A Child is Born…
After the car accident I did my best to self destruct. Alcohol was my friend, it made me forget. So much so that I often went into blackouts and had no recollection of the events during my drinking. In hindsight, I truly was a lost soul. There was no forgiveness to be found other than getting drunk, and I forgot any moral upbringing that had been instilled. So called friends offered comfort. That comfort was alcohol and sex. I so desperately wanted love but had absolutely none for myself. It was no surprise when I found myself pregnant at 17. Because it was in the 60’s, and there was a lot of shame around illegitimate pregnancy, my folks whisked me off to live with my Aunt Grace for several months until I could go into the Florence Crittenton Home for unwed mothers in Shadyside.
While staying at my aunt’s, I would walk over to the home of her daughter, Eileen, during the day and visit. She was a young mother herself and I cherish the memories of the times I stayed with Grace and the many conversations I had with Eileen during my wait to go in to the home. I really did NOT want to give up my child, but, in those days, you did not keep your child if you were not married and my parents were adamant that they had raised 6 of their own and were not going to help me raise mine. I knew I was not capable of caring for a child by myself; the father was certainly not going to be involved, so, I did the next best thing, the only thing I could, and went along with my parents wishes to give the child up.
I entered the home at about 6 months. The other girls were great. We all made the best of our situation, followed the rules. Cleaning, cooking, laundry, etc. took up much of our time. Free time was spent learning to knit & crochet (why we made booties & hats I have no idea). I made myself a sweater. We could go out once a day with another girl, taking a walk down to Walnut Street. We most often went to a small shop for a soft drink, sit and smoke cigarettes like chimneys. It is comical when I think of it now, I am sure everyone knew we were the “girls from the home”. Either both my parents or just my mom would come down & take me out for a ride. It was never an easy visit. None of my younger siblings knew where I was, my older sister was in college. I know now that my folks loved me and made the decision because they thought it was best for me. At the time, I had no clue that my behavior was a reflection on them. The shame kept the secret.
As each girl got closer to her due date, and then took the walk across the street to Shadyside hospital, we would move from a room with many to a room with less, until we were the ones taking the walk. After each would deliver, we were allowed to go over to visit them in the hospital, always 2 by 2, and then they would come back to the home with the baby to spend a full day caring for the child until the adoptive parents showed up to take them away. One girl was allowed no visitors in the hospital and she never came back. She had changed her mind and had decided to keep her child. There was no way they would let us others speak with her then. We might change our mind too!
My day came and my son was born on July 18, 1968. I named him James Michael. My parents came to visit and I got hell. Mom walked in and caught me smoking. I told her to leave me alone, I had just given birth & if I wanted to smoke a cigarette I was going to! My dad asked me why I thought it necessary to name my son. I knew that his name would not stay that, but, I cared for him for 5 days, loved him the best I knew how, and there was no way I was going to see “Baby Boy” on that card at the end of his bassinet. His new parents came to get him. The nurse brought his going home clothes upstairs. I bathed him, dressed him & kissed him goodbye. A part of my heart went home with him. I returned to my hometown with instructions to “forget about it”, not to talk about it with my siblings since my 3 younger ones had not been told the truth of where I was those many months I was gone.
I applied for college. I had been tutored in the home while I was pregnant, so, I graduated high school. I left for college in January of ‘69, and picked up drinking where I had left off.
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