BIRTH day. Not the same as BIRTHDAY.
November 14, 1978. The day my baby girl was taken from me. The day I began to grieve. I knew for 3 months that she would be, but in the deepest places in my heart I believed that it would not really happen. It did. Miraculously, I got to say goodbye. Fortunately the social worker assigned to my "case" knew better than the doctors and my parents, who thought it would be best if I never saw her. I pushed until the very last minute and then was "knocked out", before the cry would come. For 18 years, I had no idea where my baby girl was. I grieved that loss for 18 years. As each heart-wrentching birthday passed, I wept. From my the recesses of my soul. I was wounded in a way like no other. As was she. A Primal Wound, I have learned it is called. The only real choice I made for her was to give her life. You see, I waited until I passed the 24 week mark before disclosing my pregnancy. The legal cut off for abortion. I had been to Planned Parenthood to confirm the pregnancy and they offered to assist me with that option, but it was not something I wanted to do. I knew the only way to keep that from happening was to conceal it. I was petite and managed to hide my growing belly with my clothing.
Since 1997, I finally celebrate her birthday, with tears of joy. We found each other through the Sate of Virginia earlier that year. We have known each other for 20 years now. We actually celebrated a birthday in person, once. We met in Houston for a Joyce Meyer event and the forgiveness began. She forgave easily. Forgiving myself has taken many more years. It has been many years in the making, lumps and bumps along the way, but we are at a good place. Her birthday was yesterday and I received a message from her, thanking me for her "birth day". I know there are folks that may not appreciate the distinction, and would say, "but we all have birthdays", but this baby, like so many, have a mother that chose to give birth, knowing it would break her heart.
This year I want to honor all of the mothers and their babies out there that share this Primal Wound. Healing is possible. I am forever grateful for her mom, Sharon, and her dad, Dan. My first baby girl, Kimberlee at birth, then Rebecca Lynn, was placed in a loving, faith-filled, happy home. Without that, my healing would not have been possible. I am filled with love. Just Love.