Letter to a Birth Mother: Found on a Stoop on Canal Street

I’m an avid reader of MyBrownBaby.com so I’m not sure how I missed the multiple articles about the owner being adopted. Anyhoo … she wrote a great piece about her story of being found on Canal Street in NYC, ending up in an orphanage, being found by her parents four days later and growing up as part of a wonderful family.

Please read the whole article here.

The woman who carried me in her belly for nine months easily could have been a teenager, frightened by the prospects of having to tell her parents that she was sexually active and with child—a child that she could not reasonably raise on her own. She could have been a young mother, hands already too full with the duty of raising a grip of kids she could barely feed and clothe and house back in the late 60s, when meaningful work and decent pay never seemed to come easy to women, especially black ones. She could have been raped and impregnated by a stranger—or maybe someone she knew. Someone she thought she loved and who was supposed to love her. She could have gotten pregnant in a lustful tryst with a man who was not her significant other—her belly full of the evidence of her infidelity. She could have been many things. Or none of these at all.

In my mind, though, I like to think of my birth mother as selfless. After all, she could have easily given birth to me in secret, ashamed and scared and in deep denial—a pain so searing that she saw no other way out but to take my life. Or she could have found herself on a table in the backroom of an illegal abortion clinic, desperate for a way to end my life to save her own.

She has chosen not to search for her biological family. I kinda hope her mom reads this, smiles and feels good about her decision.



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