Discover Mare Martell

16/11 :  An open letter to my son.

   I found out you were conceived in May of 2004. Two days before my birthday, the following month, I was told that your birth-mother wanted me to adopt you. I drove for 10 hours to meet her, get to know her, and let her know that I was already madly in love with you.

During the next five months I traveled that 20 hour trip about every other week just to be near you during your gestation. I got a sewing machine and made curtains, quilts, and diapers in Looney Tunes prints. I put up christmas lights on the ceiling so the light wouldn't wake you when I fed you. My father-in-law handmade a cradle that my mother-in-law made the mattress for in two months of that waiting.

In the fourth month of our "pregnancy", your birth-mother's apartment was burned to the ground. The fire was started to cover up the murder that had taken place right next door to her. I rallied my church and we not only donated money to her, but got her clothes, shoes, and helped her get her new place liveable. That took me three round trips to complete.

I went to every doctor's appointment. Your birth-mother and I talked long into the night. She said that she was never meant to be a mother. She was glad I was going to be the one to raise you. She wanted me to guide you, love you, provide for you for your entire life.

But then, the woman you knew as your mother told lies that ended my dream. I'd just picked up the adoption papers for you from the attorney. I'd JUST walked back in the door with them in my hand when the phone rang. It was your birth-mother. In seven small little words, she broke my heart.

"I've decided to keep the baby." she said quietly.

I used to watch television and see these drama queens wailing and crying with such vigor, there was no way it could be real. It is/was. I dropped the phone and wailed my mourning into the living room ceiling. I curled up in a ball in your room and barely left it for six months. I couldn't bear the hole that had opened in my heart. I couldn't see, hear, or feel anything. I was a zombie.

Now, as you sit in front of me, next to my father who raised you, you sneer at me as if I wish to destroy you. I see you hurting and the pain of all that time is renewed. I don't know that there is another child on this planet that is loved as much as I love you. But as with all my dreams for you, I have no choice but to set aside my emotions, deal with the situation at hand, and pray that someday you'll understand that although I didn't give birth to you, you are and always will be, my son.