Bye Bye Baby

The last time I saw my daughter was in court, when they took her away from me. Again. I had really lost her long before – or maybe she was never meant to be mine.

I don’t know how the social worker managed to get me into the courtroom. I know it was against their many rules. But she did it anyway, thank God.

My baby girl was in a crisp, new dress and a bright pink sweater with pom-pom ties in the front. It looked hand-knit. Her strawberry hair was arranged in loose ringlets, held back with tiny barrettes. Someone had fussed over her to make her look pretty, and she was, with her china doll face and big, blue eyes. Her father’s eyes.

That bastard.

The woman holding her was pretty, too. With her dark hair and olive skin, she looked Italian. But I knew she was Russian, like me.

The man had a broad, open, face; handsome enough, with brown hair cropped short to contain the curls. He kept mopping his brow with a big, white handkerchief. He was a working man, not comfortable in a suit or a courtroom. He held a little blonde boy’s hand in his.

The perfect family – two parents, a boy and a girl. Or so people thought back then.

It was the best I could give her, my precious girl.

I never dreamed her father would leave me with a baby on the way. But he did. And he never looked back.

It broke my heart.

What a fool I had been, swept off my feet by a smooth-talking charmer in an air force uniform.

We met at a dance one Saturday night. There were other dances after that, moonlit walks and stolen moments, when he wasn’t on duty and I wasn’t at school or helping around the house and farm.

I knew he would be posted elsewhere within a year, so I wanted to make the most of whatever time we had. And secretly, I hoped he would take me with him. Away from my small-town life and the endless cycle of cooking, cleaning, school and chores.

I had no burning desire to be a nurse, or a teacher, or anything else, once I graduated high school. But I knew I wanted more. And I wanted him. At seventeen, he was my first real boyfriend (pickings were slim in my community) and my first love.

I found out about the baby just weeks before he was set to leave town.

He was surprised and not at all happy. He even accused me of trying to “trap” him.

I think that hurt me the most. So much for my romantic notions of being an air force wife, living life on the move with my dashing husband. Instead, I was caught, like a helpless creature in a cage.

My parents were shocked and ashamed. They bundled me off to the city to finish Grade 12 and have the baby out of sight of the neighbors and townspeople. Out of sight, out of mind.

Maybe I was a coward not to try and raise her myself. But I had no money, no job, and no husband. And my family had turned their backs on me. What could I offer a child? Times were different then.

All these years later, I can still see her being carried away from me in the courtroom, while I sat in the back and cried. Just like I’d cried when they carried her away from me in the hospital right after she was born. I wasn’t allowed to see her, much less hold her. They said she was a healthy girl and some lucky family would be happy to have her.

I had prayed for her to find a good home. And it seemed that she had. My punishment would be never to know for sure.

I remember staring at my baby girl’s face, as her new mother took her away.

“Have a good, happy, life, my little one,” I thought. “May God protect you and keep you safe. And please don’t think I didn’t want you. I gave you up because I loved you, not because I didn’t.”