When I found out I was pregnant, my boyfriend and I considered marriage, raising the child together, but through the support and counsel of family and friends, came to the conclusion we should not get married just because I had gotten pregnant. Such a sacred, covenantal relationship should be Plan A, not Plan B. With marriage out of the picture, my boyfriend and I really had to search our hearts for what we thought was going to be best for our son. I wanted to raise my son. Of course, I wanted to raise my son. To see him take his first steps, learn his first words, watch him grow into the man the Lord created him to be. I didn’t really care about the personal sacrifice it would take to be a single mom. I was willing to make it - a hundred times over. But the truth is that I also wanted something else.
My boyfriend and I had both grown up in less than perfect homes. Neither of knew what it was to have a stable home, to have a present mother and father and to have consistency in our life. Though we lacked these things personally, we knew we wanted these things for our son. And we knew that even in our efforts together, unmarried, we would not be able to give our son these things. So we began the road to adoption.
I was 23 when I found out I was pregnant. This is 5 years older than the average age of a birthmother which is estimated to be around 18 years of age. I was well educated, and with the help of family money, was well supported financially. I had the money. I had good education. And truth be told, I wanted to raise my son. But I wanted to give my son something more than money and me. I wanted to give him a family. A stable, consistent and loving environment.
I have come to see adoption as a very beautiful picture of the kingdom. In my heart of hearts, I believe my son was meant to be with the family I placed him with. How this works with predestination, sin and grace, brokenness, God’s sovereignty, pregnancy out of wedlock, maybe one day the Lord will explain to me when I get to heaven. But until then, please take my word. Adoption is a wonderful gift to give a child and a birthmother. The Lord doesn’t forget anyone in His plan. Scripture speaks of the Lords great love for the fatherless child and the orphan. But I will tell you that He also sees and loves the birthmother, who for a hundred different reasons in a hundred different stories ended up in an unplanned pregnancy.
The adoptive family and myself are currently working out the logistics of a beautiful open adoption arrangement. It’s not perfect - we’re still learning each other. But the story is so much better than I thought it could ever be…
Love, Karen
I want to start off by saying that I can never thank you enough for the gift that you gave me. I have nothing but love and respect for you. It’s because of you that I have such an amazing life.
As a child, I always felt loved. My parents allowed me to choose any sport or hobby I found interesting while also pushing me academically. I enjoyed basketball, tennis, and above all, dancing. Every summer I looked forward to attending Camp Longhorn for three weeks of fun on the lake.
As I mentioned, my parents pushed me academically. By 7th grade I had already visited every college on the East Coast. (To be fair, we were actually looking for my brother but my parents made sure than I was paying attention too.) When time came for me to apply, I chose to stay close to home. I graduated from Texas A&M University and became an elementary school teacher. A few years later, I earned my Master Reading Teacher certificate from SMU.
I also want you to know that I think your brave choice allowed me to meet my husband, Evan. We met in college and have now been together for over 10 years. We have the cutest redheaded baby boy who means the world to us. Oh my gosh, what a true joy! Having our son makes me respect you even more.
As an adult, I actually think about you even more. I wonder if we look alike. I wonder if you too love dogs, kids, Michael Jackson songs, and sipping wine. I hope that you are in love. I hope you have kids. I hope you think of me. And most of all, I hope that one day you will read this so that you know that I am happy because of what you gave me - a beautiful life.
Sincerely, Sally
There are so many things that I want to tell you and even more questions that I long to ask, but finding the right words has been a bit of a challenge for me. So, I’ll start by telling you that not a single day has passed that I have not thought about you and wondered how you are. My love for you is never ending and my prayers for you have never ceased. I believe you were brought into my life because of a greater plan and I can tell you, that I now fully understand why.
From the first moment I held you in my arms I knew my life would never be the same. I stared at you for hours and whispered to you all of my hopes and dreams for your future. I explained to you exactly why I made my decision to place you for adoption, and I prayed that you would one day understand. I must have told you I loved you a million times and cried a million tears. It hurt so bad to let you go, but I knew that it was best for you.
Even though our time together has been very brief, I have been blessed to have the opportunity to watch you grow up from a distance over the years. Choosing a family for you was the most difficult decision I have ever made, but I knew in my heart that you deserved so much more than I was able to give you. Your parents have been a blessing to me and have continued to reassure me through their actions that I made the right choice for you. I want you to know how honored I am to be your birth mother and how proud I am of the amazing young man you’re growing up to be.
