[RavenSong]

Like JustPeachy, I didn't go to court -- I signed the surrender and relinquishment papers at the county adoption agency. And like everyone else here, neither of my parents (heck, I didn't even know where my dad was!) accompanied me that day.

I gave birth to my baby on a Monday morning. We were supposed to both be discharged that Wednesday, but I started running a super high fever, and they kept me until Friday morning. (They discharged my son on Wednesday, but for some reason, the powers that be didn't think it important that I be informed about that -- I thought he was still in the nursery and didn't discover what had happened until I obtained our medical records 17 years later.) Anyhoo, I was discharged at 9am, and my mom came to pick me up and dropped me off at her house...she immediately returned to work. I called my juvenile probation officer (yes folks...I was one of "those" kids, a chronic runaway...or as those in the system referred to us, a "throwaway kid".) I told her that I wanted to sign the papers immediately, so my son could be placed ASAP into his new home. She picked me up on her lunch hour and drove me to the agency.

I remember sitting in the stupid waiting room, wondering why the walls were painted the same color as the walls in juvenile hall. I remember wondering why the receptionist wouldn't look me in the eye, why she kept giving me sideway glances. I remember the caseworker calling me into her office, and my P.O. asking me if I wanted her to go with me...I told her no because I was too embarrassed for her to know that I really, really needed someone's support, someone's affection. I wish she hadn't asked me first...I wish she had just gone in there with me.

The caseworker escorted me into her office (the same office that I would enter years later when reuniting with my son.) And then she said she had to go round up witnesses and get the department's attorney. I was sitting on one of those metal folding chairs, I remember that much. And then about six or seven people filed in the room and just stood there while the caseworker read out loud the legal language of the surrender and relinquishment forms. To be honest, I don't think I heard a single word she said. I doubt that I really understood the legal terminology, but I remember the caseworker asking me if I understood it and saying yes. I remember feeling like an insect under inspection as I looked around the room. No one would maintain eye contact with me...not one person in that room ever gave me as much as a smile or any sense of warmth. It was just business as usual to them, I guess.

I remember signing the forms with my full name...and thinking how I hated being referred to by both first and middle names because I was only called both names when I was in deep trouble with my mom and about to be physically punished. For some reason, it seemed to take me forever to sign my name -- I can still remember the feel of the pen in my hand as I slowly scrawled my signature across the forms. And then all the witnesses signed the papers, attesting that I had not been coerced into signing.

The caseworker stood up, shook my hand, and gave me a copy of the forms. I walked out to the waiting room, nodded at my P.O., and told her I wanted to get the heck out of there. We got into her car, and she drove me back to my mom's empty house. I remember sitting down in the living room and then....nothing. I do remember feeling this blanket of numbness come down over me, very much like the same numbness I would feel a few years later after being raped and beaten by three men. Looking back on it, I think I was in a state of shock both times. As I recall, my mother never said a word to me after she came home from work...nobody said a word to me. Nobody would talk to me about my baby...and I wanted so much to talk about him...I needed to talk about him. I needed someone to tell me that he was real, that I was real.

I don't have many memories at all for the next six months or so. I do remember, though, always being aware of how old my baby was, of counting the days and hours. I don't think that the counting stopped until he was about 5 years old.

The last time I ever spoke with the caseworker was around the time my son turned six months old. I called her, asking if everything was okay, wanting to make sure his adoption was finalized. The caseworker was not happy that I called her...she sounded scared for some reason. She told me she didn't know if the adoption had been finalized yet, but that she was sure everything was fine. She then told me that I should get on with my life and forget...as if.

Some days I feel like I'm frozen in time, back in that stupid waiting room...waiting, waiting, waiting. I remember counting down the minutes that Friday afternoon in March 1972...five more minutes and I'm still his mother, four more minutes and he's still my baby, three more minutes and we still are mother and child --well, you get the picture. And Janey -- there was one of those stupid industrial clocks in the waiting room, just like you saw. I remember sitting there, watching the second hand go around and around the clock. I think those clocks should be outlawed...