A Story of Feet

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A Story of Feet

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Email this to a friend Susan Culver

It Could Have Been Me by Susan Culver

The consideration of “birthparents” is one that is true to all of us in the

adoption arena, even if we never meet those individuals who gave life to our

children. And we adoptive parents probably have all -- if in no other place

than our adoptive parenting preparation courses -- have been asked the same

question: “How will you present the birthparents to your child?” Most of us

probably learned the appropriate answer was something along the lines of: “It

isn't that your birthmother didn't want you... she was just unable to parent

ANY children at that time.” - or something like that. This answer, I'm

told, is even acceptable in the case of an older child adoption -- like my

10-year-old son's -- where the child at least spent a portion of his life

with a birthparent.

The birthparent concept was just always this far-off thing though to me

though... A name on paper, tied hideous acts committed against my child; acts

that scarred him deeply and make me shudder at the thought. I guess maybe I

didn't think of the birthmom really as human... just an act, an event.

Something to be recovered from. Until I got a picture of her along with some

brief, updated information about her life, and suddenly there was a face to

go with the name. There was a PERSON that has baby pictures of my son and

memories of him that I can never have. And this person has emotions. And

remorse. And hope. And I'm once again humbled by this realization: everyone

of us - at any given time - is treading a thin line between absolute glory

and total destruction. I am no better than she... I've simply taken a

different path, knowing all the while that I am nothing without Christ.

I am struck by the parallels between this woman, this child, and myself. At

the time that she was 16 years old and giving birth to my son, I was 19 and

pregnant, and living with this totally charming alcoholic that was nice to

everyone in this world except me. And as my son was drawing his first

breath, I was wracked with confusion about what my future held, and my

daughter's father was threatening to leave me if I didn't get an abortion

(Ididn't, and neither did he). And while my son was an infant and toddler

living in a world that was falling apart, I was white-knuckling it every day,

just trying to hold everything together. And about the same time she walked

out of my son's life, I took my little girls by the hand and walked out

too... knowing all the while that a part of them would always hate me for

leaving their father, but that I would hate myself worse if I didn't. She

says she walked away so he could have a life. I say I walked away so that my

girls could have a life too.

Years have passed and I've married the love of my life. My girls are sweet,

happy people; the type of kids that kiss puppies on the mouth and braid my

hair while I'm watching t.v. The type that leave little presents on their

step-dad's pillow and hide under the bed until he opens them... and have a

compassion for others that knows no end. Things are good for us. In fact,

they've been so good for so long that I think sometimes I forget what it's

like to have things bad. In the meanwhile, our son has risen from this shell

he was in as a little child; a shell none of the "experts" thought he'd ever

escape. He chooses to be joyful... the type of kid that doesn't worry much

about yesterday or tomorrow. He enjoys the moment. And each day brings him

closer to us.

But in the midst of our happiness, I can't help but wonder what SHE has been

doing all these years. And I realize that I can't hate her. That, perhaps if

things had been a little different, she might have walked in my shoes. And -

but for the grace of God - I could've been walking in hers.

And so, I have only hope for her. I hope she's had healing. I hope she's had

a shoulder to cry on. I hope she's had days of sunshine, and reasons to

smile. I hope she knows Jesus. I hope she has peace. I don't know if I'll

ever meet her. And if I did, I don't know what I'd say... Perhaps she someday

will walk back into my son's life, in a different way than before. Perhaps

she'll just be an image to him, not quite real, yet one that I know lives and

breathes. One that's made mistakes, and surely paid a price bigger than I

could bear. I don't know what will happen... but whatever happens, I hope

that I will handle it with grace. My son needs that.