Stuck in the past

We're nearly a week into April now. This sinking into darkness thing that I did especially well this March should be done with. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping. And I'm still wallowing here in my darkness, trying to crawl out of it, but sinking further down with every step, sleeping most of the day that i'm not working, trying not to feel anything at all. Searching for that numbness, because I can't help this pathetic feeling. I can't stop replaying the image of me walking out of that hospital, childless, looking forward, and with that whole event in my past. I want to stop in front of myself. Scream in my face. What the hell are you doing. Why are you leaving this hospital without your kid? Are you freaking nuts? But I can't. I can't do any of that. All I can do is watch, while I walk out of the hospital.

It's like I'm stuck in a Christmas carol, stuck with the ghost of birthdays past. Or course where else would I be? There are no birthdays present. And I don't dare dream of birthdays future. At least not any where my existence is of any matter.

Then there's the email. The email from a few years back. When my world came crashing in. When I realized that they wouldn't be happy to see me if only they were in the country. Because they were in the country when they used those so carefully thought out phrases. "you're a very special part of J's past." That's where I am. And that's where I'll stay. I have no other choice. Somehow, I need to forgive myself. Somehow, I need to not be trapped on that day, watching 17 year old Jessika walk out of the maternity ward, with newborn J still stuck there. If somebody can tell me how to get out of that, I would be forever grateful. But for now, I guess I'll just continue trying to climb out of this deep pit of depression. But every step forward simply leads to ten steps back. 

A Letter to You on Your Birthday

In the past, I have also been coincidentally (or maybe not so coincidentally) so overly busy on this day, that I didn't have a minute to look at the calendar until the day was over. Not that I didn't notice your birthday. I've always noticed the dates approaching, and then the days after. But I've usually managed to keep myself so busy I don't have time to feel anything on this day. Until today. On your sixth birthday.

Six years old. You've probably been losing teeth, one that I know of. You should be starting school. But, as your mom has told me, you're being home-schooled. How do you like that? Did you go to the beach today? I am always told of your desire to go to the beach for your birthday. (You totally get that from me by the way, you're calling towards the ocean. It's in your blood.) Can you swim yet? Are you able to stand up to the waves without being knocked over?

Today, I think back to your birth day. The one we actually spent together. Well, sort of. You spent the day busting out of my prison of a womb. You did, at exactly 9:22 pm. I wonder if your mom remembers that time, all of those specifics? I remember the events of that day. Very well. I remember your mom watching you come out. I remember making what I later came to realize was the biggest mistake of my life, letting you go home as her daughter.

On this day though, I don't wish to bring you down with thoughts of my misery from your adoption. On this day, I simply wish you a happy birthday, and hope that you have many more happy birthdays, and that every other day in your life is as wonderful as it can be. I apologize for any pain that decision made six years ago may have caused you, but I hope that that pain has been minimal.  I want you to know that I love and miss you dearly. And I hope that you are having a wonderful day today.

With love,
Your Mother

The Birthday Blues

it isn't even March yet, but they seem to have come early this year. Particularly the "this time 6 years ago." This time 6 years ago,  I was preparing to move back to Fresno. I was certain that I would pop any day and did not for a second think I would make it to my due date. I remember thinking that the time could not pass fast enough- I just wanted this nightmare to be over- because I really thought it would be over. I somehow expected the placement to make me un-mothered somehow.

I remember the agency prepping me for amom's arrival. She was to arrive March 1 and stay til the baby was born. I was being reminded of course how much international flights cost, and how excited amom was to take my, I mean her, child out of the country.

I was also very hopeful. I felt that the aparents- who I had gotten to know so well over our middle of the night calls, and who seemed to care so much about me- were wonderful people. And for all I know, they are. I thought that I was doing everything right. That once I did this thing, that everything would go back to normal. That my family would accept me again (which has sort of happened, but some grudges are difficult for me to let go of). I thought that I was doing the right thing and that I would go back to school and go to college and get grow up to get my white picket fence and marry and "just have more children later." Everything was supposed to just be wonderful.

But look at me now- 23 years old, and full of dreams, but devoid of everything else. My peers, and those younger than me now- are all graduating college. Many of them have married and have started families of their own. Me? I've barely completed my two year degree. Which has done me a world of good in securing that fast food job that I hate, I have a tiny apartment where I barely keep the bills paid. Oh, and a kid I don't even know. I'm doing just fan-fucking-tastic.

So much for everything being alright. So much for the nightmare being over. I just wish I could go back to the days when I just knew that I had done the right thing. I wish that I could go back to that day in the hospital and tell those people to go home and have their own baby. I wish had truly done the right thing. I wish I had brought my girl home with me- like any real mom does- and raised her at home, with her family, where she belongs. We would have made it work. I just know it. I just wish I knew it then.