Dear Ms. Feverfew –
When I finally came fully out of the “birth mother closet” I had been living in for the past 19+ years, I knew there would be a cost for my clear and forthright honesty. Yes, I have lost friends on Facebook and some relationships have become strained, nearly to the breaking point, but…
…but I didn’t count on losing you, too. Or at least what little bits of you I had through the parts of your Facebook profile that were public. At least I could message you. That’s one small crumb I have feasted on these last 18 months. In my darkest times, I would always say, “At least I have that.”
But now I don’t.
Is it because what I wrote on my Facebook page about how adoption has affected me? Or was it sending you that message last week, wishing you a Merry Christmas and letting you know about your original birth certificate? Or is it something else entirely?
I know what I posted over on Facebook was pretty intense. I can only imagine it must have been difficult for you to read about the pain that has entered my life because of adoption (assuming you read it, which may be unlikely as I have been a college student before and oh-so-busy at this time of year). I know that it might be tempting to think that you are the cause of that pain. I fear this is what may have happened.
If this is the case, I want to make some things perfectly clear. Ms. Feverfew, you are not the cause of the pain of which I wrote. You have always been a blessing in my life. You have always been a joy and a delight to your mother’s heart. If there is one bright point of light in all of this, it is you, a lodestar shimmering and dancing in the ink-black sky of this pain. Ms. Feverfew, it is adoption that is broken, not you. It is this culture that is broken, not you. This world is a far better place because you are in it, Ms. Feverfew, and something exquisitely vital and important would be missing if you had never been created.
I wish I could tell you these things. I wish I could hold your face in my hands, just like I do your siblings each night, and look deeply into your dark eyes and tell you, “I love you, I adore you. I think you are the most magnificent Ms. Feverfew that has ever graced the earth. I love being your mother and am so proud to call you mine.”
Because I am your mother and you are my daughter. Regardless of what the LDS culture or some piece of papers says because the eternal bonds of motherhood can never be broken.
But I can’t do that now. All I can do is write this letter and send it out into the universe and pray that it somehow finds you and that you somehow come to understand how important you are, how loved you are, and how much joy you have brought into so many people’s lives, including mine.