A Poem: A Birthmother’s Christmas

This was e-mailed to me by a fellow birth mother. As we near Christmas, and my heart remains heavy, I thought some others might find some understanding and solace in these words. In fact, I know that from a post that Paragraphien just made, there are quite a few of us birth mothers who are on the same page this holiday season.

A Birthmother’s Christmas

It’s Christmas time, the gifts are wrapped,

And piled beneath the tree,

Yet every year there’s an absence,

That is only felt by me.

I prepare the table for the feast,

And bow my head in prayer,

I try my best to hide my grief,

For the child that is not there.

We raise our glasses for a toast,

To family and to friends,

But all that I am wishing for,

Is to hold you once again.

So amidst the Christmas joy,

Is an emptiness I bear,

An ever present heartache

For the child that is not there.

And when I see my children laugh,

With that twinkle in their eyes,

I cannot help but wonder,

If you think of me sometimes.

And when the day comes to an end,

No grief can quite compare,

To another Christmas yearning

For the child that is not there.

© 2003 Lisa J. Schlitt

Pardon me while I use these tissues to wipe a tear from my eye. (And then the snot from my nose as I have this continuous, awful cold.)

Christmas is hard. For so many different groups of people for so many different reasons. For me, as a birth mother, it is a huge reminder that the Munchkin is not with us. She isn’t laughing and opening presents with us on Christmas morning. We don’t get to watch her eyes light up. We don’t get to eat Christmas morning brunch together. It just isn’t a part of our reality. And that lack of presence is a part of our fully open adoption. It’s just the way that it is.

And will be. Forever.

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