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| The weekend Jane and I met, 1981 |
Fall 2003. I am on a panel of birth mothers at a Concerned United Birthparents retreat. One of the other women speaks rather long and forcefully about her
therapist telling her repeatedly that giving up her child “was not her fault,” words a
therapist had her repeat until she believes it, she feels it, she knows it. Her
relationship with the father is a fleeting one-night stand in France, and maybe
she does feel that way but I find her insistent “not my fault” message at odds with my own frame of mind. I did give a baby up
for adoption. In some way, that was my fault. I've always tried to own up to what I did.
When I get up to speak, I talk
about taking responsibility for our actions, no matter what. There's no winner, no polling of the audience, no instant feedback. I have no idea how those in attendance react.
Later I attend a healing session led
by Carol Schaefer, author of
The Other Mother. Now as I hear Carol’s
soothing voice, guiding our visualization, I see Jane [my daughter] coming toward me,
