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I Gave Up a Child Aged 14. Two Decades Later, She Found Me
0 Share Newsweek is a Trust Project member See more of our trusted coverage when you search. Prefer Newsweek on Google to see more of our trusted coverage when you search. When I gave up my daughter for adoption , I always hoped I would see her again when she was ready. When her 18th birthday came and went without contact, I lost hope—until a familiar stranger showed up at my work.
In 1992, I was 14 years old and preparing to leave my childhood home to move to a different state with my parents.
It meant leaving my boyfriend, who was 13 at the time. And, in a moment of teenage brilliance, we decided, why not lose our virginity a week before I was going to move across the country, since we probably would never see each other again?
Three months after we moved, I realized I was pregnant.
My parents are good people, and I still don't know why, but I couldn't tell them. I kept my pregnancy a secret until I was almost seven months along.
It's not just that I didn't want my parents to know. I didn't want to believe it myself. Our bodies and minds work against each other sometimes.
But at some point, I finally realized that this was happening, and I needed to tell someone. I went to a friend, who urged me to tell my parents, and sat with me for support as I broke the news.
And they weren't mad. But they were very worried about me. I was young. I was pregnant and I had not received any prenatal care.
We didn't make any decisions that day. But weeks later, we met with an adoption agency. I met a few families, and eventually found what I thought would be the perfect family for my child.
We agreed to an open adoption, meaning there would be no sealed legal record and I would keep my information up to date with the adoption agency. We could each send pictures and updates, but I would not be able to see or visit the baby.
Crucially, though, when the day came that her adoptive parents thought she would be ready, they would share with her about her adoption, and about me. Her biological father was aware of the pregnancy, and agreed to the adoption.
On February 17, 1993, Melissa Anne was born. She was healthy and perfect, and I spent two days in the hospital with her. Her adoptive parents instantly fell in love with her, and I remember the look on the adoptive mom's face; I knew that my daughter was going to be well cared for.
But I left the hospital without a baby. I didn't know it would be so hard. I rested, and I did meet a therapist, I went back to school and tried to live my life.
For the next five years, I received a card, letter and a photograph on her birthday, and I would send the same at Christmas. Then the updates stopped.
I tried to move on, I tried not to think about what-ifs. I moved forward with my life but I never forgot. She was always in the back of my mind.
It was hard. I lost my way. I had anger and doubts about myself, and projected it onto people who didn't deserve it. I know now that I was a child who went through trauma—I learned to forgive myself, and my parents never held it against to me, and I began to heal.
Years went by. I married, went to college, got a good job, and had a second daughter, who I cherished even as the marriage broke down. After Melissa's 18th birthday in 2011, I wondered if she would get in touch, but she didn't.
Then, two years later and completely out of the blue, we were reunited.
I was at college, working in the financial aid office, and a man approached me. I recognized him, but wasn't sure where from—and then realized it was Melissa's adoptive dad.
He told me: "It took a minute and I had to ask around and use a little bit of Facebook, but I have someone here who has been wanting to meet you for a long time."
I couldn't believe what happened next. I literally fell out of my chair.
Standing at the window was Melissa. 20 years old, and she looked so much like her sister, and so much like me. I couldn't believe it. I told my boss I had to leave, and Melissa and I walked outside to sit under a tree and talk about…everything.
I couldn't stop smiling, I couldn't stop crying. I asked her if she had known about me, what she thought of me, if she hated me. That was the hardest part. I didn't want to ask that question, but I had to.
Melissa said that she always knew about me, and she couldn't wait for the day that she could meet me. That the family celebrated two special days a year—her birthday, and the day she legally became their daughter.
She explained the updates stopped when her parents divorced and she moved away with her mother, but that they co-parented well, and she was happy and well-cared for.
We talked for hours, then planned to have dinner where she could meet her sister. They instantly bonded—they were so alike. Both had been raised as an only child, and now they had a sister.
My own father instantly went into grandpa mode, and my mother was ecstatic to speak to her over the phone.
Now, Melissa and I are still in contact, and she was even a bridesmaid at my wedding. She has visited often, stays in touch with her sister, and is firmly part of the family. We talk about things she doesn't feel able to tell other people, she comes to me for advice, and we share stories from the parts of our lives that we missed out on.
It's more of a friendship than a mother-daughter relationship, and that's OK.
It has been over 33 years since this story began, and I still cannot believe sometimes that she came back into my life. I don't know if I can describe in words the feelings I had all those years after I gave her up. Always asking myself if I had made the right choice in giving her up, if she hates me, or if I am a bad person.
But now all those doubts, all the fears are gone. All that is left is love.
Contact Newsweek editors on this story: Sirena Bergman and Tony Phillips .
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