Dear Amy,
You probably grew up thinking I didn't love you. I'm writing this letter to help you realize it was the best I could do for you at the time. I could only love you by saying good-bye.
I held you so briefly in my arms. With tears streaming down my cheeks, I handed you over to a stranger. I was already curious about your future, and what it would hold for you.
Were you cared for immediately? I've always wondered. The agency never told me if you had a home waiting, or if you had to wait for a home.
I was in the hospital for four days. It was four years before my parents spoke to me again. I pray that you have always been close to the couple you call Mom and Dad. Going through the separations that I did are traumatic.
Times are different now. The world seems so advanced. Children grow up before their time. In comparison, I was extremely young and naive.
Your father was young and handsome. He was also very intelligent. He wanted to be a lawyer. I don't know what he turned out to be. I moved away from that small town where you were born.
Our love was intense that sweet summer. We felt so alive! Our only awareness was of each other. All our senses were enhanced by the sharing. We gave no thought to the future, only of our time together. I hope you love like that someday. But I pray you're mature enough to handle the responsibility.
Your father forgot me his freshman year of college. I dropped out of my senior year of high school, during Christmas vacation, and moved in with an aunt. I later got my diploma through correspondence.
Many tears were shed that summer following your birth. I baby-sat for my young cousins and imagined your accomplishments. All your firsts—smile, tooth, word, steps.
That Christmas I hung an ornament for you on my tree. Sixteen more have been purchased with you in mind.
I moved to the coast and lived with a friend. We went to secretarial school together. Did you go to preschool? I wondered if you were there when I was learning to be the best secretary I could be.
When you were in kindergarten, I married a bank executive, and had to forget that fateful summer. He's been so good to me! He knew all about you before I consented to become his wife.
Did you grow up with brothers and sisters in the family you know? You have a brother and sister here. I plan to tell them about you. The twins are in sixth grade, so I expect that time will be soon. I hope you get to meet them.
Except for my loss of you, I am content. I enjoy being at home, doing domestic things. Of course, I keep busy volunteering at church and school. I lead an active social life, at church and because of my husband's business.
I've had so many questions . . . What color are your hair and eyes? Are you taller than me? What's your personality? What are your talents? Are you athletic or creative? Do you like to read? Have you seen the ocean? How about the mountains? Are you a realist or a romantic—like me? I love sunsets and soft music. What are your favorite colors? Have you lots of friends, or a few intimate ones? The list is endless!
My wish has always been for you to know at a young age that you were adopted, and that your parents love you dearly. Love has been my main desire for you, and I hope you know the greatest love of all. That love was expressed on the cross when Jesus died, carrying my sins and yours.
I had never planned on making myself known to you. Now that I've made that decision, I know it's the right one for me. I pray that it's the right one for you.
Is your name still Amy? Amy means beloved. That's what you've always been to me. You turned eighteen the other day; the age I was when I knew I couldn't care for both of us.
Over the years, thoughts of losing you could rip me apart. Always, those times came unexpectedly. For me, the only comfort I had was found in reading the Bible. God is in control, whether we think we've made major mistakes or not.
I remember seeing a towheaded, green-eyed girl of six. The expression in her eyes tore at my heart. She looked like a picture of me at that age. I wondered if it could’ve possibly been you.
At different times I've imagined you so many ways. Were you a tomboy who never wanted to change out of jeans? Or a little one who liked to swirl in wide, ruffled skirts until you were dizzy?
This spring you were really on my mind. Preparing for your last high school prom, saying good-bye to childish things, taking part in all those activities unique to high school seniors. And then graduation day. Oh, my dear Amy, I tried to picture you in cap and gown, but the tears got in the way.
Do you know what you're going to do with your life? Plans for the future should keep you from throwing it away. I imagine you are going on to college.
I think it important that we all have a goal in mind. One of mine right now is to meet you. I long to be a part of your future, at least so we can meet one another. I can't find you, but this letter enables you to find me, and maybe complete a puzzle that had a missing piece of your life.
