Painful Memories of My First Lost Sheep

Painful Memories of My First Lost Sheep

Chapter 2

"Will you walk into my parlor?" said the spider to the fly--
"'Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy.
The way into my parlor is up a winding stair;
And I have many curious things, to show you when you're
there."

"Oh, no, no," said the little fly; "to ask me is in vain;
For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again."

"I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;
Will you not rest upon my little bed?" said the spider to the fly.
"There are pretty curtains drawn around; the sheets are fine and thin;
And if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in!"

"Oh, no, no," said the little fly; "for I've often heard it said,
They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your
bed!"

Said the cunning spider to the fly--"Dear friend, what can I do
To prove the warm affection I've always felt for you?"
I have within my pantry, good store of all that's nice;
I'm sure you're very welcome - will you please to take a
slice?

"Oh no, no," said the little fly; "kind sir, that cannot be:
I've heard what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to
see!"

"Sweet creature!" said the spider, "you're witty and you're wise;
How handsome are your gauzy wings; how brilliant are your eyes!
I have a little looking-glass upon my parlor shelf;
If you'd step in one moment, dear, you shall behold
yourself."

"I thank you, gentle sir," she said, "for what you're pleased to say,
And, bidding you good morning now, I'll call another
day."

The spider turned him round about, and went into his den,
For well he knew the silly fly would soon come back again;
So he wove a subtle web in a little corner sly,
And set his table ready, to dine upon the
fly.

Then he came out his door again, and merrily did sing--
"Come hither, hither, pretty fly, with the pearl and silver wing;
Your robes are green and purple--there's a crest upon your head!
Your eyes are like the diamond bright but mine are dull as
lead!"

Alas! alas! how very soon this silly little fly,
Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by.
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew;
Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, her green and purple
hue--

Thinking only of her crested head--poor foolish thing! At last,
Up jumped the cunning spider, and firmly held her fast!
He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den,
Within his little parlor--but she ne'er came out
again!

And now, dear little children, who may this story read,
To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you ne'er give heed;
Unto an evil counselor close heart, and ear and eye,
And take a lesson from this tale of the Spider and the
Fly.

-Mary Howitt -1829, The Spider and the Fly

I write this story as a cautionary tale and it is my hope that others will take heed and learn from my experience. Throughout my ordeal, it continually became evident that certain knowledge came too late to save or help me, and my only comfort comes from my resolve to pass this knowledge on to others who are in a position to benefit from it. For example, too late, I was the recipient of sage advise from a young mother whose own mother was a family court lawyer: "My mother was always very adamant to me that I should never give Children's Services any excuse to come into my life!"

I concur with this statement. But my warning is not just a matter of opening the doorway - it goes beyond this. Stay clear of the doorway least you be tempted to push it open even a crack. These people are well trained in their communication skills. They speak a smooth line and would have you believe they care about you and your situation and that they are there to help you. Do not believe this! This doorway does not lead to help and healing. It leads only to lies and lunacy which will gradually focus into darkness, deception and despair! Look elsewhere for help - anywhere else!

We live in a country where there are so few babies available for adoption or, if one believes the worst case scenarios, other fates unsavory to the mind. The rise in abortions and the acceptance of single parenthood has depleted the "baby market". As a result, babies and toddlers are at a premium and there are those who would use extreme deceiving methods to rip our children, especially those considered "cute" and/or "bright" from the arms of loving families who are then obliged to fight desperately against the system to retain them.

Naively I opened that door as I sought help for my daughter. She, who had been loved and cuddled and nourished from my breast for more than 3 years, was not bonding with her own baby. I was at a loss to know what to do for her. I, who was so maternal, could not fathom the absence of this feeling, so instinctive in me, yet seemingly so foreign to her. I thought Children's Services might help my daughter by directing her to parenting classes or some sort of counseling.

Three years earlier, my daughter's behavior, despite years of spotty government paid therapy, had become unbearable to the point that I removed her from my house. Soon after, she was diagnosed with clinical depression, and shortly after this she realized she was pregnant.

Immediately, she began making arrangements for a private adoption for her first child. This action broke my heart and I was helpless to respond. I was a single mother, a full-time university student, and unemployed. I felt I had no options. From an employment point of view, I was finishing up a useless bachelor's degree but I was heading into my first year of a promising education degree that demanded more than the usual 5 credits during the first year.

I recall, one day, leaving my Canadian Studies class during student presentations. Other classes that demanded my attention by conversation and note taking were bearable, but this class, that demanded only idle listening, was tormenting my soul! I rarely cry but as I set there, not able to listen, the sting of resisted tears flooded my vision as the thoughts of my daughter giving up this child, my grandchild, washed over me with an overwhelming sense of helplessness that threatened to drown me. Quickly I gathered my books and quietly I walked the hallway to the end where I pushed open the door - and when the door swung shut - I sunk to the floor with my back pressed up against my stairwell locker quietly releasing a torrent of tears.

