It wasn’t worth it.

“Hindsight explains the injury that foresight would have prevented”

I wrote this shortly after the loss of my daughter to the adoption machine. Its on old tattered, yellowed paper. I wrote it on an old selectric typewriter I used at work. I worked at the Exchange National Bank as a temp at the time.  I can see where the typewriter was missing a letter and where I used whiteout to correct my errors. I used to be an awful typist.

Its rather profound really. Least to me. Too bad the knowledge and the questions came too late. I remember writing this, while living in my studio apartment on Sheridan Road. It was cold. The heat was bad. The roaches were awake. I was sitting in a big tee shirt, white underwear, staring out a window.  Lights from Sheridan and Lakeshore shown dimly in my window. I hand wrote it and then typed it up later at work.

Funny. The place I wrote it was the place I often woke at night. On the floor, under a table, with the table cloth as a blanket. I used to have night terrors following her birth. I would wake at night in a cold sweat, hearing a baby cry. I would get up and search this tiny roach infested box of an apartment looking for the baby. For whatever reason, I would end my night search by finding peace under the kitchen table.

I wonder if she was really crying at those times?

The Pain of the Unknown

I wish I knew what to feel,
Saddness, pain, torment…

or happiness, joy, maybe even relief?

After all, I made someone else very happy.
I gave a child. My child.
To a family that couldnt have any.

I gave my daughter,
a secure future.
As opposed to an uncertain one.

I made sure she would have plenty of love.
As well as toys, clothes,
and a college education.

But at what cost?

I cannot help but wonder.
If it was worth the pain.
And the tears.

If her college education,
is as important,
as my sleep.

I wake at night to the sound,
of my daughter crying,
but she is not here.

In every childs face,
I search.
A sign? A clue.

The same nose?
The same hair?
The same eyes?

When I look at her picture,
I am filled with such pride.
She is so beautiful.

But I cannot show her my pride.
She is gone.
She no longer belongs to me.

Will the battle never end?
Between my mind
and my heart?

Will I ever know
if it was worth
the pain?

You can still hear the residual adoption koolaid I draink. Its in the first few words. But you can also hear, me, fighting, my knowledge, my knowing. my aching.

I now know it wasnt worth it. Her college education was not worth the permanent wound to my heart or hers (and she is getting quite the college education). I now know that there is more than toys and clothing and that there is no guarantee of a secure future in adoption. Thats the koolaid talking. Adopters die, divorce, abuse and fail just like natural parents do.  They are not seated at the right hand of God (as some think they are).

She does have the same eyes and hair and even a bit of my nose. So I was right to check for those clues.

(I am sorry, Suz. You knew then and I did not trust you. Your inner child screamed out in pain and horror as they took your child and I just ignored you. I am getting better at trusting you. It wasnt worth the pain

And baby girl, Mamas sorry too.)

5 Thoughts.

  1. You must have been very close to the same area I was in at this time. You know after the adoption I was so depressed. I would go to this little bar right around that area called Blue Suede Shoes. The music was loud, there was always someone to dance with, drink with, forget with. I always said goodbye before the kiss though, no chance of anything happening. Awful, horrible time when I look back on it. Lasted about 6 months…
    Hugs, Kristy

  2. OMG, Kristy, that sounds so familiar. Where was it? Broadway? Wow. Yeah, I think I went there. Freaky. I lived on North Pinegrove and Sheridan Road. What is it called? Boystown? I dont know. Its where all the gays live. Loved it. How about Clubland? Did you go there?

  3. So sad Suz.
    It is all just so very wrong. (the wonderful world of adoption)
    It’s built up as such a theme park – all joy joy joy – but it’s behind the scenes that the real story is going on.
    While people only want to see the happy joyful parts – they’re never going to open there eyes to what’s really going on.
    Hugs, Poss. xx

  4. Oh Suz, I had to close my eyes to block out your pain. It’s beautiful, thank you for sharing it. I hope that mothers who are considering giving up their children, read that and think twice. Love you, Rebecca

  5. Okay Suz, I looked and looked and for the life of me I cannot find Blue Suede’s location. Must not exist anymore. I think it was off Sheridan. Yep I know the area you lived in. When I actually gave birth I lived further north in Libertyville, I could look out the window at the hospital and see my house. After, when I went through my going out to forget stage I went to clubs up and down Sheridan Rd & Lakeshore Drive.
    🙂

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