Pact, An Adoption Alliance - Personal Profiles

Personal Profiles

Gone Too Soon
by Mary Stephenson

This year's conference is dedicated to the memory of Karen McNamee, who placed her baby in an open adoption 10 years ago. Her family and that of the adoptive parents joined together to become a model of the wonderful extended family created by open adoption. Karen gladly shared her adoption story with all who knew her, and with her mother, gave endless hours of volunteer time in support of complete openness in adoption.

How our lives can change in the space of a decade. Ten years ago, my daughter was a 17-year-old who found herself in an "unintended pregnancy." Not the joyous event I had anticipated someday down the road, but a crisis! How would my daughter care for a child without even a high school diploma to her credit? Would she marry the father? Not likely, especially since he had denied paternity. Was it my place as grandma to jump into the breech and "make it all better"? That was an option with few merits.

But Karen began to focus on the most important person in this muddle: the baby. That she had been foolish, young, inexperienced and just downright stupid enough to allow herself to get pregnant, she acknowledged with an honesty that belied her years. What could she do to make sure that her child would have the opportunity to reach her full potential? I think I was the first to mention the word "adoption." Knowing nothing of the new trends in adoption practice, an open forum for all with no arbitrary secrets, I supposed that Karen's adoption would proceed along traditional lines. I am ashamed to admit that this is what I hoped would happen. Again, life takes strange turns. A friend whom I phoned for support and comfort clued me in about "open adoption," and when Karen discovered that she could become an active participant in the adoption process, she said, "If I'm going to do this, it's got to be open."

I am not an adoption professional, although I claim personal knowledge of the process. I have been more than willing over the years to sit on panels and attend workshops in order to help potential adoptive parents embrace, rather than fear, an honest open process. I was honored that the Independent Adoption Center chose to dedicate a conference to my daughter's memory and to include me in a round-table forum fielding questions from adoption counselors.

As I wandered around the conference hall trying to stem the tears that threatened to overwhelm me, I kept asking myself why my daughter had to die at age 27. She was so young, so honest and generous and good. I glanced at the program and noticed a workshop on grieving. Just what I needed to pull myself together and learn to cope, not just for the day but for all the months and years to come. The speaker, John James, co-author of The Grief Recovery Handbook, proved to be both dynamic and pragmatic. At times, I thought he was speaking directly to me. As I glanced around the room, I concluded there was more than a grain of truth to my perception, for what could he be saying to professional counselors that they did not already know? As a speaker at an adoption conference, why wasn't he focusing on the very specific grief that a birth mother feels when the baby to whom she has given birth goes home with the adoptive parents? Is grief generic, I wondered? As I grieve the death of my daughter, will I gain a better understanding of the pain she suffered so many years ago?

Ever since the conference, I have been thinking about the grief that hit my daughter like a jackhammer after her daughter was gone. The counselors at the adoption center had told us to expect it, but we had dismissed their advice. The adopting parents were perfect, the birth mother was strong and capable. Everyone likes everybody else, bonding together like Velcro to a shag rug. What could be more perfect? Well, not quite.

Adoption grief is unique. Everyone - except the birth mother - is gloriously happy. The adopting couple have a child to call their own. The professionals feel joy at the completion of a successful adoption. My husband and I were ecstatic at the prospect of our daughter reclaiming her life, whatever that was supposed to mean. Didn't we realize that nothing would ever be the same again? We took her on a short trip to help her "get over it." Getting over it did not come easily or quickly.

Ten years ago, open adoption was even more controversial than it is today. I don't know how or why Karen fell into the role of advocate for this new way of doing things. Did she make a conscious decision to become proactive for open adoption? Probably not. I remember her being asked to serve on a panel discussion. She responded with enthusiasm and people in turn responded to her. And so she was called again and again. Sharing her story with others helped bring closure and gave her the strength to come to terms with her loss. "Giving up my daughter for adoption was the hardest thing I ever did," she told a television reporter. "The hardest thing, but the best thing."

As the years passed, Karen remained in close contact with the adoptive family. But as is the case in most every family, the intense emotions that accompany the birth of a baby soften and dissipate in time. The role of birth mother became a part , not the central focus, of her life. We enjoyed birthdays, Christmas and outings together as a large extended family which included not only Karen, her husband, parents, brothers and sister, and her daughter's adoptive family but the family of another adopted daughter as well. Our common ground was the love we felt for two special little girls. Nothing else was necessary.

Karen continued to work on adoption workshops until finally the day arrived when she knew it was time to pass the torch to a new generation of birth mothers. "There are lots of birth mothers who need to do what I did," she said. "And I need to get on with my life. I've got so much to do - a husband, a house and a new career."

Sadly, Karen never got to realize all her dreams. Diagnosed with leukemia, she fought bravely through radiation, chemotherapy and a bone marrow transplant. She relapsed and died a year to the day from first diagnosis. Through it all, the woman who adopted her child so many years ago was at her side donating blood and platelets, offering love and encouragement.

At the conference, Karen was cited as a shining example of why adoptions must be open, fully open - with no half measures! What if the adoption had been closed? What if this child had one day gone on a search only to discover her birth mother had died? What unnecessary heartbreak. What a senseless waste. I keep coming back to a conversation Karen had with her daughter a few weeks before her death: "I'm glad you found my Mom for me," she said. "I'm glad I did too," Karen answered.