Despite my sadness, I was proud of my daughter. This was not easy for her, yet, somehow, she found the strength she needed to research and arrange a private adoption. For a month, before her child's birth my daughter was hospitalized and I visited her daily. I was there when this beautiful fair-haired, blue-eyed boy came into the world and we, my daughter and I, enjoyed a generous amount of time with this precious child before my daughter called in the adopting parents to admire their new son in a partially curtained cubicle at the end of the room. My daughter, conscious of the importance of bonding, had arranged to have the adopting parents waiting in the hallway during the birth. It was difficult to catch glimpses of this bonding process but my daughter was so brave and I was extremely proud of her.

Later that day, wanting this child to benefit from the wholesome nourishment of the first milk, colostrum, my daughter attempted to pump her breasts. Though she gallantly struggled, and I tried to assist as best I could, the colostrum resisted. Eventually she gave up. Shortly after, one of my friends came to take pictures of this precious bundle and when my grandchild went to the nursery for the night, I followed to feed him his first bottle.

As I cradled him gently in my arms, feeding him his bottle and as I paced the floor and rocked him slowly, I thought of him growing into childhood and later manhood. I remember thinking, “I will remember and cherish this memory feeding you your first bottle - but you will not. I love you and you will not remember this love. You are loved, you are my family, and it pains my heart to have you adopted out. ”

Burdened by complications, my daughter remained hospitalized for another week, and throughout this time, at my daughter's request, the baby stayed with her in her room. Meanwhile, the adopting parents made daily visits with the baby at the hospital nursery, and according to my daughter, they would stop in to see her as well. By chance, I was never there when they came, but that suited me fine because I wanted to spend every precious minute I could with this child who would be gone all too soon.

I cannot even begin to describe to you the feeling that runs through your soul knowing that this child, flesh of your flesh, will only be with be with you for a short time. Every minute ticks by - can one compare it to someone waiting on death row? You have no power and no options and the only way to keep sane is to submit to your fate.

Both my daughter and I went to the gift store at the hospital, separately, to buy a gift for the baby. I bought for him a stuffed toy elephant, as big as he was and included a card that stated that, like an elephant, I would never forget him. My daughter bought a musical stuffed clown that played “her song”, a song she told me she hummed for the child all the time. To her, it was a miracle to find this same song in a toy being sold in the small hospital gift shop.

Apparently, she had hummed this song to the child without thought of the words, that accompanied it, but as she chatted to me about this song and the good fortune at finding this musical toy, the realization of the words suddenly struck her:

You are my Sunshine, my only Sunshine
You make me happy when skies are gray
You’ll never know dear, how much I love you,
Please don’t take my Sunshine away

Many were the tearstained days I spent with my daughter in that hospital. . .

Just before my daughter was discharged from the hospital, the adopting parents came to take this child away for good. I remember my daughter had it all planned. Not wanting to be left alone in the empty room that she had shared with her baby for more than a week, she was packed and ready to go before the adopting family came.

Though the baby and the doula, the birthing coach, were with us as we waited, I remember the room feeling so empty as we anticipated the removal of this precious child. In only a few short minutes my grandson would be gone and the room echoed the emptiness of my heart.

It was so civilized but so sad. The "handing over ceremony" I called it. We all met, me, my daughter, and the adoptive parents, and socialized, while my grandson was passed from arm to loving arm. Pictures were taken of the birth family with the baby and the adopting family with the baby. I guess the congeniality ended there because I do not recall any pictures being taken of all of us together. The photos of the reddened tear stained faces of my daughter and I are witness to the sadness of this event. Then, at a certain point, determined by my daughter, without a word, with quiet dignity and resolve, she walked across the room and put her child into the arms of the adopting mother, and I knew the visit had come to an end. And my heart ached.

Then a stranger, the lawyer for the adopting family, walked into the room and oversaw the signing of legal documents. I never knew his name. I never asked his name. I remember looking at this man and thinking how foreign he seemed. A lawyer. What did I know of lawyers, this important man in his serious dark suit with his important papers, signing away my grandson, without emotion - like some business deal? And I remember thinking, I would never see him again, as it was also not likely that I would see my grandson again, at least not while he was growing up.

With the final pictures taken, and the papers signed, it was time for this ceremony to end. The adopting mother dressed my precious grandchild in a delicately knit outfit and tenderly strapped him into a portable car seat. Good-bys were said all around, and then, this tiny procession, this new family, accompanied by their lawyer, walked out the door and down the wide shiny-floored hospital hallway.

They were gone and suddenly the room was empty - very empty - just as my daughter had predicted. Then, just as the heaviness of this reality was gripping our hearts, my daughter instructed us to grab our things and we immediately vacated the room. This had to be one of the most difficult moments in my life, but I was proud of my daughter - her foresight in planning for this moment, despite the unimaginable aching of her heart, made this painful experience more tolerable. And we walked out of that room leaving everything behind - or so I thought.

But fate has a strange way of shaking you out of your smug notions of life. In a few short years, I would become immersed in the world of lawyers, and unbeknownst to me, I would cross paths with this same lawyer again in a most significant way.

Before you were conceived I wanted you.
Before you were born I loved you.
Before you were here an hour I would die for you
This is the miracle of life.
- Maureen Hawkins