18 year-old Catharsis

Today is one of those milestone type days, and one which I would only typically celebrate in my heart. However, in the interest of being real with myself and working on that part of me which struggles with finding courage, I write and I post. (sighs)
Eighteen years ago today, when I was seventeen years old, I found myself in the surreal position of being a hospital, in pain, giving birth. It is a chapter in my life that has influenced who I am today, in every aspect. A pivotal circumstance with many choices, and the acute awareness, even at that young age, that decisions I had to make would rule the fate of many (oooh, how Lord of the Ringsy of me).
It did not begin in that hospital, or even nine months before, but was the fallout of years of confusion, insecurity and bad choices mixed with a bit of hope, and an even smaller bit of common sense.
I knew pretty much early on that I was pregnant. I knew, but I denied. I tried to push the possibility to the waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay farthest corner or my contentiousness. But when your monthly bill does not arrive and you're consistently late to your first class because your puking your guts out every day, you have to face some realities in your life.
My family, as I had known it, had completely fallen apart months before. It would have been kinder if it had truly “disintegrated”, because then all the pieces would have just vanished rather than writhe around on the floor in pain. My father was holding it together and making the hard choice to simply breathe in and out each day for the sake of his children, and I had to rip out another piece of his broken heart and confess how I had further disappointed him.
I wasn't “out loud and proud” with all the gusto of Juno. I continued the last half senior year, and all the activities that went with it without a word about it, even to my closest friends, save to one or two people. I was quieter, and truthfully, less obnoxious than I previously had been, but it was easier to let people think I was just a bitch than admit the truth. Many knew how my family situation had been, so they just dismissed the fact that I wasn't much fun as having to do with that. My weight had always been up and down, so the fact that I was putting on a few pounds was unremarkable. And if the odd person DID have the balls to ask, I would lie, of coarse.
I was surrounded by a sea of 4000 high school students and felt completely alone. My dad was always there, but I felt I had let him down so terribly that emotionally, I pushed him away. I completely retreated into myself. Just me, the baby inside and God.
I never doubted God was there. And though I knew I had blown it Big Time, I also knew that He loved me and would never leave. I knew I was TOTALLY out of my league and had to let Him take the drivers seat, at least in this situation, because I obviously was completely incapable of handling things myself. God provided not only comfort, but people to guide me during those nine months. And he led me and those who would be this child's parents to each other.
I looked at a binder full of letters and pictures from prospective adoptive parents. I came to a couple who had adopted a little girl three years previously. I loved reading their cheesy love story of how they met in a Roller Disco. They were people of faith, and wanted to live in the country to raise pygmy goats. I had an affection for pygmy goats. Whether or not they every DID move to the country to raise goats does not really matter-it was the “sign” I was looking for. I knew right then and there. I still keep their letter to this day.
So, on October 6th, 1992, I gave birth to an 8lb 11oz baby boy. I held him in my room that night, watching TV bits on the upcoming presidential election and David Letterman. Feeding him and smelling him. Keeping the reality that tomorrow he would go home with someone else out of my mind for the time. Being absolutely 100% present for the first time in my life, for those precious moments.
The next day, his parents came. They were fun people. I had felt very at ease with them. We laughed a lot and I asked if they would like to hold him. And in that moment, something close to magical happened when I handed my son to his mother- the only time in his life the two of us would each have a hand on him- when he physically left my world and entered hers. A forever joining of hearts wrapped up in this tiny creature. Later, when she left room, she looked at me tearfully and said “Thank You”. You see, I wouldn't understand until years later and I had my own children what those tears were about. I never considered that I was giving them anything, but that they were taking him for me. I was only truly grateful that they allowed God to bring them my way so that they would accept and care for my child truly as their own. And I have continued to be grateful all these years.
So, Happy Birthday, wherever you are. I am confident you are well loved and successful and have a wonderful family who have raised you well, physically and spiritually. Because of you I am a better mother to my children and do not take the honor of Motherhood for granted. You will always have a piece of my heart.