It Doesn’t Make You a Mom
JULY 23, 2017
I called her when I was 18. The internet did what it does best, connects.I was lucky that my social worker left me a packet so that I could one day meet her; my birth mom
I’ve known my biological siblings for forever and I thank God so much for that.
But I wanted to meet her.
For six months, I spoke to her; my birth mom.
I had picked up the phone one day, hands shaking as the phone rang and went directly to voicemail. I spoke after the beep:
“Hello, I am Mary, your daughter…. I need to tell you that I forgive you and that I love you.”
Those were the words I wanted to say for a long time. 16 years to be exact.
Few days later we spoke.
Many people will say that there is no way that a young children can have feelings of love, when they haven’t met their mommies or too little to remember.
It’s a lie.
Understand, I was an infant when I met my bio mom.
Twenty birthdays have gone by and I at each birthday, have cried because I knew that it should have been her celebrating my birth. She should have been the one buying me a birthday cake. Whispering in my ear that she loved me and was happy I was born. The mom wishing me yet another birthday.
But where were she?
WHERE?
My fake smile shone all day, I’d cry that night, sobbing, wondering where she was.
Did she remember me?
Did she love me?
Every birthday was a countdown to when I could seek her out.
I finally got to meet her.
I was surprised how much I was like her. We both are similar. Very strong willed, stubborn, and dark.
But all the times I saw her, I held my heart’s gates closed. No attachments.
I asked questions. I listened.
See I found that I was talking to an uneducated woman from the hood.
In her voice you can hear the damaged the drugs and alcohol did. My mother was once beautiful, you can now see the impact drugs had on her.
From her lips, I have heard all the things I need to know and many lies.
So here comes the hard part for people to understand and get.
It’s time to walk away.
To stop calling, wondering, trying to make it all work.
I am her kid, got her genes, same tendencies and normal biological things.
A woman who gives birth, doesn’t make her a mom. To me when I say mom to her, it is just a name for her written down. In person I called her by name.
So my letter to my birth mom,
Not too long ago, I sat in the hospital with you, you just found out you have cancer. Questions ran through my head. I left confused. The answers of what cancer you had weren’t answered. The question of how long you had never told.
I became overwhelmed, my actions lead to irrational behaviors. I got too invested, too involved.
But that day, I sat with you, because there wasn’t anyone there for you. At that time I was into the few weeks of my first trimester, scared and unsure how I was gonna handle life ahead.
However, I got a new perspective of you. I felt compassion for you, feeling no anger. I let you tell me everything on your mind.
I went home afterwards with a clear realization that not every woman is meant to be a mom nor can be. Some are just incubator. We are mammals born to conceive, to carry and give birth. Some women bear children, they being just a housing for a mistake. I, being one of them.
You had your own plan, coming up with the conclusion, that the more children you had the more you could keep your babies and be loved.
It hurts that I am; because of an irrational way of thinking, but it is human nature. We can’t see the faults that lay within ourselves. We aren’t perfect.
I wish you weren’t bipolar and schizophrenic. You are diseased and I am so sorry.
You lost court cases, rights, visitations, and any sort of contact. I know you feel the loss till this day.
The amazing thing that I will marvel at, is the fact you made and have birth to my siblings. All 8 of your children know each other. Ten babies you carried full term. Eight live.
I know deep in your heart you love each and everyone of your babies. Even the twins you lost at birth and the miscarriage.
You carry more pain than from your children taken by the government. You had twin stillborn babies, buried at random under a bridge. You miscarried a child. I know how that feels. I know the hurt. I’m sorry.
From the age of eight years old, I’ve had a constant fear. My fear has been that I won’t be a good mom.
Moms have failed me.
The worry of not being the mom you should have been, cannot eat at me any longer.
I have let go of that lie. For who you are isn’t me. For I work hard , strive to be the best woman and person I can be.
One day, I will have a rainbow baby and be a wonderful mom to it.
Unfortunately things end for a reason, things never meant to be.
I came looking for answers. I wanted baby pictures, I got them. I got to hear my birth story and got to look into the face of the woman whose features I resemble.
Life circumstances have us in different standards of life.
That being said, for me to continue in contact is unhealthy. We are different. We live culturally divided.
It’s time now to close the packet.
There is no need now to create a relationship that can never work.
So Mom,
I end with the words I began with from the beginning.
I love you…
Thanks and praise to you for my life.
I pray many blessings, continuous peace and healing upon you.
With love,
Mary
~
To my readers.
I sought out my birth mom, to heal myself.
My mom was born in the hood. She was involved with drugs and alcohol. She made money as a prostitute. From seeing her, I got to understand why child protective services took me away. I needed to see and understand if for myself.
I’d like to share to those who are adopted, are step kids and those going through custody battles.
“The peace in all of it is forgiveness.”
A man or a woman who have a child doesn’t make a parent.
A parent is the one that nurture, provide, protect, teach, counsel and are role models.
Love can always be in a person’s heart regardless of his or her ability to be a parent.
You need to separate the biological and scientific relationship to the one that really matters.
“Forgiveness frees the hurting heart.”
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