I hope that this letter finds you in good health and good spirits. I hope that you have had a wonderful life and that your adoption story is something you are proud of. I want you to know that I will be here if you ever want to meet again, but I will truly understand if you do not. Whether we meet again here on earth or up in heaven, I hope you know that you are always in my heart and on my mind and I will love you forever…more than words can express. I heard a birthmother once say that she finished every letter to her child by saying, “I think about you every day and pray for you every night.” So sweetheart, I think that’s how I will finish this letter…
I think about you every day and pray for you every night.
Your loving birthmother, Janice
When I found out I was pregnant, my boyfriend and I considered marriage, raising the child together, but through the support and counsel of family and friends, came to the conclusion we should not get married just because I had gotten pregnant. Such a sacred, covenantal relationship should be Plan A, not Plan B. With marriage out of the picture, my boyfriend and I really had to search our hearts for what we thought was going to be best for our son. I wanted to raise my son. Of course, I wanted to raise my son. To see him take his first steps, learn his first words, watch him grow into the man the Lord created him to be. I didn’t really care about the personal sacrifice it would take to be a single mom. I was willing to make it - a hundred times over. But the truth is that I also wanted something else.
My boyfriend and I had both grown up in less than perfect homes. Neither of knew what it was to have a stable home, to have a present mother and father and to have consistency in our life. Though we lacked these things personally, we knew we wanted these things for our son. And we knew that even in our efforts together, unmarried, we would not be able to give our son these things. So we began the road to adoption.
I was 23 when I found out I was pregnant. This is 5 years older than the average age of a birthmother which is estimated to be around 18 years of age. I was well educated, and with the help of family money, was well supported financially. I had the money. I had good education. And truth be told, I wanted to raise my son. But I wanted to give my son something more than money and me. I wanted to give him a family. A stable, consistent and loving environment.
I have come to see adoption as a very beautiful picture of the kingdom. In my heart of hearts, I believe my son was meant to be with the family I placed him with. How this works with predestination, sin and grace, brokenness, God’s sovereignty, pregnancy out of wedlock, maybe one day the Lord will explain to me when I get to heaven. But until then, please take my word. Adoption is a wonderful gift to give a child and a birthmother. The Lord doesn’t forget anyone in His plan. Scripture speaks of the Lords great love for the fatherless child and the orphan. But I will tell you that He also sees and loves the birthmother, who for a hundred different reasons in a hundred different stories ended up in an unplanned pregnancy.
The adoptive family and myself are currently working out the logistics of a beautiful open adoption arrangement. It’s not perfect - we’re still learning each other. But the story is so much better than I thought it could ever be…
Love, Karen
In March of ‘96 you became a part of me. And for 9 months and 1 week, we spent all our time together. I knew this would be the longest time we would have together before I sent you on to your next Journey. I’m pretty sure you don’t remember any of that, but let me just say it was an emotional overload. During that time we actually played in a couple of softball games, moved to Fort Worth, attended a college football game, caught a few musicals and I also got to watch you grow up in pictures. Some people call them sonograms and find them very confusing, but I knew every detail about every black and white sonogram I had. Nowadays, I still get to see you grow up in pictures but they are mostly all in color and on Instagram.
Placing you for adoption was one of the hardest, but best decisions I ever made. When I chose your adoptive parents, there was a peace about my decision and I knew they were perfect. Apparently, a little too perfect. In your first year you had already been to every corner of the United States, and by 6 or so you had traveled to other countries.
I am often asked, “Looking back would you change anything about your decision?” I really don’t think I would. Especially knowing how things have turned out (well, maybe I wouldn’t have put you in the silly Santa suit for your first hospital picture. On the day I had you, I knew I only had hours with you and in my mind I was dreaming up what I thought was a fantasy; just to keep my mind in a positive place because of what I knew was to come. I had visions of you with family that focused a lot on….well, FAMILY. Not just immediate family but having large gatherings for reunions, or holidays and birthdays or even gatherings for no reason at all. For whatever the event or occasion I just saw plenty of friends and family around. I imagined you in places where sometimes you had so many decisions that it would be overwhelming. I imagined you having opportunity after opportunity in sports, schools, events, friends, etc. Never did I “really” think you would have all that!