Love,
Mom
You probably grew up thinking I didn't love you. I'm writing this letter to help you realize it was the best I could do for you at the time. I could only love you by saying good-bye.
I held you so briefly in my arms. With tears streaming down my cheeks, I handed you over to a stranger. I was already curious about your future, and what it would hold for you.
Were you cared for immediately? I've always wondered. The agency never told me if you had a home waiting, or if you had to wait for a home.
I was in the hospital for four days. It was four years before my parents spoke to me again. I pray that you have always been close to the couple you call Mom and Dad. Going through the separations that I did are traumatic.
Times are different now. The world seems so advanced. Children grow up before their time. In comparison, I was extremely young and naive.
Your father was young and handsome. He was also very intelligent. He wanted to be a lawyer. I don't know what he turned out to be. I moved away from that small town where you were born.
Our love was intense that sweet summer. We felt so alive! Our only awareness was of each other. All our senses were enhanced by the sharing. We gave no thought to the future, only of our time together. I hope you love like that someday. But I pray you're mature enough to handle the responsibility.
Your father forgot me his freshman year of college. I dropped out of my senior year of high school, during Christmas vacation, and moved in with an aunt. I later got my diploma through correspondence.
Many tears were shed that summer following your birth. I baby-sat for my young cousins and imagined your accomplishments. All your firsts—smile, tooth, word, steps.
That Christmas I hung an ornament for you on my tree. Sixteen more have been purchased with you in mind.
I moved to the coast and lived with a friend. We went to secretarial school together. Did you go to preschool? I wondered if you were there when I was learning to be the best secretary I could be.
When you were in kindergarten, I married a bank executive, and had to forget that fateful summer. He's been so good to me! He knew all about you before I consented to become his wife.
Did you grow up with brothers and sisters in the family you know? You have a brother and sister here. I plan to tell them about you. The twins are in sixth grade, so I expect that time will be soon. I hope you get to meet them.
Except for my loss of you, I am content. I enjoy being at home, doing domestic things. Of course, I keep busy volunteering at church and school. I lead an active social life, at church and because of my husband's business.
I've had so many questions . . . What color are your hair and eyes? Are you taller than me? What's your personality? What are your talents? Are you athletic or creative? Do you like to read? Have you seen the ocean? How about the mountains? Are you a realist or a romantic—like me? I love sunsets and soft music. What are your favorite colors? Have you lots of friends, or a few intimate ones? The list is endless!
My wish has always been for you to know at a young age that you were adopted, and that your parents love you dearly. Love has been my main desire for you, and I hope you know the greatest love of all. That love was expressed on the cross when Jesus died, carrying my sins and yours.
I had never planned on making myself known to you. Now that I've made that decision, I know it's the right one for me. I pray that it's the right one for you.
Is your name still Amy? Amy means beloved. That's what you've always been to me. You turned eighteen the other day; the age I was when I knew I couldn't care for both of us.
Over the years, thoughts of losing you could rip me apart. Always, those times came unexpectedly. For me, the only comfort I had was found in reading the Bible. God is in control, whether we think we've made major mistakes or not.
I remember seeing a towheaded, green-eyed girl of six. The expression in her eyes tore at my heart. She looked like a picture of me at that age. I wondered if it could’ve possibly been you.
At different times I've imagined you so many ways. Were you a tomboy who never wanted to change out of jeans? Or a little one who liked to swirl in wide, ruffled skirts until you were dizzy?
This spring you were really on my mind. Preparing for your last high school prom, saying good-bye to childish things, taking part in all those activities unique to high school seniors. And then graduation day. Oh, my dear Amy, I tried to picture you in cap and gown, but the tears got in the way.
Do you know what you're going to do with your life? Plans for the future should keep you from throwing it away. I imagine you are going on to college.
I think it important that we all have a goal in mind. One of mine right now is to meet you. I long to be a part of your future, at least so we can meet one another. I can't find you, but this letter enables you to find me, and maybe complete a puzzle that had a missing piece of your life.
Love,
Mom
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