My story begins in the desert.
Though I was raised in the hustle and bustle of the most intricate of concrete jungles, New York City, my life did not begin there. I was born in a state of cacti and cracking earth, of smoldering sun and soft, Mexican winds. My birthfather, a broad, blonde man of German and Scottish descent in his 20’s, met my birthmother, a Mexican of the same age, in a bar. She was elusive, beautiful, with light skin and dark auburn hair. They were in love, a true Tristan and Isolde story, or perhaps a Romeo and Juliet. They remained together despite their families' protestations. My birthfathers family was weathy, newcomers to this country, proud of their anglo saxon heritage. My birthmothers family, too, were newcomers . Two foregin familys, one from across the Atlantic and the other from across the border, unwillingly joined as one when the news of my existence came to light in the early months of spring,
The details of my conception are rather ambiguous, one half of the equation will claim it was a welcomed accident, the other felt tricked. My birthmother, who had already given birth to 2 children, one who was kept and the other who was placed for adoption, was thrilled at the thought of becoming a mother again. She told her family immediately. My birthfather, who had never had children before, told only his father, and a pact was made to keep the information from the rest of his family, particularly his mother.
My birthfather insisted on abortion, and when my birthmother refused, adoption. She resisted, but finally agreed to meeting a few couples. They found my parents in a newspaper ad, and a meeting was scheduled 4 months before I was born. They clicked immediately, and the adoption was organized through private lawyers. I have been told that my birthmother did not really plan to go through with the adoption. That she was expecting her boyfriend, my birthfather, to change his mind once he saw me. When she found out that I was a girl, she was disappointed, convinced that the likelihood of him wanting me was less because I was not the coveted male child. Although she continued to correspond with my adoptive parents, in her heart she didn’t want to let me go.
"Do not give up this baby" her mother, my maternal grandmother, had told her. " You do not want to do this, I promise. You need this baby. This baby needs you. Do not give up this baby."
The day I was born, she changed her mind and decided to keep me. My parents, who had flown down at the drop of a hat the moment they heard I was on my way, were devastated, and flew back to NYC empty handed.
My birthfather was furious. He attempted to convince my birthmother to give me up - she refused. His family finally caught wind of my existence, and were upset by the news.. Irate, he broke up with her, and my birthmother took me home alone.
Months and months later, my birthfathers brother called her and tried to convince her to give me up for adoption, that it would be the right thing to do. He talked about money, about being a single mother, about doing the right thing by his niece, who deserved more. Finally, she relented, and my birth uncle came and took me to his house, and called New York City to see if the couple was still interested in adopting me. They were.
I stayed at my birth uncles house for about a week, surrounded by my cousins and the other members of my paternal family. My birth uncles wife took care of me, as she did her own small children. When the time came for my parents to pick me up, my birthmother came to see me for the last time. My birthfather was not present. My entire birth family was there, in that little house, waiting for my parents to come and get me. They finally arrived, and with the lawyers present, the final papers were signed.
My birthfather, who agreed to begin dating again after I was placed, promised to take my birthmother on a vacation in an attempt to make her forget. My birthfather’s family, furious at having been kept in the dark about the pregnancy, were both bereaved about the adoption and relieved to have it all be over. My birthfathers family tried, in vain, to comfort my birthmother who sat despondent on the couch, the pen from signing still in her hand. This is what my birthfather has told me.
My birthmothers story of this day is different. She does not remember the lawers, the papers, or the rest of the family being present. She remembers only the look in my adoptive mothers eyes as she held me for the first time, the emptiness in her arms when she handed me over, the murmers of approval from my birthfathers family. She remembred the letter she had written me a day or so before, promising that she would always love me, apologizing, begging for me not to hate her.
" No one will ever love you as much as I," the letter begins, and she goes on to instruct me to be a good girl for my new mother, to remember her when listening to certain music, to come and find her when I grow up. She even writes me a poem. "New Life" it is called.
The details of my conception are rather ambiguous, one half of the equation will claim it was a welcomed accident, the other felt tricked. My birthmother, who had already given birth to 2 children, one who was kept and the other who was placed for adoption, was thrilled at the thought of becoming a mother again. She told her family immediately. My birthfather, who had never had children before, told only his father, and a pact was made to keep the information from the rest of his family, particularly his mother.
My birthfather insisted on abortion, and when my birthmother refused, adoption. She resisted, but finally agreed to meeting a few couples. They found my parents in a newspaper ad, and a meeting was scheduled 4 months before I was born. They clicked immediately, and the adoption was organized through private lawyers. I have been told that my birthmother did not really plan to go through with the adoption. That she was expecting her boyfriend, my birthfather, to change his mind once he saw me. When she found out that I was a girl, she was disappointed, convinced that the likelihood of him wanting me was less because I was not the coveted male child. Although she continued to correspond with my adoptive parents, in her heart she didn’t want to let me go.
"Do not give up this baby" her mother, my maternal grandmother, had told her. " You do not want to do this, I promise. You need this baby. This baby needs you. Do not give up this baby."
The day I was born, she changed her mind and decided to keep me. My parents, who had flown down at the drop of a hat the moment they heard I was on my way, were devastated, and flew back to NYC empty handed.
My birthfather was furious. He attempted to convince my birthmother to give me up - she refused. His family finally caught wind of my existence, and were upset by the news.. Irate, he broke up with her, and my birthmother took me home alone.
Months and months later, my birthfathers brother called her and tried to convince her to give me up for adoption, that it would be the right thing to do. He talked about money, about being a single mother, about doing the right thing by his niece, who deserved more. Finally, she relented, and my birth uncle came and took me to his house, and called New York City to see if the couple was still interested in adopting me. They were.
I stayed at my birth uncles house for about a week, surrounded by my cousins and the other members of my paternal family. My birth uncles wife took care of me, as she did her own small children. When the time came for my parents to pick me up, my birthmother came to see me for the last time. My birthfather was not present. My entire birth family was there, in that little house, waiting for my parents to come and get me. They finally arrived, and with the lawyers present, the final papers were signed.
My birthfather, who agreed to begin dating again after I was placed, promised to take my birthmother on a vacation in an attempt to make her forget. My birthfather’s family, furious at having been kept in the dark about the pregnancy, were both bereaved about the adoption and relieved to have it all be over. My birthfathers family tried, in vain, to comfort my birthmother who sat despondent on the couch, the pen from signing still in her hand. This is what my birthfather has told me.
My birthmothers story of this day is different. She does not remember the lawers, the papers, or the rest of the family being present. She remembers only the look in my adoptive mothers eyes as she held me for the first time, the emptiness in her arms when she handed me over, the murmers of approval from my birthfathers family. She remembred the letter she had written me a day or so before, promising that she would always love me, apologizing, begging for me not to hate her.
" No one will ever love you as much as I," the letter begins, and she goes on to instruct me to be a good girl for my new mother, to remember her when listening to certain music, to come and find her when I grow up. She even writes me a poem. "New Life" it is called.
".... but soon little one, my heart will open wide, as the magic of your new life is unfurled. Go ahead, little one, I'll wait here to cheer you on."
This letter, along with a blanket and a stuffed cat, were all she gave to me. She remembers placing them in the diaper bag that my parents brought, and asking that they be given to me when I was a little older. But the memory that remains engrained in her mind is not a memory at all, but a sound. She tells me that she will never forget the sound of my adoptive parents car as they pulled out of the driveway. The silence that remained in the room when I left.
