretty much made the months of April and May suck for me. That Mother's Day was particularly difficult for me for some reason. Usually, I could hold it together pretty well for the sake of others, but on that day, I was openly weeping, uncontrollably, in a room full of people. Mother's Day was supposed to be a celebration of the life of a mother, but I could not participate. My heart was burdened with the desire to locate my first born son, and there was nothing that was going to fill that empty space in my heart; not my husband, not my two other precious children, not Jesus, not anything.

I dreaded this day... every year...

Sure, I had two young children who showered me with hugs, kisses, breakfast in bed, and construction paper cards with "I Love You, Mom" printed in crayola, but even their sweet spirit could not completely take me away from the pangs of grief I felt each year as I mourned the absence of their brother. I worried then, as I do now, that they would think that they were not enough for me. In all honesty, having them saved me. To me, having them meant I had been redeemed as a mother; God was giving me another shot at being the ONLY thing I knew for sure I that I was put on this earth to do. To me it meant that he must have thought I wasn't so bad after all. I put everything I had into being their mom, all the while wondering about the child I named Nicholas.

For more than 23 years I wondered about this child... everyday. Every Christmas, every Easter, every Thanksgiving, every Mother's Day, every  Valentine's Day, every birthday, every day that ended in -y, I wondered about him. On September 3rd, 2011, I finally got to meet my son. Our reunion did not happen like the ones you see on TV. There were no cameras, no celebrities, no special guests. There were lots of people around us shopping in the outdoor market, but none of them were aware of the magical moment unfolding before them. I had finally found the eyes like mine I had been searching for in every crowd of strangers for the last 23 years.

... I was celebrating Mother's Day in September!


The last two years have been nothing short of incredible, but the last three months especially so. We meet once a week, just us, to catch up. We have a plate of wings, a few beers, and we talk, we laugh, we shoot pool, but mostly we talk. Our time is special. No one else is allowed to join us. Nobody. We decided early on that we needed this time to be shared just between us.We have a lot of catching up to do. We've learned a lot over the last weeks, and over time I've noticed some things have changed. The time is more precious, the conversations are deeper, the hugs are tighter, and the "I love you's" are sweeter. There are few people I've known in my life with whom I can be totally myself. He has become one of those people.

So as September 3rd approaches and the second year passes, I reflect on that day in 2011, and recall all of the emotions I felt and I am still overwhelmed. Even on that day, I could not have imagined how happy I would be two years later. It was a day that changed my life forever; a day like no other; a very special Mother's Day.