After Marta was born I came home for only one night. I was smuggled into the house like a criminal my parents were hiding. Everyone had been told that I was away at boarding school and you don't come home from boarding school in March. I spent the night at home and then they smuggled me out of the house to the car and drove me to a rural community in another state to stay with more strangers. I did not know these people at all; neither did my parents but they were friends of the pastor at the Nazarene Church. This is where I lived for the next two+ months. The isolation there was even worse than at the maternity home, for at least at the home I was with other girls. But there I was all alone--no one but the couple I was staying with and I was not allowed to go anywhere without them. I was beginning to think that my prison sentance would never end.
When I returned home I tried to talk to my mother about my experiences, my feelings. I will never forget her screaming at me that I was to NEVER, EVER speak of it again to her or to anyone. I got absolutely no support from her or others including the pastor and his wife. I heard nothing more from Marta's father. I figured that he no longer cared either. What I didn't know is that he had tried several times to contact me but that my mother had prevented those contacts.
I was lonely, living in a new town, heartbroken, and did not even have parental support. I think my parents really believed the myth that I would forget and I would go on with my life. How a mother can think that possible I do not know, but she did. I knew I had been a big disappointment to my parents, that they had their dreams for me, but those were their dreams, not mine. And how I missed my baby; my arms felt so empty. I felt very unloved and I was sure no one really cared what I thought or felt. I had been made to feel like a "bad" girl so I looked for love and comfort where I could find it--in the arms of another boy. I met Gary right after he broke up with his long time girlfriend, so we were both lonely and in need of love.
Soon I was pregnant again. I didn't want to get married this time; Gary and I had already broken up before I even found out I was pregnant. I did, however, want that baby; I believe that getting pregnant again was more about replacing my lost child than it was anything. I thought surely my parents would let me keep this baby. WRONG! I was told that I would have to go back to Rest Cottage and give this baby up also.
It is important to remember that this was the 60's and without parental support, it was nearly impossible to live on your own. I knew of no one to turn to, so I did as I was told--I returned to Rest Cottage Maternity Home. I remember the trip back. I went by bus alone--a very lonely trip. I remember feeling so defeated, so very sad, and dreading what was coming for the next few months.
On July 17, 1964 I had a beautiful baby boy that I named Jon Paul. He weighted over 9 pounds! I do not remember much more of the time he was born. I don't remember giving birth. I don't remember holding him. I don't remember the day he left. I have tried and tried, but the memories just won't come. I have totally blocked those memories out, I suppose as a way to protect my psychic from what would be more than I could have dealt with.
I returned home and again was not allowed to talk about my experiences. I recall going to counseling a couple of times and the counslor assured my mother that she was not at fault for my behavior. It seemed that once she knew that, that was the end of it. That fall I started business school. If I could not be a wife and mother, I had wanted to be a teacher, but going to business school was what my parents wanted me to do. They told me it was a much shorter program than going to school to become a teacher and that this is what I needed to do. I hated it! I was living at home, but so very unhappy. Looking back I realize that I had depression. This time I don't think I looked for love or support, but I just was so down on myself and what did anything matter.
Again I got pregnant. This time my parents allowed me to keep my baby. I was forced to move away from home to a small sleeping room in a big old house where I shared a bathroom with many others living in the house. This was all I could afford. I was working as a clerk in a clothing store but because my feet were so swollen I had to quit. Then I couldn't pay the rent at all. And I could not qualify for welfare yet as you had to be so many months along to get it. Fortunately, I had a landlady who took pity on me and let me slide. I was able to babysit for a young mother who had a small apartment in the house and that helped me to pay for food, but my diet was very poor because I had very little money and no cooking facilities, so I had to eat out. I cannot tell you how many hot dogs I ate from the snack bar in the Sears store across the street from my sleeping room! I did not see my mother again until just a few days before my baby was born when she came with my father to help me find a more suitable place to bring a baby home to. My father did come by about once a week and would take me to lunch and give me a few dollars.
We found a small apartment, but before I could get moved in I went into labor. My second son was born on Septmember 4, 1965; I named him Charles Jeffery. Although we did not have much and I was depending on welfare, I was so happy to have my own home with my son. We were able to make it and we were together. I will never forget how I kept him in a bassinet right beside my bed and how I heard every move he made through the night. Or how wonderful it felt to hold him in my arms. Or how proud I was of him.
I met a man named Bob and we were married shortly after my son turned one year old. Together we had four children--Ronda, Amy, Brian, and Rob. I was a stay at home Mom doing what I had always wanted to do. Bobby died in 1978 as a result of a gunshot wound inflicted by a total stranger.
I later married a man who had custody of his two children who were 7 and 8 at the time of our marriage--Jolita and Greg. I loved having a houseful of kids to care for--always missing the ones I had lost.
When I got my first computer I began reading about searching and reunions between mothers and their children lost to adoption. Before long I got up the courage to do something. |
