If Blogspot Was Around In 1958

This all started with an interview request from Johnny Down To This, China dad, and blogger extraordinaire.

Johnny wanted to interview an adult adoptee who had decided to adopt from China. I poured out my heart and just typed and typed, fueled by coffee and emotion.

One of the things that swam to the surface was my anger and bewilderment at being told, over and over and over and OVER again, that my birthmother LOVED me so much. She loved me even though she gave me away. She made the "ultimate sacrifice" so that I could have a "better life."

So, what are you saying to a child when you tell him that her birthparents loved her?

Love isn't enough.

Love doesn't stop you from being given away.

Maybe one day YOU, adoptive parent, will give her away if you get sick, divorced, widowed, broke?

I don't even know if I was potty trained when I first heard this. All I know is that I hated it. Hated it then. Hate it now....

At the same time my parents pumped the propaganda they tactfully let me know that I probably was not going to have a happy tearful reunion with my birthmother. The adoption records were sealed. Dr. Reuben F. Simms of Richmond, Virginia arranged the adoption. He knew my parents from church. He told my parents that he had never seen a birthmother less interested in her child's future placement or more anxious to get away from the whole miserable situation. She wanted to know nothing about the "new family" and passionately begged him to NEVER tell them ANYTHING about her.

When I turned 18 I wrote Dr. Simms and received a nice letter confirming this and suggesting that I be happy with my adoptive parents. He might as well have reached out from his office and slapped me in the face.

I had an ace in the hole, however.

The judge had accidentally spoken the name of my birthmother during the adoption hearing.

The Backstory

1. Dr. Simms was a Southern gentleman whose roots stretched back to the Revolutionary War. He was, from all accounts, as decent and honest a doctor as walked the earth. He did not choose wealthy parents who were able to slip him a finder's fee. My parents owned a 900 sq. foot house at the time. Mom had quit work in 1957 to relax and conceive. (She's still waiting).

He did not push adoption. In fact, he encourged mothers to visit and hold their babies before deciding to sign adoption papers. This comes straight from the mouth of another birth mother who used him.

2. He also told my parents a lot of details, rare for this time period, I gather.

3. My birthmother, Elaine OldSouthernName, was from a wealthy Virginia family. She was a college student at William & Mary. A music major.

She was raped by her date, found out she was pregnant, and didn't tell her parents. She begged her uncle to support and hide her. He did, telling her parents that he had decided to send her on a....


wait for it, people....


ROUND THE WORLD CRUISE.


4. In 1988 I hired a search firm and they found her. I had her name, and her address in Richmond. How did I get that? Simple. I lied. I wrote the hospital pretending to be her and ordered a copy of "my" records.


5. I sat on it for 4 years, knowing in my heart that this would not go well.


6. I got engaged in 1992 and wrote her a nice letter. I received a polite brushoff. She was married. She never told her husband about me. I'll share the letter at the end of the story..


7. I have not contacted her again. I know nothing at all about my birth father. He probably doesn't know I exist.


8. I do not believe that my birthmother loved me in 1958 and I do not believe that she loves me today. I believe that her blood flows in my veins and I must try to understand and make peace with the past.


And...after all, I was there.


So tomorrow I'm going to go on a journey deep into my imagination, beginning with imagining that the internet existed in 1958.


I'm going to pretend that I'm her, and it's 1958, and I'm blogging from my lovely dorm room in Virginia, staring at the beautiful spring blossoms, realizing that my pink chiffon dress is torn after a dance I attended and that I am...


late.