One Life by Mary Ellenburg

****When it came time to dress for our discharge, I retrieved the box from the adoptive parents and carefully placed her arms through the holes of the pink cotton dress. It was the dress intended to be the backup in the event she soiled the fancier one. The plain cotton would be a more comfortable choice for an infant, without the frills and lace, which would undoubtedly be more abrasive against her tender skin. The nuns at the home had packed me clean maternity jeans and an oversized t-shirt. 

****The medicine for the milk made my breasts tender and swollen, and the excessive blood loss during delivery made me light-headed, allowing me to view my actions as a spectator rather than a participant, saddened by the events and feeling sorry for the girl.

****My body felt as though it was moving forward without going anywhere. Little did I know it would be like this for years, not knowing if and when this little girl would know about me and then waiting to see if she wanted to meet me again. 

****Then, something inside me shut off, and I was curious to know how much could be endured under this spell; it reminded me of the doctors in soap operas who would use a sharp object on the foot of the comatose patient to check for brain activity before pulling the plug. When would my heart feel again, and how bad would it be?

****In New York State, at the time, the birth mother had to physically hand her child over to the adoptive parents in the presence of two witnesses. Uncertain of the legal reason for this cruel ritual, it could only be explained to show that the birth mother was not under duress.    

****It was difficult to read the faces of the adoptive couple as we proceeded toward them. They looked concerned, excited, and worried. Once released from the wheelchair, my steps were slow and methodical. My baby was sleeping, and it made me sad to think she would not see me when she woke again.  

****“She likes her back rubbed when she falls asleep,” I said.

****The man who would be her father cried as I handed her to the woman who would be her mother. The man hugged me, and his unexpected gesture pierced my armor. It was clear at that moment that he’d be a good dad. The woman spoke a soft thank you. There was nothing left to say; they placed my baby in a car seat and drove off.

****It was over, and I watched until the car was out of my view as a chill seeped into my being. It felt like the threads of my body were unweaving, painfully close to the last one, which would unravel me completely. I tried to navigate through the emptiness. She was going to their home; she would grow up as their daughter. I stood there silently, waiting for answers, searching for my God.

A former teacher, Mary started as an aspiring singer/songwriter in Nashville and worked part-time at the Blue Bird Cafe. When living in Manhattan, she did stand-up comedy at Stand Up New York on Broadway and traveled with the Bud Light Ladies of Laugher. Finding the common link in writing, she received her MFA in creative writing at Queens University in Charlotte and continues to write at her home in Florida.

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