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Last Updated: Feb 16th, 2008 - 17:39:39 |
I longed to be a mother. My husband and I both came from large families. We decided before we married that we wanted to have three children.
Six years passed during which I miscarried three times. I was told not to become pregnant again. The doctor believed I had only a 10 percent chance of giving birth to a healthy, normal child.
We had been married for one year when my husband left to work for the government in Anchorage, Alaska. In the fall of 1950, he signed a two-year contract as a heating mechanic, first class. I joined him six months later.
We were stationed at the Elemendorf Air Force Base, living in the barracks, waiting for housing to be built for civilian employees. It was not what I expected when I left a comfortable home for the land they called "America's last frontier" to join my husband. I applied for employment and went to work for the legal department.
We expected to return to the States at the end of two years, but signed another two-year contract when we learned a serviceman had had an affair with an Eskimo girl and she was pregnant. The chaplain told us to try to adopt this child and we filed the papers. A month later we received a letter saying we were acceptable parents.
The due date was three months away. Waiting was hard and we still weren't sure the adoption would go through. We continued to hope this would be the child we needed to complete our lives.
The Territory of Alaska did not have jurisdiction over tribal laws. Tribal chiefs seldom allow a child of native blood to leave the tribe. When the baby was born, we were told the adoption would not be allowed. The child would not be permitted to leave the tribe, and we were not Christians.
My hope of holding an infant in my arms was fading, and my heart seemed to have a hole in it. I was entering my mid-30s. Would my dream for a baby ever come to pass? I felt betrayed and thought I would never again permit myself to be put in such a painful position.
The chaplain knew how much I wanted to become a mother. He tried to tell me to have faith and one day my wish would come true. His military term was over and he was leaving for the States in a couple of weeks. He told me he knew a doctor in his hometown who had helped families adopt children.
I knew months or another year could pass before a child might be available for adoption. My longing for motherhood continued to grow stronger and I began to feel it would never happen.
Our government contracts ended a few months later and we returned home to family and friends. We moved into a two-bedroom apartment so we could have a room for a baby, should one ever enter our lives. I mailed our new address and phone number to the chaplain from Alaska, who was now a rabbi in his own congregation.
My husband and I went to a couple of agencies seeking adoption. I was told at my age I could not adopt an infant; it would have to be an older child. This was another disappointment. I felt my desire to hold a newborn would never happen.
I had celebrated my 36th birthday the summer we returned from Alaska. How much longer could I wait? We did not want to miss the joys of seeing our first child walk, talk and grow from infancy.
My life felt empty without a child to nourish and care for. It was almost three months since we came home. My spirits and hopes were falling.
One evening, the phone rang and I couldn't believe the words: "I think I have a baby for you. I will know in about two weeks." It was the rabbi we had befriended in Alaska.
The following week I received the call I was anxiously waiting for. The woman was six months pregnant and decided to give the child up for adoption. She raised four children, now teenagers, and did not feel she wanted to start caring for another infant. At age 37 I knew I could care for an infant.
In June, an early-morning call woke me out of a sound sleep. I heard my husband's excited voice. "Hi, Mom. We have a son." By some twist of fate my husband was able to see our baby just hours after his birth. He had been traveling out of state and was in the city where our son was born.
I remember thinking, "Is this real or am I still asleep and dreaming?" Five days later we brought him home. I was a mother.
Giving birth to a baby ties you to your baby by blood. It does not make you a mother. Raising the child day to day with love, attention and daily care makes you a mother.
I did not go through the pains of childbirth, but the baby I took into my arms 47 years ago is mine forever.
Posted by the Asbury Park Press on 08/6/06
© Copyright 2008 by AdoptionDesk.com
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