Today marked the 25the anniversary of the day I surrendered my daughter officially to adoption.  If you prefer, as some do, the day I abandoned her to strangers. The day she was put onto the open market to be sold by Easter House. Without my knowledge, she went from me to a foster family on the North Shore of Lake Michigan.  At some point, I don’t know when, she was flown to NJ or picked up by her adoptive parents. I don’t know.

Today marks 25 years since I last saw my daughter, since I last felt her breath, last heard her cry, the last time I saw her shock of dark hair, the last day I counted her itty bitty fingers and teeny weeny toes, the last day I dreamed of running away with her and raising her alone, the last day society recognized me as her mother.

The last day of the of the rest of my life. My mother sat on one side of me, the agency caseworker, Colleen Rogers on my left.

Today was the day and I remember it as vividly as it was yesterday. The day the fantasies were fully implanted. The day the nightmares started, the day my heart shattered. The day I talked to her, apologized to her, and cried tears that rolled off my cheeks onto hers.

That last day.