Mothers Story Project: A Mothers Story

The day I held my newborn son was the worst day of my life. And the most noble. He was 3 days old, and I was a single teenager, on my own, and signing the document that would release him for adoption. I had determined months ago that adoption was the only reasonable, loving choice. Abortion was available, but very dangerous. I was making minimum wage, his father was long gone, and my parents didn't want me home "until this was over." Naively unaware of any possibility of public assistance, I knew I couldn't care for a child by myself. 

Jump ahead 40 years: I was married with 3 adult children, but haunted by that day in 1961. I searched for and found my firstborn. He had been raised within 30 miles of me, but was now living 1200 miles away. I met his adoptive parents first, and they were better than I could have hoped. Both were warm, loving, intelligent, and open-hearted people. His Mom shared his baby pictures with me, and said she often thought of the great price I had paid to give my son the best life I could. He's a successful businessman now, with a loving wife and two children. He never thought of looking for me. Adoption was the best thing I could have done for him, even though it cost me years of the pain of missing him.

How would I change adoption? Open records, available to every adult adoptee and birthparent. No secrecy; no lies. Without secrecy, monsters like Georgia Tann could not have preyed on the innocent.