4+ years later

The thing about being a birthmom is that you never forget it, but everyone else does at some time or another.

My daughter turned four in June and two days later I moved from being ten miles away to nearly 3,000. I'm living my own life-- doing things I would have had a significantly harder time doing if I had chosen to parent those four odd years ago, the things I told my self were reasons to chose adoption. Graduate college. Study abroad. Fall in love. Travel wherever the wind takes me. Now I've done all those things and it doesn't fill the void left in my heart June 27, 2014- the day she left the hospital and me.

The thing about being a birthmom is that you never forget it, but everyone else does at some time or another. After first placing, (almost) everyone is sympathetic to how painful being separated from the child you carried and bonded with for nine months is. After a year, a lot of people seem to think you should be over it, but some tender-hearted friends/family still ask how you're doing, especially on holidays, especially especially on Mother's Day. After two, the numbers dwindle, but aren't extinct. After four.... I feel as though everyone has forgotten that excruciating experience I went through. Of course there are fellow birthmom friends who understand and my brother and his wife surprise me time and again with their consideration of me in that regard, but for the most part, it's no longer a subject of conversation.

I know I am blessed. My daughter's family is amazing (I cannot stress this enough) and our two families have only grown closer with the passing years to the point that a stranger might assume we'd always been family. I should be happy. I am happy. But there is no more recognition of what I did. It feels so selfish to say that, but somehow people telling me what a good thing I did made it hurt just a little less in that moment. It gave purpose to the pain. I made my daughters life better. I gave her family the greatest gift. Blah blah blah.

Four years later, everyone else has happily settled into their new roles, but my heart feels as torn and raw as the day I watched that red Subaru drive away, leaving me in a cold concrete hospital parking lot, with nothing but my screaming heart.

To be fair, most days are good. For a whole year I was perfectly happy to see her once a month (aka whenever I wanted) and I thought I was healed. Turns out, I was just ignorant and took those relationships for granted. Now that I don't have that luxury, I'm simply left with pain and the kind of dreams you wake up crying from because they tap at the deepest fears you never knew you had. I'm scared my daughter won't remember me. I'm scared she won't love me. I'm scared I will go my whole life, unable to heal this broken heart.

I do NOT want you to tell me how blessed I am. I am not coming to you because I am blessed. I know that. I never forget that. I am coming to you because I HURT. The kind of hurt so deep in my heart I'm not sure it will ever stop. The kind of hurt I can never explain to you because I don't really understand it myself. All I know is that it feels like my heart is literally, physically breaking.  And I don't know how to stop it.