Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Dear Ms. Feverfew –

why doesn’t anyone want to keep me?”

When I read that, I had a complete and total come apart. As in one of the worst ever to date. Good thing it was late and everyone else was in bed and was spared my decent into a sobbing, snot-nosed, puffy-eyed puddle of raw emotions. It took me until nearly 5:00 a.m. to collect myself, to calm myself so that sleep could find me.

Here’s the truth of the matter: I wanted to keep you. I did keep you for nine months. And I was a damn good mother. I unfortunately let others convince me that I wasn’t good enough for you, that you deserved more than me. By surrendering you to adoption, I inflicted on you the primal wound that all adoptees carry and must some how find the courage, strength, grace, and wisdom to heal from. For this, I cannot tell you how sorry I am and how ashamed I allowed it to happen.

One of the hardest parts about this whole thing is that I now understand I was truly a good mother to you and would have continued to be so if you had remained with me. I now see that if I had kept you, I still would have gone back to school and earned a Ph.D., I still would have married Mr. Amazing Man, I still would have found the courage to kick my bio-dad out of my life, I still would have accomplished all the things I have in my life. The reason I know this is because I am that kind of woman.

But instead, I have a Ms. Feverfew-shaped hole in my soul and I haven’t found the courage, strength, grace, or wisdom to forgive myself for what I did. I wish I could reach out across time and distance and wrap my arms around you and tell you what a beloved child you were and still are. But for now, all I can do is pray for God to send you comforting angels to bind up your wounds and help you find your place in life.