A fifteen year-old child, brown hair, blue eyes, five feet eight inches tall had a singular encounter with a brown-eyed, brown-haired male, age unknown. She was Roman Catholic, he? Well, it's not on the paperwork.
Where I'm from, adoptees have no rights to information. There's a statewide adoption database, and adoptees can file pages of paperwork in order to be listed on the database. Birth parents can also join the database. Both parties have the option to choose whether or not to fully disclose all of the pertinent information: name, address, medical history, et cetera. Birth parents can choose to let the adoptee know if there are siblings, as well.
The information in the first paragraph is all I have. Fifteen. I have had some babies, and it was a lot of work, a lot of tired, a lot of mixed emotions and freaking out and some really scary things. Being pregnant is a completely weird experience. Even after the number of babies I've had, pregnancy is still new and wondrous and scary and mystifying every single time.
But to be fifteen years old, and pregnant with the baby of a man you had met once? I cannot imagine what that would be like. In my innermost being, I feel like everything was not right when my birth mother got pregnant. I worry about that young girl. Did she agree? Was she raped?
Sometimes I mourn for her, with her.
I think she'd like me. I hope she'd like me. I hope she would look at me and my husband and my beautiful children and be glad that she didn't get an abortion. I am thankful every single day that I was given a chance to live. She didn't have to let me grow in her body, she didn't have to go through the pain of labour and childbirth just to have a nurse place me in the arms of a social worker and take me to who knows where and do God knows what. She didn't have to become "that girl" who (gasp!) had a baby out of wedlock as a sophomore in high school.
But she did. And if I ever meet her, I will show her pictures of my babies and I will thank her for all of the beauty and the ugly and the happiness and the hurt that I have ever experienced.
I am alive. And I live like it's serious business. Because when not being alive and not having the opportunity to experience love and beauty and good food and happiness and even a really ugly cry is something that could have been? It's serious. And Sweet Jesus in Heaven, am I ever grateful.