To the Birth Mother Who Gave Our Daughter Life,
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve started this letter. Legally, it is unlikely I’ll ever see you and our daughter reunited. But should it be on your hearts, I wouldn’t put anything past the God I serve. Nothing is impossible. The first time I took our safe haven baby into my arms, all the titles, designated for each of us by someone else- safe haven baby, birth mother, foster mother, adoptive mother-fell away, and I was left with the truth, a beautiful baby girl.
She was born in love and will grow in love to share her own love. If anonymity has served you, and every bit as much if it has only pained you, I hope you have rest. I hope you have space to grow stronger and healthier for you, for whoever stands beside you still, and yes, even for the precious child who never would have seen the light of day if it were not for you.
Even if I knew your name, which of your names would do you justice-who you are, who you are to our little girl, and if I may be so bold to say so, who you’ll forever be to me? Nothing short of Mother, of course, as in this life with our daughter, we have relationships that are every bit as natural as they are unique. Mother. Daughter. Mother.
Each of us belongs. Mom to Mom, this is real every day here, and I will always be learning as our daughter grows how to give her space in love, power, and respect to experience this fully for herself.
I hope you are celebrated as her mother with all the space you need as she grows.
I know love; I know motherhood more fully because I’ve known you; because you’ve given our daughter life. “It can’t be!” my heart swelled when we received the call that a baby was born, and a little girl waited for us. How you must have traced through the same thought time and time again as you carried your little one within you. Be it fear or joy, but undoubtedly love, “It can’t be.” How your own heart must have swelled, to the point of drowning, to leave without the baby you came with.
As a mother myself, I looked for every last bit of you, her birth mother, to share with our daughter. You’d already given her so much. You’d already given us so much. She was early, but she was healthy. She was perfect, and by golly is she beautiful! You chose not to leave a letter, but this child is a living testimony of your love and power. The way of things with a safe haven baby is that your privacy, and our daughter’s privacy, is safeguarded against all else; however, the social worker at the hospital wanted us to know that you expressed having thought this decision through, that you wanted what was best for your child, and whatever your reasons, you had decided this was it.
I asked if you had held your baby after her birth. Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to share even this information with us. She went on to talk about cases like these, about the safe haven children who find their way into the world as our daughter has. Some parents do, and some parents can’t bear to hold their children, she said, to even hear the gender of the child just born to them, knowing the decision that lies ahead. I wondered which was your experience. I can only imagine how our daughter will ponder her time with you and how you hold every moment you’ve had with her always.
Her eyes are bright and knowing; they always have been. A commanding air belongs to her and has from the moment we first locked eyes. She has bouncing curls and a bursting joy, such a playful spirit she shares only with those she trusts most. I can not enjoy one of these in her without wondering fondly, which she received from you. Her siblings here believe she is absolutely and devilishly darling and have since the day we brought her home. Often, when I look upon any one of them, my heart takes me back to you and how very deep your love runs.
When I held her to my chest for the first time, skin to skin, she lifted her head to look into my face. I want you to know what I knew at that moment. She knew you; it was you, her birth mother she looked for. She will always know you, though she’ll realize in her own time just what this looks like for her. Likewise, as she laid her head back down and drifted to sleep by the song of my voice, I know she knew she was loved. She will always know she is loved by each of us. With every fiber of my being, this is my promise to each of you, and to God Himself, for the gift of her life. Her story is her own. Perhaps, a day will come when it brings us to you in writing yet again, and this time, she’ll speak for herself.
One Mother to Another Mother