Roses from Ashes, Part 3

Twenty four years ago, this past Christmas, one of my sisters told our family that she was pregnant. She was sixteen years old. Over the next six months, two memories stand out most in my mind, the first being my mother's grief. My tender mother spend whole days and nights in broken tears--for the sudden maturity facing her daughter's young body, for the public response that would not always be understanding , for the private heartbreak of a daughter whose pregnancy came without the support of a marriage relationship. Over time, though, I think her tears sprang from suffering the pain of more bitter truth: she was too ill after raising her own seven children to parent this precious grandchild, and her pregnant daughter was not ready to be a mother. Her grandchild would need to be given to more prepared and ready family. This child would not be hers.

The second memory is of my sister's devotion to her baby's well-being throughout her pregancy. She ate carefully, exercised moderately and took her vitamins. She got enough sleep. She had regular checkups with a good obstetrician. Though her body was young, she gave her baby every advantage any woman could offer, and she took no risks. She also glowed with love and tenderness. My son, Seth, just a toddler at the time, loved his Aunt Cherilyn with a new kind of attachment that could only be explained by her soft radiance. Whenever we were together, they were inseparable. She also took care of her own needs. She finished her school work and graduated from high school with her class. I was very, very proud of my smart, capable, and wise sister.

When the baby was born, a beautiful girl with lots of dark hair and unforgettable eyes, my mother visited the hospital often and held her for hours. A new thought emerged: could someone else in the family keep her? I had waited almost four years for my first baby, and it didn't look like a second child was coming any faster. This precious child, with her tiny hands and perfect face, could join my family! LDS Social Services advised against it; the child's identity would be complicated and attachments could be troubling for her. Emotions swirled as we discussed her future. Through all the discussion, though, Cherilyn was steady and her decision never wavered. The family selected for adoption would receive her. Cherilyn knew exactly what was right.

These memories are on my mind because a few days ago my sister's daughter found her. At the time of her birth, LDS Services arranged closed adoptions, and it wasn't possible for a reunion until after the child's eighteenth birthday. Cherilyn gave contact information a few years ago, so that if her daughter wished to locate her, such a reunion would be possible. And now a reunion is happening. The daughter sent an email, which has led to more communication, and after almost 24 years of wondering--joy.

The specifics of this daughter's story are not mine to tell. It is enough to say that she is good and happy, and forever grateful for a young mother's recognition of her inability to provide a stable family. I hope we get to share her a little bit. She loves music and the gospel and writes like we do. She might be interested to know that her birth mother's mother has a song in the church hymnal and her family includes a long history of poets, writers, musicians and artists. Her baby has beautiful dark hair and unforgettable eyes, just like all the girls in our family. My daughter, Rachel, is nearly her age (yes, I did become pregnant again soon) and would love a cousin with so many similar interests. But the future is as tender as the past, and it must be written with steady, careful hands. We will wait and see.

God is in the details. Again, roses spring from ashes.