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TaWanda's Womb

Birthing Stories II

By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)Published 2 years ago 3 min read
TaWanda's Womb
Photo by Jeferson Santu on Unsplash

The pipe was passed, what did I have to lose after social services took my babies, twice?

He was a good man, got in with the wrong crowd, hear?

I had nowhere to live~

He got time for drugs, he was set up by "friends", I was 18 then, pregnant with my third.

I had nowhere to live ~

The high isn't easy to shake. I had a few nights clean on somebody's sofa, I mean, I did what I had to - you know, to survive. Philly ain't pretty at night.

I had nowhere to live ~

I got in a shelter for women, saw a card about adoption. I thought, better than losing the next one into foster care, right? - Was I right? Damn.

I had nowhere to live ~

My belly was huge, I had never seen a doctor and some well meaning white lady came to meet me. She talked sweet, real refined. Just cause I was using doesn't mean I don't know what's good in people. She asked me questions, said I could change my mind, even after birthing you...but I didn't. I didn't change my mind.

I had nowhere to live ~

Photo by DICSON on Unsplash

I was clean that last month. The agency took care of me. I got food, clothes, even my own room. It felt good until you came closer. Could I do this? Could I let go of you? It's not like I had much choice. Mother's like me had babies taken away at birth. The social worker said that there might be a chance that my first two babies I could see, that is, if I got clean, got a place to live and a steady job - I might get them back. I knew I could not take care of three, especially if I couldn't take care of me.

The lady came in with a notebook of women, men, all colors, shapes and sizes; all wanting babies like you. I looked and looked. Then I saw her. Your mother to be. She had a graduation hat on, like those who have a degree from college wear. She was white, had freckles and reddish brown hair. Her husband was a light, chestnut brown, very handsome and I knew. I knew what I wanted for you.

I had nowhere to live ~

I birthed you at 2:12 a.m. under a steaming hot summer moon. They asked me if I wanted to hold you. I didn't. I couldn't. I said I wanted a closed adoption, no name, no contact. I had people who never knew about you and when my man got out of jail, well, I didn't plan on telling him neither. This was between me, you, and God, alright?

I had nowhere to live ~

Time passed, I got clean, got an apartment and my nursing assistant certificate. I was doing alright, except I thought of you every night. In wee hours, in pauses under the big oak tree outside the nursing home where I took my smoke break, looking out city bus windows as we passed the hospital where you entered this world, I felt you. When tears come to my eyes, I say I have allergies or it's my time of the month.

I had nowhere to live ~

Photo by Clay Banks on Unsplash

One night, when I slipped up into old ways, ( had a new man for awhile who pulled me into the pipe again), she called. She found me. It was your chosen mother. Your clean, fresh as sunshine sounding, mother. I was high, I think she knew it but she didn't say anything. I was scared something happened to you so I listened. She told me that she had sent photos of you, even letters about you to the adoption agency for me ever since I gave her you. I cried. My new man then asked, "who was that"? He had answered and knew she was white right away. I never picked up the photos or letters. I'm sorry.

I had nowhere to live ~

Decades passed and I got back with your Daddy, had two more babies and got your siblings back. We got a little house. We stayed clean, I told him about you. He wasn't mad. We looked for you on the internet and saw your picture on Facebook; you look just like me. All the others look different. You have my nose, my light skin, my smile. I can see you were raised good. I imagine you made her the happiest woman in the world. I will always feel you in me. I pray you understand.

I had nowhere to live ~

ProseFamilyFree Verseheartbreaksad poetry

About the Creator

ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)

~ American feminist living in Sweden ~ SHE/Her

AV

Find me: ‪@andreapolla63.bsky.social‬

FB: https://www.facebook.com/susanandreasimmonspolla

ST: https://rock63.substack.com/

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    Written by ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)