Carried

glanced up nervously at the clock on the sea green hospital walls. It was ten after three. I had to be at the adoption agency across town at three-thirty. These were my last moments as my child's only Mother. I quickly dressed my sleeping child into the white outfit I brought, fully aware of time ticking away. The adoptive parents, Beth and Jim, were waiting patiently at the end of the hall. This was my time to say good-bye to my precious Daughter, Emily. I would get through this pain--before and especially after the choice--with the strength of God. This is what it all came down to--this very moment. In all the months I had been planning for this time, I never expected to feel this way. I laid a kiss upon my daughter's sweet skin. It was warm to her Mother's touch. It tasted of angelic innocence. This is it, it is time for me to go. In my despair I lifted my head toward the ceiling. I cried out to God. With my head lifted toward the ceiling, in my despair, I cried out to God."Father", my voice cracking, as well as my heart, "Father, it has all come down to this. Thank you for blessing me with this child. It was an honor to carry her within my womb." Fervent tears streamed down my face. I drew my child close to my ear and listened to her heartbeat. Then I looked into my Daughter's face, carefully taking in every detail. Every eyelash, each curve of her cherub face, I wanted it all. I continued in prayer, "Father, I give this child back to you. May you guide her as she walks through life. May you protect her as only a father can do. May she grow to love you as I do. Please Father, may she forgive me for this. Please...." My voice gave in to the tears. Sadness overcame me. My own heartbeat ticked along with the hands of the clock, reminding me to hurry. I collected myself, determined to finish my plea to an everlasting God. "For months You have told me You would be faithful. That You would grant me the strength, Father, to do this. I need Your strength, Father. I need it more than I even know, Amen" I prepared to stand, ready to hand my child over to her "new family". Then, all of a sudden, a sensation came over me, an uplifting burst of power straight from the throne of God. It was amazing. It was an answer to my prayer. I stood with new-found strength. With the child still in my arms, I called down the hall to Beth, my daughter's new mother. Slowly, Beth walked into my room and smiled, obviously pained by the grief in my face. Beth cared deeply for me. She was one of the few in the whole adoption process who valued me as a person, not just for the unborn baby within my womb. I walked closer to Beth and gently placed our daughter into waiting her arms. The tears would not be held back now, for they came forth like a force that could not be contained. Beth cried as I whispered to to my sleeping baby, "Forgive me my child, never forget me." I pressed my tear stained lips onto the child's forehead, and then I turned and walked out the door. The door felt as if it were made out of cold steel. It slammed loudly behind me. The door represented the forever separation between my child and I. Even though I had chosen an open adoption, I would soon only be her Mother by birth. I had to leave. I had to get out of that place. Stunned, I staggered to the nurses station, upset that I must leave in a wheelchair. Hospital policy does not care to make exceptions for mothers like me. Never had I known a pain like leaving the maternity unit without my child. I secretly hoped those who saw me would think my child had been stillborn, not the truth, that I had left my baby with another. I kept my gaze to the floor. Numbness began to set in inside of me. I do not remember the ride to the agency, only that it seemed to take forever and a day to get there--although it was only a few miles in distance. The tears had stopped. They would come later. I slipped my fingers to my neck to check my pulse. I needed to convince myself that I was not dead, for I was certain this is what death felt like. At the adoption agency, the same things were explained over and over by my attorney. Like he cared. I wanted to go home to my apartment so I could succumb to my brokenness. The same signature that signed my checks and birthday cards, severed my rights to my own flesh and blood, by my own choosing. I would never see my name the same way again. The power of a signature, the power of my choice. It was done--time of death 3:47 p.m. On our way home, my Mother suggested we stop at a small deli to pick up some groceries. I dragged myself into the store feeling that I looked like the walking dead. I was thankful no one seemed to notice. Except the kind old man at the checkout. "Oh, I see you have a little one in your belly!" , he said while his kind eyes rested upon my still rounded belly. "Yes." ,The words choked up in her dry throat. "I have a little one." "Congrats and God bless you, honey;" he said, and turned to my Mother for payment. Eyes burning, I escaped to the car. The cold December air made my skin feel as if it were on fire. I cursed the wind. I cursed everything. My Mother intended to spend the night with me in my apartment, but I wanted to be alone. Clutching my heavy bags, I watched my Mother drive off. I headed up the three flights of stairs to my private sanctuary. When I walked into my apartment, a gloomy silence greeted me. The last time I was home, I was not alone, for I had my child with me. Now, for the first time in months, I was utterly alone. I gave into the night. Three weeks later I lay in bed, unable to sleep. I thought of the visit I just had with my daughter the week before. Beth had brought Emily to stay the night with me. I chuckled to myself. How the 'adoption professionals' would freak if they heard the baby slept in this very bed! I turned to my side, eyes gazing through the blinds. Deeper thoughts came to me now. I wanted some answers from God. "Father," I called, "in the hospital room - what was that? That feeling of power? I can't describe it! What was it? It was almost like a supernatural lifting." I didn't expect an answer, but sometimes God does things we do not expect. I knew that still small voice. It was like the hush that comes over a room when a child first emerges from his mother, like the calm of a sleepy mountain covered in a fresh snow and like a soft spring rain cascading down a window. "Child, it was then that I carried you." echoed throughout my spirit. It was then that I realized the God of Moses and David, the God who delivered the slaves of Egypt, the God that loosened His Son from the grips of death--He was there with me in that dreary hospital room, in a little town in northeastern Ohio. I called upon my God, and my God answered my petition. That uplifting was my Heavenly Father picking me up because my journey had become too painful for me to bear alone. His grace was sufficient for me. His power was made perfect in my weakness. When I could no longer carry on...He carried me.

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