I never got my three days. After having Riley on a Thursday evening, I was notified because both he and I were healthy, I would be discharged 11am Saturday. I was losing a whole day. This was NOT IN MY PLAN, and unfortunately the time I did have was spent with a revolving door of people from my side of family and friends who would never get to spend time with Riley.
I spent my time with Jill and Bob, bonding with them, and watching them bond with Riley, and as it warmed my heart to see how far our relationship had come, I felt as if it was breaking at the same time. The last day in the hospital I had Riley swaddled in a blanket and had just finished telling him how much I loved him, and how much he had changed me when the woman from the adoption agency we were going through came in to tell me it was time. Behind her was my mom and dad, and I went from peaceful, to horrifically panicked in one fail swoop. I was to transfer Riley to her, who then would bring Riley to Jill and Bob who were graciously waiting on the other side of the hospital, and I was just supposed to leave.
To be wheeled downstairs, out the door, into the car, and home. Alone.
All of a sudden, every fear, every doubt, every minute piece of pain came rushing into me. I couldn’t do it. What if he cries? What if he needs me? What if he wonders why I left him? What if he doesn’t remember me? I can’t do it. I can’t give him to you. He’s mine. What kind of a woman gives her baby to another woman? What kind of a MOTHER hands her baby off to be raised somewhere else? What kind of a horrible, horrible woman does this to her child? – I’ll tell you who. A woman of strength. A woman of bravery. A woman that cares more about the well being of her child than she does about her own pain. A woman that knew it was Gods will to have this baby placed with this particular family. A woman who knew it was the right thing to do. A woman who had to recognize and accept that this baby, this tiny, innocent, beautiful life- was never meant to be hers. From the second this baby was conceived, he was ALWAYS theirs. A woman who loved this baby so much, that she was willing to allow someone else to be “momma.”
My plan was to hand Riley to this woman, kiss him softly on the head, and watch him go down the hallway, until I couldn’t see him anymore. Instead, what happened was, I became hysterical. Shaking. Unable to loosen my grip on this child. My father had to lean in and say “do you need help, do you want me to give him to her darlin’?” And he did. Because unlike what I had planned, handing this baby over was like handing over my heart, and it was just too much to take. I don’t even remember getting In the wheelchair to be wheeled downstairs, I don’t remember getting into the car. What I do remember is screaming and crying the whole way home that my entire body hurt. That my heart was never going to heal. As soon as we arrived home, and still sore from birth, I limped my way up to my bedroom, sank into my bed, and wept. For days.
When I got tired of weeping upstairs, I would slump my way downstairs. I spent weeks awakening in the middle of the night screaming. My mom would come into my room to find me crying, clutching my pillow like a baby, dreaming that I couldn’t find him and confused as to why he wasn’t there. Despite attempts from friends and family, my pain was swallowing me whole.
I began to struggle at work- which was a daycare. Being around children was horrifically painful. I became so afraid of sleeping that I started to have terrible insomnia. At one point I had been up for five days straight, unable to get off the couch, eat, or even shower. The first few months were a time of darkness, pain, and self pity. But God wasn’t done with me yet. He allowed me my time to grieve, and when it became too much, he began to lift me up. He would remind me what a selfless act I had committed. He reminded me that I was obedient. He reminded me that I wasn’t done yet.
There is so much more to my story, and God was/is constantly working in my life. My life six years later is beyond what I ever imagined. God has blessed me beyond measure with the relationship He has helped to shape between Jill, Bob, and Riley; as well as my own husband and son. To be a birth mother is a label I wear with pride. It represents strength, it represents empathy, it represents a love that most will never understand. Adoption is no easy path. It takes courage and a heart open to possibility. Is adoption worth it? Every second. Is it hard? Every second. But what’s life without a little hardship? I am blessed to say that if I had the opportunity to go back and choose a different path, I would choose the same one. Each and every time.
Ashley Wilson 