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| Photo credit: http://www.fhfishmemorial.org/ |
Some 20 odd years ago, I fought for love. I was but a lowly sinner who found herself asking for help when others would have not been brave enough to ask. I was 19 and in a relationship that was not going to last long enough, not nearly enough. I was in college, trying to make a better life for myself through education while working 30+ hours a week to fund such dreams. I was seeing a therapist to dig deeper into my psyche in order to find the true reasons I was so angry with my father. I was struggling through a life realization that as if I did not have enough on my plate, I was contemplating bringing a child into my already mixed up world. I was pregnant.
Now, understand that at the end of the 80's people were very self absorbed and this cynical society that we now live in, I think, was born of this decade of outlandish decadence that left people feeling a little invincible, a little eccentric. To admit that you might need some help with something was often seen as a weakness, a flaw. I spent a large part of 1986-1989 seeking help for my heartache, my sorrow that was left from a childhood of being hoodwinked by someone I so desperately wanted to be loved by. Finding my boyfriend when I did I felt I was finally getting that break I needed in love. That break that might just help my heart heal. Kind, funny, handsome and quite chivalrous he seemed to be all that I was looking for.
But it all changed, and soon our paths were not as parallel as they had been when we met. I won't go into details, but he was not going to be THE ONE. This was the single most important factor that had me reeling when I heard the words from my doctor, "My dear, you are pregnant." I grew up without my father in the home and my mother had lived a lifetime making excuses, reassuring me that I was loved and agonizing daily what this absence was doing to her little girl. I knew her life all too well. Single. Struggling. Heartbroken. Damaged. I understood immediately that having a child without her father around would be a lifetime of ... well, it's just hard to explain if you have not been there yourself and quite frankly it would be a HUGE post!
Once I chose adoption for my child, it became a battle that I was not at all prepared for. Why you say? Did you not know things? Were you unprepared to relinquish your child? Were you not provided the information of this kind of decision? Don't start jumping to conclusions just yet. I DID know the laws, what my rights were, what I could or could not do and so on. I understood the psychological repercussions that I would face, and knew the risk that my child would face because of my decision for her as well. What I did not expect was the horrific trials I would face with my home State of Missouri. After months of preparing, months of meetings, papers to read and settling into the home stretch of just one month to go I thought I was well adjusted and not really ready for it, but rather ready to head into the unknown.
Oh wait, Missouri said. No. No you cannot. We will tell you what to do, when to do it, and how WE are going to place YOUR child FOR you. This was the gist of a phone call I received one month to the day of my daughter's due date. ONE MONTH! My heart imploded in my chest and the anger shot my blood pressure to the Moon. This starts the story of my fighting heart. My brave heart story. A story that will continue through out this week.
I have to leave it at that because I need more space to spill it. So until then ....
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