mommy loves you forever. (birthmother story/vent)

Nothing will ever compare to what I felt that day. I don’t mean the day he came into the world. What I’m talking about felt thousands of times worse than the act of physically pushing him out of my body. I pretty much feel it all over again around this time. The anniversary. The days leading up to finally having him in my arms after months of waiting, just for him to be ripped away again 2 days later. Not forcefully, but reluctantly willingly.

I tried to soak in as much of the experience of motherhood as I could in those 2 short days. I only let the nurses take him once. I took care of him, almost solely. I had help here and there from family or friends that I unenthusiastically accepted. I was completely exhausted most of the time, but I still didn’t want anyone to take care of him accept me. I selfishly didn’t even want anyone else to hold him, or even look at him. I wanted him all to myself.

I remember the night we had to sign all the papers. Well, sort of. It’s mostly a blur. I remember dim lighting in the room. He was sleeping in his little rolling bed right next to me. They had the father leave the room, to make sure that I was making the decision on my own, and not being forced by anybody. It was just me, the agent, and a lawyer. Our agent was very kind and patient with me throughout it. I’ll always remember that. I remember crying a lot. Of course, I was crying throughout the entire 2 days, but during the hour or so that I was signing papers saying that I was permanently giving up my parental rights to my newborn child, I was particularly hysterical. I weakly moved the pen across the paper, marking my signature and sealing his fate.

It feels like a fucking bowling ball in your gut. Like your heart might quite literally shatter into a million pieces at any given moment. It’s strange that I can go months without feeling this way. I’ll see the updates of him and just feel a sad twinge in my heart, but happiness other than that. But then there’s now, where it feels almost as bad as that day.

It’s odd to look back at it now and realize that I don’t really remember it. My brain has probably pushed it far back into the repressed portion of memories where my other traumas live. I remember being in a wheelchair. I put him in his car seat, and they were going to carry him while I was pushed down, but I told them that I wanted to hold his seat. So, he sat on my lap, out the room, down hallways and elevators, into one of the parking decks. I just stared at him the whole time, trying not to cry because my tears warped my vision.

I remember waiting while the agent pulled her car around. I remember his car seat suddenly being in her car. I don’t remember who put him in there. I leaned into the back seats and told him goodbye. I told him that I love him, and I kissed his forehead. I stood there until she drove away. They had to guide me back into the wheelchair because I couldn’t move. I was just frozen there.

I remember being wheeled to the car I’d be leaving in – the fathers. The kind nurse who had been pushing me around helped me up and I told her thank you and just sat in the passenger seat. Of course, as soon as my car door shut, I went into complete hysterics. I was hyperventilating and sobbing so bad that there was spit and snot all over my face and shirt. Not that I cared. I cried and slept on the way to our place.

 I think I went to sleep as soon as we got home. I remember waking up that night on my back, my head turned to my left side. He was there. My baby boy, cradled into my side, where he belongs. And then he was gone. I had hallucinated for the first time in my life. I remembered my mom telling me that when my dad went to prison, she hallucinated him around the house a few times too. I woke up my baby’s father with my wailing. I just remember wanting him back. I felt like I was going to fucking die if I didn’t have him back with me. But I knew in my mind that that wasn’t what was best for him. I couldn’t do that to him, or to the wonderful family who was waiting for him.

I had 5-day period to retract my relinquishment – or get him back, in short. I thought seriously about it on the second day without him. I talked to some friends and family about it. But ultimately, I knew that my heart was just screaming much louder than my brain at the time. I knew I was doing the right thing for him. I wouldn’t be selfish and bring him into my fucked up world just so that I wouldn’t miss him.

He turns four in two days. It’s been four years since all this happened, but at some times like these, it feels like the wound on my heart hasn’t healed at all. I see him one or two times a year. It’s been harder with COVID. His adoptive mom and I text each other once or twice a month usually. She sends me lots of pictures and videos and lets me know that I’m always in their thoughts and prayers. I miss him more than anything. Sometimes I find myself wishing that I would’ve kept him. But it’s just my heart crying out.

I’ll never love anyone more than I love you, G. Mommy loves you forever.