Two and a half years ago, my daughter's birth mother, Mia, and I sat down to negotiate issues with which neither of us had any previous knowledge or experience: how our two families would relate for the rest of our lives. It was an understandably emotional time, as our little girl was due to be born any minute. Each of us had ideas about what kind of contact we thought we'd want over the years, but I think our discussions were somewhat tempered by a need for protection on both our parts. Still, we came to an agreement with relative ease: I would provide letters and pictures four times a year and we would all get together when my daughter, Bryn, turned two.

In the initial stages of our relationship, a certain tentativeness continued. When Bryn was five weeks old, Mia asked to take her home for a day. I panicked and offered a compromise of a few hours with an intermediary nearby. Ultimately, the rendezvous didn't happen, and I was left with the feeling that I had won a battle I wasn't sure I should have.

As an adoptive parent, it's probably natural for me to try to understand the sensation of giving up one's child for adoption. But I find myself wondering about everything Mia feels. How does she feel when she reads the letters I send? Do I write enough? Too much? Too personal? Not personal enough? When I don't hear from her I tend to think that maybe what I'm sending her doesn't matter. Or sometimes I think it might matter so much that she can't respond to it. I wonder if the recent birth of another daughter has eased the pain of her letting me raise Bryn. Or has it made her miss Bryn all the more? Has the passage of time made the adoption easier or harder?

In a relationship based on only four contacts a year, it takes awhile to understand the impact we have on each other. Recently, after a death in my family, I missed one of our quarterly picture/letter contacts. Mia (very diplomatically) sent me a gift certificate for a series of photos at a national photo studio. Ah, I thought, what I send her does matter.

Not that I should have wondered, because what she does certainly has an impact on me.

It's an interesting phenomenon that the looser the reins in a relationship, the freer one feels to connect. That's certainly been true in my feelings toward Mia. Initially, she made regular phone contact with me but then slowly drifted away. I didn't mind the early connection, but was nonetheless fearful of her continued interest. Then, as her need for close contact waned, my desire for close contact grew, so that by the time Bryn turned two our desires had completely crossed each other: I couldn't wait for all of us to get together on Bryn's second birthday, but Mia no longer wanted the reunion. I was extremely disappointed.

I don't know that there's any other way we could have handled the structuring of our relationship at the beginning. At best, we could only guess at how we would feel in the coming years. If anything's clear at this point, it's that nothing is clear and our relationship will continue to evolve and grow.

If I could change anything in the last two and a half years, I would try to find a way around the early fear and possessiveness I felt. It served no purpose but to build a wall between my daughter and her birth family. If Mia had wanted Bryn back, my fear would have done nothing to prevent it nor would I have wanted it to.

The lesson I have learned is that we have an enormous impact on each other, not only in what we do but in what we don't do. It will be increasingly important, as my daughter grows, for me to keep the doors open and to let our relationship with Mia blossom in whatever colors it's meant to. I pray that she continues to be willing to do the same.

The Impact We Have On Each Other, Part 2:
(Through the eyes of Brynn's Birth Mother, Mia)

A message of love:

Almost three years ago, I was referred to Pact, An Adoption Alliance, an organization I have grown to love and respect even more today as part of my extended family. It will be three years on July 23rd, Bryn's third birthday. Please don't misunderstand. I wish I could have been there for her second birthday, Becca, but circumstances kept me away. Bryn has a little sister who is two now and a brother who is six that I am raising. Now when we are miles apart, I often think of Bryn and you. Bryn will live with my choices. I did what I felt was best for her.

In your article, Becca, you said: "If I could change anything in the last two and a half years, I would try to find a way around the early fear and possessiveness I felt." My only regret is not allowing my family to support me at that time but I hid my pregnancy from them. I would not have changed anything else. When I asked to take Bryn home for a day when she was five months old, that was to let her meet my family (who found out about her after the fact), allow them to say their good-byes and let Bryn move on with her life. The impact we have on each other will last a lifetime. We should be proud to know how blessed we are to have a lifetime to share a (very) open adoption.

Mia

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