No Contact

I got an interesting question the other day. On one of my posts I mentioned that not only did I reliquish I also initially refused contact. The question was why no contact. I was able to give the short answer, fear. I was even able to list specific fears: disappointment one she talked to me, only curious, she would care too little, I would care to much, not what she expected, and it goes on. The more I thought about it the more I realized that there was a lot more to it than that. Why would these fears be that strong? I figured out pretty fast that these fears came from what happened when I was pregnant and decided to relinquish so I can't really answer the contact question without going back to that. The fuzzy duck and I talked a lot about these topics during the reunion and I know I never really explained myself well. We decided that each of us would do a post on this (dearest fuzzy duck you better keep your end of the bargan or the entire adoption blog world will know what you pack in a sandwich bag). We will write entirely in the first person as honestly as we can about what the relinquishment and the first attempted contact did to us. For my part it is an explanation of sorts of why I made the decisions I did. It is not intended as an excuse or even an apology but only what happened and what I was thinking at the time. You will notice I have spent a lot of time on this paragraph. Its only because I am procrastinating. Enoght already, here I go off the bridge.

Most of you are probably familiar with the baby scoop era and a lot of you read 'The Girls Wo Went Away' so you have a context. I got pregnant in the era when good girls didn't do IT. If they lapsed and did IT and got caught all would be forgiven if they married the father (or someone who thought/wished he was the father). This was a couple of years before abortion was legal. Not that abortions weren't around. Two of my friends almost died from illegal ones. So we have limited choices and a nice girl from a nice middle class family who were supportive but disappointed in me. Marriage was not an option. I was old enough to make my own decision and my own arrangements with help from my sister and friends. Adoption seemed like the most logical choice since a single mother did not have a whole lot of social support and almost no job options. That was an easy decision while I was just pregnant and it was about MY pregnancy and not about MY child. About the first time the fuzzy duck kicked me she (even though I thought it was he) became MY child and I loved her. By that time I was up to my neck in social workers and Salvation Army Home staff. There was a consistent message. The best thing I could do for THE child was adoption. I couldn't give her anythingShe could have a normal life with parents who could take care of herand love her and give her everything she needed and I couldn't. There is a message here that since I was not too bright and had no morals as evidenced by the fact that I was unmarried and pregnant THE child deserveda lot better than anything I could give. Doubts I had were explained as hormones and I would regreat it later if I changed my mind and it would be best for THE child if she were adopted into a loving family. The message here is listen you stupid slut on top of all your other short commings don't compound your sins by being selfish. I drank the Kool-Aid, jumped into the fog and signed the papers. I had 3 days with her in the hospital. I don't remember the next 3 months. It took me about a year to realize that you don't get over it and you don't forget like they said. So I spent the next 32 years never speaking about MY child but always remembering and always loving her. After a false start or two I got my life togther and eventually married a great guy who knew about the adoption and didn't think I was a stupid almost-selfish slut. I stayed firmly in fog land and atoned for my earlier sins by becoming a silent martyr. I was hurting but I wrapped myself in the belief that I had done the best thing for MY child. She had loving parents and I hoped she was doing well in school and that she had every thing and and and. It worked. I didn't scream or cry hysterically or weep on friend's shoulders. I just had bad days when I withdrew from people. I didn't talk about it. There was no reason. I avoided anything to do with the subject of adoption.

End of Chapter One

This is taking a bit out of me so I am going to go poor myself a glass of wine and have some dinner. I will write chapter 2 within the next couple of days for myself and those of you who may wonder what all of this has to do with why I refused contact. In the fine literary tradition of cliff hangers I will tell you that it is damn hard to atone for sins and get a second chance.