Not-So-Valentine's Day

So many things have been on my mind today, I decided to do something I've been thinking about doing for awhile now, to try and organize the overabundance of random thoughts I have floating around in my head. If most people saw what travels through my brain within a 24-hour period, they would either run screaming or pity me. It's not pretty in there. And today, Valentine's Day, I'm having an overload of overwhelming thoughts and emotions... blogging will be now be my way to handle things, in my own way. I have always been a writer of sorts, but I have neglected that gift a lot recently. Sometimes, my own thoughts scare me, and to put them down in written form is a silent confirmation of just how warped my mind can be. But, on this day in particular, I have an extreme urge to write... you'll realize why in a couple of minutes.

9 years ago today, I did something that forever changed my life. And not really for the better, although many have said that what I did was incredible and unselfish. I don't see it that way. The pain I feel as a result of my actions haunt me every day like a plague. A child was born and given to a couple that was less fortunate in the fertile sense (but incredibly fortunate in every other way). I carried this child inside my body for 9 months, gave him life, and protected him. Though it was a very incredible and surreal feeling to bless this couple with a child that they had tried for years to have, I am left with a void in my life that nothing seems to fill. I have 5 other children; 2 older than him, and 3 younger. I absolutely love kids. But, the circumstance in which he came to be is one I would rather forget; his father, an obsessive addict. We had been together for 4 months, and I had no inkling that he was this way until 2 days after he proposed to me and we found out I was pregnant. It was like he had been pretending to be someone he wasn't, to earn my trust and my love. I suddenly became smothered and felt trapped, as I would wake up 5 or 6 times a night to him sitting right beside me, intently staring at me to make sure I was still breathing and that I didn't go anywhere. He took my money for drugs. He stalked me once I moved out. There was absolutely no way in hell that I would bring a child into this world with this type of person as his father. There was only one choice I had, and I knew at the time that is was the right one.

From the moment I knew I was pregnant, I knew that this child was not mine to have. I didn't feel the same connection with him that I had with my first two (or that I had with the three that followed). Ironically I heard through a friend of a couple looking to adopt. The woman was unable to have children because of an illness she had as a child. They had tried the adoption process a few times before, but the biological mothers would always back out. So, I decided that this would be the couple to adopt the child that I carried inside my body. There was no hesitation, no remorse. I knew they desperately wanted him and I knew that he would be unconditionally loved and cared for.

On the day I had him, a cold and snowy Valentine's Day, 2003, I remember the first nurse to see me after his birth being amazed that I asked to see him at his next feeding. She looked at me with a hesitant glance. "Are you sure?" she asked me. I told her of course I was sure. So, she did just that. At his next feeding, she brought him to my room, handed me a bottle and placed him in my arms. He was incredibly alert and staring right at me. Now, I realize that newborn babies can't focus. But, something told me he was memorizing the outline of my face, like somehow he knew. He never fussed. I sat there and held him for the longest time, just looking at him and talking to him, and it was like he seemed to understand every word I was saying. I asked to be the only one to feed him for the duration of my stay at the hospital. This would be my only interaction with him, and I wanted to cherish every moment of it. He had no name at this point. As my friend was looking at him once while holding him, she said, "He looks like a 'Joshua'". So that's what we called him... Joshua was his name for the first 3 days of his life (he was given his legal name by his adoptive parents once they took him). After I was released from the hospital, I went back to see him a couple of times. I wanted to be the one there for him until they could pick him up. Since then, I've received some pictures and a few updates on how he's doing (through the friend that led me to them). He's now a happy, loved 9-year-old with sandy blond hair and a gorgeous smile.

Looking back, I know I did the right thing by him. He is in a stable, loving environment and has everything a child could ever want. It's the missing piece within myself that breaks my heart and, at times, threatens to consume me. Valentine's Day hasn't been the same for me since then. I don't talk about it much, only because it's been a difficult subject for me to approach without coming unglued. Ironically though, as more time passes, and my emotions about this run deeper, it's something that I feel the need to talk about. Sitting here now, upon the completion of this particular blog, I feel a weight has been lifted. I will forever bear the scars, but I believe my soul will eventually heal enough so that it doesn't hurt so bad. Happy 9th birthday, little man.