The Gift My Mother Gave Me

People sometimes ask me, "Do you ever want to look for your ‘real' parents?" My reply is always the same – "Do you mean my biological parents?" I then go on to explain that my definition of "parent" is the person that loves you, raises you, trains you, provides for you when you are unable to do so, and prepares you for the rest of your life. You see, nearly everyone can create a child, but it takes a special person to bestow the gift of parenting upon that child.

Besides a few minor details, all I know about my biological parents is that they made a choice that literally impacted my very existence and has benefitted me ever since. Realizing that they were not yet ready for the tremendous responsibility of parenthood, they chose to give me up for adoption. I will always be grateful to them for that.

I sometimes imagine how difficult it must have been for them. The year was 1968. It was a time when having children out of wedlock was, at the very least, frowned upon. How much easier it would have been to bow out – to end the newly forming life within. How tough my biological mother must have been to make sure to eat properly, to withstand morning sickness, to assuredly be the target of many comments and judgments, to feel the kicks of my legs, to go through all the physical changes – all the while knowing that the growing child inside would be raised by someone else.

While my mom and dad were thrilled beyond belief to get me, I know it must have been an extremely tough time for them as well. I cannot imagine the frustration of trying for children for year after year with no success, all the while knowing that your biological clock never stops ticking. During the adoption process, I'm sure there were plenty of awkward moments. Of course, there was also the ever-present fear that the biological parents might change their minds. How hard it must have been to simply wait – missing out on the doctors appointments, the ultrasounds, and the visible signs of growth that get new parents-to-be through the anxiety of this time. How unimaginably difficult it must have been to experience the birth of their child as an outsider, not even in the same building for the event.

It is for these reasons that I view adoption as the ultimate act of unselfishness; it is the gift of life, and, for me, it is a gift that keeps on giving. My biological parents began the gift, and my mom and dad continued the giving. Today, as I look into the happy eyes of my three-year-old daughter, I see more than just her beautiful face. I see the fruits of the gift.