My Ongoing War

For me, coming to the decision to place my son for adoption was like a battle.  And dealing with the aftermath and the passage of time has been another kind of battle entirely.  I wanted to put my feelings into words, so I wrote a poem about it.  I actually read this poem aloud in front of my son's adoptive father.  He thought it was fantastic.  He knew it was something I had to say.  So, here is the poem that I wrote:

"My Ongoing War"

I have a son

He’s a few months over 3 years old now

I am not his mom

I am not his mother

I am his birthmother

I’ve gotten better at talking about this

Except for the sticky stinking horrible parts of it

I have an army of friends

Who try to convince me

Of my status

You are a mother

No, I’m not

You are a mother

No, seriously, I’m not

You are a mother

Ok if you say that one more time, really just don’t say it again

I’m not

And I think it’s partly because

No one knows

I think

No one wants to know

Even I don’t really want to know

The mental struggle that I went through

The mental and emotional war that I waged

With and against myself

And it was a bloody and fantastic war

Between the mother in me

And the birthmother in me

The mother in me wanted to keep him

Wanted against all good sense and reason in the world

To keep him

Tried to believe so hard

That there had to be a way

To keep him

The birthmother in me wanted what was best

Wanted to make sure that he was loved, cared for, knew where he came from

And be raised

By someone else

Knew the realities

Looked for possibilities

But found none worth the risk

And slowly began to convince me

He should be raised

By someone else

By the end of May I said to the father of my child,

I am 75% certain that adoption is the best option

And because he was and is still good at finishing my sentences he said,

It’s just the 25% gets loud?

It gets so very loud

I found a wonderful and loving couple

From the first time I saw them on the site

I knew that they would be the ones

They were the ones to have my son

And keep him

I met them at the beginning of June

And after an hour long talk

I was 95% certain that this was the right idea

I had won the war, damn it

I had won the war

The birthmother had won

But oh, at what a price

While I am still certain of what I did

Where he is

How he is doing

That if he had stayed with his birthfather and I

Life would have been far different

And something much more horrible

Than I could ever wish on my worst enemy’s child

There were still skirmishes left to fight

Two that I won

Three of them are still on going

After leaving the hospital

With my son travelling in the opposite direction

I got home

The first skirmish, was panic

What did you just do?

What the hell did you just do?

Do you have any concept?

Do you have any idea?

What were you thinking?

What did you just do?

Where is he?

How is he?

What will this even be like?

Will we ever see him again?

I know promises were made

But what if?

What if?

What if?

Pictures came a couple days later

And with that more pictures

More conversations

Visits

And slowly but surely,

The panic was appeased

And faded

I won

I was now 96% certain I was right

The second skirmish is an ongoing one

It was missing

I was told when he first smiled

I was told when he first rolled over

I was told when he started to crawl

I was told when he started to talk

I was told when he started to walk and very soon after to run

I was told

I never saw these things start

And I started adding up all the things that I missed

And would never get back again

That one I lost

I was still at 96% certain

The third skirmish that attacked my resolve

Was an internal one

Was guilt

I felt terrible for giving my child a complicated life

I felt terrible for the fact that he had three last names by the time he was a week old

I felt terrible that I had to give him to someone else to make sure he would be safe

I felt terrible that my decision affected people in both our families in ways I hadn’t foreseen

I felt terrible and I felt horrible and I felt ashamed

And I felt like I was a damned creature

That I had gone against the name of mother

And done something that people found abhorrent

And some people do find it abhorrent

I’ve met them

I’ve been extremely lucky

In that I have yet to be yelled at in public

But I have met them

I have met many more

And I watch the shift in their eyes

As they try to reconcile their stereotype of a birthmother

With this girl they see standing before them

And as they calmly ask questions

And talk to me about it

They begin to understand

And they begin to accept

And I came to terms with certain things

I did give him a complicated life

I did give him three last names

But it’s better than the life I would have given him

I won, and I am at 97% certain

The fourth and fifth skirmishes

Are ongoing

They’re names and arms

They make up the last two percent of my uncertainty

The three percent that are still the mother in me

They usually only happen when

I see him again

I see how tall he’s gotten

I see how much more he looks like me

And I hear him call me

Elizabeth

I am not mom

I am not his mother

I am Elizabeth

His birthmother

And I wish that I could hold him

But he is a squirming whirlwind these days

And I’m not mom

And the arms that ache to hold him

Can’t contain him

And can’t hold him back

And deep inside my heart the creature that wanted to be a mother

Rakes her sharpened claws through me

And whispers,

I should have been mom

And that 97% of myself

Aching and bleeding and trembling and bruised turns back and says

No, you wanted to be but you couldn’t

You are not mom

You are not a mother

You are a birthmother

Because that is the best that we could be for him

~fin~

Any other poets in the house?  Any one else used writing to finally put down what they feel into words?  Let me know in the comments.  Or just let me know what you thought of this.  Hope you're having a great weekend!