You have turned out to be such a beautiful, talented young lady, and I appreciate always that you and your adoptive parents have allowed me to be more than a part of your life. I know you will continue through the years with happy moments, sad moments, confusing moments and just pure silliness (you get that from me) and I know, at times, you will make good decisions, incredibly horrible decisions and even some “what the heck was I thinking” decisions; but always know some of the toughest decisions may turn out to be some of the greatest decisions.
I love you always, Traci
When you looked and needed, and no help came, I had help. When abundant nourishment came easily to my body and soul, it didn’t come to you. Medicine and money and food and everything that makes a birth and a baby and family happen happily, was mine for the plucking. Not you; why not you?
There aren’t enough words to tell why not. I could ‘drain the ocean dry’ trying to pen those words.
You felt the pain and heard the squalling cry. You held the babe, that perfection. Did I feel it, too, that day? I must have felt it. You birthed among the dust, the blankets, the blood, perhaps no doctor. What was I doing, that day? Certainly I cooked, laughed, changed my milk-white babies, drank coffee with cream, thick and rich. You were bowed low in your pain and aren’t we all bowed low and I am, for you.
Humbly I will give them everything you wanted to give. I will take their chocolate-sweet bodies into my arms, and they will be my own and love will flow, thick and rich and without end, mother-sister. The worry and the pain and the mother-self you wanted to give but could not, I will, by grace.
I will because that famed earth-orphan Jesus who walked dusty roads before your feet ever took their first step told us that pure religion—which I long for, oh, how I long for it—cares for little ones such as yours, mine. So with that grace that carries me and my own and all of us, I will care for them, with joy I cannot speak. And like e.e. cummings I carry your heart with me. I will always carry your heart, for it is my heart, their hearts.
There are no words but thank you.
Love, Beth
You’ve been on my heart all week, and I finally decided I just had to write to you. First, I want to thank you for allowing C.J. to join our family. We’re so eager and excited to meet him, and we love him already.
You have a special place in my heart, Lacey. I’ve been where you are now, and I so admire the resolve with which you’ve made your decision. Well-meaning people, in an effort to comfort you, will tell you, “Don’t worry, you’ll be a mom again, one day.” Just smile and tell them that you’re already a mom, that you’ve made just about the biggest sacrifice any mother can make for her child. You loved and nurtured C.J. and labored to bring him into the world, knowing what lay ahead and how hard it would be. You stood your ground and worked to find a loving family for him. Be proud of that, hold onto it, and know that C.J. will be loved and cared for, by people who will make sure he knows what a brave, amazing woman his birthmother is.
Just as Frank and I did exactly 30 years and 1 month before C.J. was born, you and your firstborn son are embarking on a journey. This first part is going to be difficult, and you’ll feel a thousand conflicting emotions as the days and weeks go by. Talk to your friends and family, and if there’s one available to you, join a support group for birthparents. I did, after Frank’s brother, Richard, was born, and it helped me more than I can tell you. My journey with Frank has been more amazing than I ever could have imagined. You and Chris and C.J. are part of our story now, and we’re part of yours.
As the years go by, I’ll be thinking of you, praying for you, and believing in you. You’re strong in spirit, and this experience will make you wise beyond your years. Hold tight to the memories you’ve made with C.J. over the last few days. Cherish every update, every photo. The years will fly by, and one day, you’ll learn, as I did, that there’s a young man looking for you. Things will come full circle, and you’ll be reunited with your beautiful boy. You’ll know that he is and has been well-loved, and raised up strong, happy and healthy. I know you’ll be proud of that young man you’ll meet, somewhere down the road.
Be kind to yourself and take the time you need to grieve and heal. Go after your dreams and don’t let anyone hold you back. Always, always know that people you’ve never even met are in your corner, praying for you and cheering you on.
With love, Susan
Almost 22 years ago, I fell in love with you, and the love has never waivered. When I found out that I was pregnant with you, my first thought was pure joy. I had always wanted to be a mother, and I saw you as nothing but a gift. I wasn’t a teenager, and I had a loving family. Unfortunately, circumstances changed for me. I come from a very old fashioned, Southern family, and they were embarrassed by the fact that I was pregnant and not married. Also, the times were different 20 something years ago, and I lost my job because of my pregnancy. Your birth father took himself out of the picture very early on, and I was totally alone. Deciding to place you for adoption was the hardest decision I have ever had to make, but it was the best one for you.
