M
y kids knew something was up the minute I took a phone call during dinner and failed to return for three hours. After twenty-five years of wondering and praying, that longawaited call finally came. To be frank, I can barely even remember what we said. How do you fit twenty-five years of unanswered questions into one conversation? Having learned that she lived less than twenty-five minutes from my home, we made immediate plans to reunite, the sooner the better. I emerged from the phone call with a very heady feeling and a date to meet her the next evening.
My husband knew about Nicole from our first date. I had a very well-developed sense of what I wanted in a life-mate. I knew I would spend the rest of my life with him and felt the need to share with him the story of Nicole. I told him with the hope that she would eventually rejoin my life. I wanted him to know that she would also be joining his.
I had gotten pregnant at the age of sixteen, after having been the victim of what is now called date rape. Nicole’s father was nineteen at the time, and I broke up with him immediately after he forced himself on me. My family fortuitously moved shortly thereafter. Having had sporadic menstrual cycles, I wasn’t concerned with the missed periods. I must have attributed the baby’s kicking to gas. Being a healthy teenager, I carried her entirely inside, never showing until a month and a half before her birth.
It was Christmas Eve, after an argument with my mom, when she looked at me in a very serious manner and asked if I was pregnant. I was indignant and vehemently denied the possibility. It did give me plenty of food for thought, and a week later, I asked her to take me to the doctor. I’ll never forget her face as I casually asked the question. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, mustering up enough courage to stop the denial and face the facts.
Upon learning that I was indeed pregnant and due within thirty to forty-five days, my parents rallied around me and assured me that they would support whatever decision I made. It wasn’t a hard decision to make, since I really had no bond yet with the baby. I chose to place the baby for adoption.
In those days, if the baby was to be placed for adoption, the mother was not allowed to see the child after delivery. Neither was any other family member, but the hospital staff didn’t know my mom. She managed to sneak into the nursery every day of my stay and get as many looks at Nicole as she could steal. As we were leaving the hospital, my mom reminded my dad that this would be his last opportunity to take a look at Nicole. He had not joined my mom on any of her stealthy trips to the nursery. The social workers were scheduled to pick Nicole up from the nursery that day.
Dad unlocked the doors of the car, got us all settled, was about to drive off, then said, “Wait, I’ll be right back.” We waited, and on his return he simply said, “Kathy, she’s beautiful.”
I believe it was the hand of God ensuring I never had the opportunity to emotionally bond with the baby growing inside of me. When Nicole was two weeks old, we met at the Social Services office, where I was to spend time with her in a contrived living room setting. This meeting was to ensure that I still wanted to give her up for adoption. They brought her to me and left me there, alone with her, for fifteen minutes. That was a long fifteen minutes. I was a very young woman and terribly frightened I might drop her. I do remember thinking she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, but I knew I couldn’t keep her.
We finalized the paperwork, the adoption process was initiated, and as far as we knew, she went to a family in Richmond, Virginia. I returned to school, finished out the year, and we moved at the end of the year. I went on to graduate from college and gained a commission as a naval officer. It was there that I met my husband. We married three months after meeting each other, nineteen years ago.
We went on to have two children of our own. Throughout the years, not a single day went by that I didn’t think about Nicole, and pray that she had a good, happy and healthy life. On her eighteenth birthday, I put a letter in her adoption file which detailed how to contact me in the event she ever came looking. My husband and parents were very supportive of this.
When Nicole decided to search for me, my letter made it very easy. The longawaited phone call had finally come, and my husband shared with me the excitement of the prospect of finally meeting my daughter. The day of the reunion, we sat our boys down and explained the situation. They were wonderfully supportive about it, and asked some frank questions, which we answered very honestly. Excited at the prospect of actually having a sister, they wished me well, gave me big kisses and sent me on my way to my reunion.
Nicole and I met outside the church after my choir rehearsal. I will never forget watching her climb out of her Mazda RX7 and just keep going up, up, up. She was tall, she was blond and she was gorgeous. We very slowly hugged each other with the gentleness afforded only the most precious, fragile treasures in your life. The rest of the evening was spent in a cozy restaurant down the street. The waitress was observant enough to realize that something very special was going on, and she prudently left us alone.
That night, Nicole told me that if she were to be limited to saying only one thing, she would thank me from the bottom of her heart. “Thank you for having me, for giving me up, and for welcoming me back into your life so warmly and openly.”
After twenty-five years, I felt as though a tremendous weight had been lifted, and I remember feeling as though there was simply nothing that could beat the joy I felt at finally knowing she was safe, healthy and had grown up with a very loving family. We went on to spend time together each week. She got to know her new brothers, and she very bravely accompanied me to many outings with our friends, getting to know all the people who are special in my life, as I met all those who were special in hers.
My husband took particular pleasure in our reunion since Nicole is almost a mirror image of what I looked like at her age. He loves to go out with us, feeling as though he has the best of both worlds, me at my current age, and me at the age we got married. Even now, more than two years after the reunion, he marvels at the fact that we have the same mouth, smile and laugh.
I don’t know if I can ever adequately express the gratitude I owe to her parents for having given her such a wonderful upbringing. They are really two very special people, and I am deeply indebted to them. They welcomed me and my family into their lives with the same open arms that welcomed Nicole. The card her mom gave me for Mother’s Day that year said it all: “I truly believe children are gifts from God, on loan, for us to raise to become independent and assets to society. Ever since we adopted Nicole, you have been in my thoughts - each February 17, but especially on every Mother’s Day. So, Happy Mother’s Day, not only have you found a daughter, but a best friend.” And to her, I also say thank you.
Kathy N. Jublou
Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues, but the parent of all the others.
- Cicero