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Finding Selflessness ~ A Birth Mom’s Story

November is National Adoption Month.  LFCS is an expert in the field.  We work with birth parents, adoptive parents and foster parents.  We are here to help, and we are inspired by the families we touch each and every day.  Read this essay that one of our birth moms, Allison, recently shared…you’ll be inspired, too.

Finding Selflessness

“Hope is just a ray of what everyone should see, alone is the street where you found me, scared of what’s behind you, and scared of what’s in front, live with what you have now, and make the best of what’s to come”. Those were the lyrics that played during my last moments of motherhood. Warm tears streamed down my cheeks as I admired the beautiful, sleeping baby that I held in my arms.

All snuggled up in her baby pink outfit, with her little matching socks, and her cozy, oversized mittens, she laid completely still and slept peacefully as I held her closely and tried to give her a lifetime of my love in four minutes and twenty-one seconds. She wore the tiniest beaded bracelet around her wrist. It had been made by my Aunt Joanie to match the one that she had made me when I was born.

The beads on her bracelet spelled out K-E-N-L-E-Y, a name that had been chosen by the couple that would be her parents, and a name that fit her perfectly. I agreed with her soon-to-be parents, Chris and Emily, that despite her having two birth certificates, she should only have one name, and I felt that it should be decided by those who would parent her, raise her, provide for her, and love her just as much as I would. They decided on the name Kenley Allison. Her first name was in memory of Emily’s father, Ken, and her middle name was in honor of her birth mother, me.

“Tell me a story long and true, we aren’t what we say, we are what we do, just pieces of a puzzle to find where we stand, just confused. So you are the moon that pulls me through the night”. The lyrics continued as I held Kenley Allison in a room packed full of people who loved her almost as much as Chris, Emily, and I did. But despite the fifteen friends and family members that sat in a circle around me, the only person I could look at was her. As she slept sweetly in my arms, I held her closely, her already familiar face laid against my chest and her small body rested against my now nonexistent baby bump. In this moment, I experienced an emotion unlike anything I had felt before. I felt nothing but unconditional love for her. There was not anyone or anything that I loved more or wanted more than my baby. And despite the fact that I would no longer be her mommy after that song ended, I knew in my heart I would always consider her my daughter, my first born child, my motivation to succeed, my reason for being on this earth, my everything.

“So you are the sun that leads me, you are the moon that pulls me, you are the light that leads me, you are the moon that pulls me”. As the last line of the song faded out, I felt my role as her mother slowly do the same.

The entrustment ceremony proceeded as planned, and the happiest minutes of my life quickly turned into the most painful. Before I knew it, I was handing my entire heart over to a couple who I knew deserved my daughter just as much as I did. Chris and Emily were two of the most amazing people I had ever met and I was sure they would be able to give her everything I could not. She would have a house that she could call her home, financial and emotional stability, all of the time and attention she deserved, and most importantly to me, she would have a father. I knew the only way I could provide her with any of those things was if I let her go. And because I loved her unconditionally, that is what I did.

The moment she left my arms, I felt empty. The tears went from streaming down my cheeks to pouring into my hands and I began to sob uncontrollably. My social worker had tried her best to prepare me for this, but it wasn’t something I could understand until I experienced it. When she told me this type of grief felt similar to having your child pass away, I did not understand. After all, I was fortunate enough to have an open adoption and I knew I would see Kenley again. But as I left the entrustment ceremony without the baby I had carried in my womb for nine months, without the person I felt closest to, I understood the comparison. It was not my daughter that I had lost, it was the life we could have spent together as mother and daughter. It was the breaking of a bond that I will feel for the rest of my life, but she won’t remember. It was not my child that I lost, it was my motherhood.

“Tell Me a Story”, by Phillip Phillips, is much more than just a song to me. It was a message of hope during a lonely, emotional pregnancy and guidance when I was making a decision I never wanted to make. It was an experience that I would never wish on anybody but one I would also never take back. It was a brief moment in time that I will never experience again, but a memory I will cherish forever. Most importantly, it is a reminder. A reminder that it is possible for something beautiful to come from an ugly situation. A reminder of how much I was able to overcome because of the love that I have for my daughter. And a reminder that I will succeed, because if I can make a decision to better another person’s life, I am fully capable of bettering my own.