Early in my pregnancy, I loaded up my car, and drove to Ft. Worth. I made dear friends, and delighted in every moment of my pregnancy with you. I cherished every kick and wiggle you made, and I couldn’t wait until the moment when I would finally see your precious little face. At that time, all of the adoptions were private. Birth mothers and adopted families didn’t know one another. At the time, it was what I wanted. I was afraid that if I knew exactly where you were, the pain would have been too much. Now, with some years behind me, I wish things had been different.
We did have the option of choosing the type of family we wanted our child to go to, however, and I was known as being extremely picky. I had more conditions than probably any other young woman there, perhaps because I was older. I even asked my counselor if I was being to choosy, and she told me that I wasn’t; I was simply trying to find the best parents possible. They were able to match everything I asked for, and I was at peace with your placement.
After your birth, I was allowed to see you twice; once through the window of the nursery and once for a private visit where I was able to hold you, cuddle you, kiss you. You were the most beautiful baby I had every seen, and I fell in even more than I thought humanly possible. I talked to you the whole time, telling you over and over how much I loved you. I sang all the lullabies I had planned on singing to you as you grew, and I cried my heart out over the thought of handing you over and never seeing you again. But despite the sadness, I knew that I was doing the right thing. I knew that I was handing you over to a couple who would love you just as much as I did, and who would be so much better at meeting your needs than I would.
You will be 22 on your birthday. You are a grown woman now, and I still love you as much as I did the day I said goodbye to you. There is never a day that I don’t pray for you. There is never a day when I don’t think of you. And there is never a day when I regret the decision I made for both of us. I hope you can understand that. I wish you joy and happiness for the rest of your life.
Love, Kim
I was in second grade when my parents told me I was adopted. There were so many questions that I want answered but knew they never will be. There were times when I will look in a mirror staring at myself wondering what you might look like. The color of your hair, eyes, and skin. The sound of your laugh, the way you smile. Wondered if you thought of me everyday.
When I was younger I thought I was a mistake. That was the only reason you gave me up. I would be in tears thinking that there was something wrong with me. You placed me outside of a building and left me alone to have people find me and brought me to an adoption center. I would have hard feelings against you and didn’t care about you because I felt you abaonded me and I was unwanted. But that was a mistake. It dawned on me that if you had kept me my life would be completely different. I would be in China, speaking a different language, maybe perhaps having a different religion. My friends I have right now, I wouldn’t even have met them. All my experiences will my friends and family, gone.
I’m 17 now and I still have questions. But most importantly, I want to thank you. It must not have been easy give up your own child but what you have given me was a family that loves me, cares for me, and new opportunity. Even though we are thousands of miles apart, I feel that you are still a part of me. A part that still remains a mystery but you still have a hold on me nonetheless. Who knows, maybe I will go back to China where it all began. Maybe we will eat at the same resturant and make eye contact across the room but will never realize who we are looking at. Or maybe we will just know in our hearts and reunite. I’ve always fantasized about that part.
I hope the weather is nice where ever you are, living life well and maybe even raising some kids of your own. I wish you stay in good health and wish all the luck in the world to you. And I just want to tell you, thank you and that I love you.
Your daughter, Yu Xun
Your parents are amazing human beings. They have given you everything and more than I could have imagined. They have so much love and appreciation for having you in their lives. They provide us so much comfort in knowing we made the right choice for you and for us. They love and care for you immensely; they have been so gracious. Always sending us updates and pictures making us feel included. We have so much respect and appreciation for them.
It has been 2 & 1/2 years since the day we had to say goodbye. I’m really happy to say that we are able to visit with you at least twice a year, and every time we see your darling little face we fall more deeply in love with you. You are your father’s daughter and everyone can’t help but completely adore you. I see so much of him in you not only in appearance but also personality. Being a part of your life has made us want to be the best. You came into our lives and flipped it inside out. Our priorities have changed a lot and we have you to thank for that. We can’t wait to see you grow into a beautiful woman.
