Strength

"I know God wouldn't give me anything I can't handle; I just wish he didn't trust me so much"

I have met plenty of people throughout the past 28 years of my life. Very few of those people have any idea of what I've been through, including some of our family. Of the people who do know, the responses seem to be the same, the generic: "Wow, I'm too selfish to make that kind of sacrifice" or "Whoa, I don't know how you did it". The general consensus is that I am a strong woman, for making it through life everyday, and not giving up when the going got tough. Is that really strength? I don't feel all that strong sometimes, that's for sure.

I've come a long way from the girl I was when I was pregnant with Hope. Already a single mom of C, I couldn't even believe that there was a baby growing inside of me. Finding out that my pregnancy test came back positive was one of the worst days of my life. I was in complete shock that I was pregnant. I had a baby at home that had just turned a year and 4 months when I found out I was expecting. There was no way that something like that could happen to a girl like me. But it was happening and for the longest time, I was in denial.

I had scheduled an abortion for a few weeks after I found out I was pregnant. I couldn't handle the responsibility of another child, and there's no way I could possibly have any kind of relationship with the baby's father, because he was just a fling. Leading up to that day, I managed to alienate myself from any source of support I could possibly have. I pushed away all my friends, and there was no way I could tell my family. I was headed to the clinic on my own, praying that things would be quick and easy and no one would ever know my sins. But I never made it there. I passed the church, and something told me to stop there, and I did. It was the one day I was able to talk to God openly, and come to an agreement with him that this baby was a blessing, just not for me at that moment. It was then that it was decided that I would place the baby for adoption. But even after that moment, I was in denial that this was really occurring.

I worked retail at the time of my pregnancy, and every time a customer would ask me when I was due, I'd angrily say, "Oh, I'm not pregnant, I'm just fat", and they would walk away with their tail in between their legs. I felt that if I didn't acknowledge that I was pregnant, it wasn't really happening. I was a college student, a single mother, a daughter, a girl who grew up going to Catholic school for 8 years and was fairly educated. Stuff like that didn't happen to girls like me. But it did, and I was due to have a baby in a few months. Those were the worst months of my entire life.

There were days I would cry myself to sleep, hoping and praying that God would take me in my sleep. Every time I would get in the car to drive somewhere, I prayed to get into a bad car accident. I would hope to fall down stairs or for something bad to happen to me. I didn't want to live with the guilt and sadness I felt. I didn't want to face the disappointment on my parents faces when I told them I was pregnant. I didn't want to feel anything at all, and wished that it would just all go away. I even got no prenatal care because I was in such denial, and couldn't bear to go to a doctor to acknowledge this baby was growing inside of me. I wished that I would wake up from this bad dream and it would be gone. But that wasn't the case.

I got through the pregnancy, with the support of the few coworkers I had, and towards the end, as I was picking families, my friends came back around. I still lacked the strength to tell my parents, so I wrote them a 6 page letter, front and back, that explained everything: my mistakes, my guilt, and how my intentions were never to hurt anyone by keeping this deep, dark secret. I had hoped to give it to them weeks before the baby came into the world, but that wasn't the case. Hope came into the world at the least expected time. I had to wake up my dad and tell him. He had to call my mom who was at work and tell her. I hurt them both, badly, and its probably one of the worst things I could have done.

I went through labor and delivery. I went through the heavy pain in my heart knowing that I would have to put her in the hands of another couple and leave the hospital empty handed. I went through the never-ending questions, and seeing the heartbreak in my parents and sisters eyes for not having the preparation for something so big and personally catastrophic. It was awful.

I only remember bits and pieces of that weekend I was in the hospital. I wish I could remember all of it, but I can't. I can't remember what she was wearing the day I last held her. I can't remember what she smelled like, or looked like. I can't remember what color was her car seat. All I can remember is the stabbing pain I felt in my heart, and how I never ever want to feel that way ever again. On September 11, 2005, I said goodbye to a piece of my heart that I will never get back. She got into one car, and I got into another, and without a promise as to when we will meet again, we went our separate ways.

The past 5 1/2 years have been a journey. The relationship with my family has definitely had its ups and downs, and it has taken a lot to get through it all, because mending broken hearts and broken trust is not easy. The pain in my heart has not gone away, and I don't think it ever will. On holidays and her birthday, I'm reminded of her and wonder if she will ever want to find me. When I see families with little girls near her age at the park or the store, my heart aches as I try to think about what she's like. I dream about what her voice and laugh sounds like. I wonder about what her favorite color may be, or what's her favorite thing to do or watch on TV.

I am blessed to get pictures and letters of her. I am so lucky to know that I picked the best family I possibly could for her. I am happy knowing that she has an amazing life that I could've never been able to provide for her at that moment in my life. I made the ultimate sacrifice when I handed that piece of my heart over to another couple to give her all of their love in every way possible, but it was the best sacrifice, for her and for C. There's not a day that doesn't go by without a thought of her, wondering what she's doing or where she is going. Granted, there are days when I hurt more than others, but I get through those days, and realize that God had a so much bigger plan for me. He wouldn't have let this happen to me if he didn't think I could survive it, and I have, and am, every day of my life.

I guess people are right. I am strong after all. I guess I do have it within me to get through the tough times. I've learned to put my trust in God, and the fact that he has a bigger plan for me, C and Hope gives me the strength on the days I want to do nothing but cry and hurt because I miss her so much. I have to keep reminding myself that the best is yet to come because that little girl may grow up to be a doctor, or a lawyer, or a police office, and that would have never been possible had I not given her life. I just have to remind myself that I am strong, and to keep pushing on during the dark days and never give up on this journey called life.