Birth Story

A Beautiful Adoption



There was no secrecy. Nor shame. Nor scandal.

It was a Wednesday, I know, and my mom talks about a hurricane rolling through New York. Labor day weekend had just passed and The Grateful Dead were scheduled to play that evening at Madison Square Garden.

And I was born.


”Not flesh of my flesh, nor bone of my bone, but still miraculously my own; never forget for a single minute, you didn’t grow under my heart, but in it.” – Fleur Conkling Heyliger

The cross-stitch hung on my wall, but I didn’t need to see it to know its words, I had memorized them a long time ago. Mind you, I didn’t know their exact meaning, but I knew it had something to do with my parents’ love for me. There was not a moment that had gone by when I didn’t feel completely cherished, in fact. I did not feel a need to find my “real” parents. I already HAD my “real” parents.

I would ask my mom to relay the story of my birth often; I’ve always thought it was so magical and beautiful.

In her own words, then:

“Birth of an Angel”
By Maureen Anderson

We had spent just less than a year daring to dream until the day we actually got the phone call.

My niece was born on August 24th, and, though it was a happy event, the pain in my heart was unbearable. So many of my friends, and now even my younger sister, were relishing in the scary, yet miraculous and beautiful adventure through motherhood. Each month I shed silent tears when I realized I wasn’t pregnant. It was far worse, however, when I became pregnant, yet couldn’t hold on to it. I miscarried four times, then, even worse, had a still-born baby boy. We had been married for nearly 10 years at that point, but after innumerable disappointments, our family didn’t expand beyond us two. We just about gave up our dream.

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