Love Always, Bre & Eddie
March 15, 1998 you became a part of your new family. This date holds so much more significance for me than your birthday, or mother’s day, or all the days you are in my heart and on my mind.
For some reason this year seemed harder than it has been in a very long time. I’m not sure why that is. The day replayed over and over in my mind as if I had gone back in time. I remembered things I had been afraid I had forgotten. I remembered things clearly that have become fuzzy with time.
You were 2.5 years old. We had made it that far. We had a bond that was beyond most simply because it had always been just you and me. I want to share that Sunday with you.
I had taken every step imaginable to make the transition as easy as possible for you. I tried to pretend that everything was good. That I was happy. That the changes that were going to take place were normal. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to be upset about. This was going to be a happy time for you. A time that you were being given the gift of a mom AND a dad. A time that would erase any memory of hardship and having to do without even the basic necessities. I made sure you were excited. I never let you see me when I was feeling the loss that was about to occur for me.
On Saturday at 7:30pm, just as we had every day for the past 2.5 years. I tucked you in. I told you that tomorrow was the big day that you would go to your new house with R & P. I told you how it would be a big day, an exciting day and to make sure you got some “big sleep” (You always insisted it was big sleep, not good sleep). We said our prayers, we said goodnight to the moon, the trees, and about 25 other things. We had a routine and we stuck with it.
You were always a good sleeper. You never woke up in the middle of the night. But that night you did. You woke up and called for me. It’s as if you understood that it was our last night together. The last night we would ever be considered mother and son to the world as a whole. When I walked into your room you asked if we could sleep together on the futon. We had never slept together and neither of us had slept on the futon. I told you no, that we both had to sleep in our beds just like always. You cried. You never cried over something so seemingly silly. You insisted that we “camp on the futon, Mummy, PLLLLEEASEEE”. So we did…
You snuggled up to me and never let go of my hand. You woke me up on Sunday morning staring at me nose to nose. You didn’t want to get up and play like you normally did. You wanted us to camp some more. We had breakfast, we played, we did everything that we normally did.
When it was time to go meet R & P, you happily put your coat on, you got your blanket and started out the front door.
All of us met at Papa’s office. You loved Papa’s office… You ran around and laughed. You took turns giving all of us rides in Papa’s desk chair. It seemed just like any other day all in all.
I want to tell you more… but its too difficult right now. It’s to difficult to put my feelings into words. But, most importantly I want to tell you about that last moment that is so remarkably clear right now. I put you in your car seat in R & P’s car. You asked for an Eskimo kiss. Then you took those chubby hands on both sides of my face and pulled me down. You wiped the one tear that escaped in spite of my using every ounce of strength I had to not cry in front of you. You then said the words that will never leave my memories…
“No cry Mummy! I love you fiffy building dump trucks every day Mummy.”
I love you 50 Billion Dump Trucks each and every day too, Seth! I hope that all my dreams for you come true.
Love Always, Mummy
Today you are 13… a teenager! Wow…
I imagine what you’re like… What kind of young man you are becoming…
I remember being 13. I remember the highs and the lows. I remember the first boyfriend and the first kiss. I remember the awkwardness of wondering where I fit in. I remember trying to figure out who I was and more importantly who I wanted to become.
Who are you at 13? Are you interested in girls? What kind of music do you like? Is your favorite color still green just like “mummy’s”? Are you more interested in being outdoors riding your bike or do you only want to play video games? Are you popular, in the background, or somewhere in the middle?
What does your voice sound like? As the child-ness leaves your face are your features more similar to mine or your father’s? Is your hair still blonde or has it darkened to brown? Do you talk with your hands or are you more calm?
Are you happy? Is your family all that I had hoped it to be? Do you have any memories of the 2 years, 6 months and 10 days that it was just you and me?
I wish I could write a letter about how proud I am of you. I wish I could write a letter sharing some of the funny things you have done this past year. I wish I could write a letter pointing out all of your accomplishments.
But all you are is a hope in my heart… a dream in my soul.
I love you Seth… More and more everyday. I savor the memories I have. I soak in the images of your face through the pictures I have of your first 8 years. I dream of your happiness. I hope for your future.
I live for the day I see your face again. I live for the day we can know each other again.
All my heart and soul, Mummy
