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My name is Brandy, and I am 22. I live in Winfield WV, with the man I love, Dave, our roommate Shannon, and our version of a child-Oakley, our cat. Just so you all know, if you couldn’t tell already, my best friend is, and always will be my, Mom-Robin. Dave and my family tied for second. My family is the most important thing in my life, after losing my Dad in August, I don’t like to take any chances by not telling them how much I love them. I like reading mystery novels, or anything that catches my eye. I love to scrapbook; currently working on one for myself of Phoebe’s first year. I like to cook when I have the time, and last but not least, I love chatting with my family, friends and Bmom-buds at all hours of the night.
Brandy's story
I was a typical 20-year old girl… Never home, always with friends; and I was in a partying phase. I looked forward to the weekends so that I could hang out, do some drinking and have some fun. I thought life was great until the weekend after St. Patrick’s Day 2003. I was partying with what I thought was a good friend. Heather and I had been drinking all day, having a good time it seemed. We started early in the day, and ended up at the bar later that night. Heather knew the owner of the bar, so we didn’t need ID’s… Only one of us there was over 21. We met other friends there, had quite a few drinks, did some dancing, sang karaoke, and had a lot of laughs. When the bar called last call, we headed back to her apartment. When we got there, it was me, Heather and one of her guy friends that met us there. He offered to make us some drinks, and of course, we accepted. Well, I drank the whole glass and seemed to get even more sloshed than I already was. More people came by, a group of guys that she knew, and me being the self-conscious type, felt uncomfortable and really started to feel the liquor, so I excused myself to her bedroom to lay down. Now, the rest is a blur. I woke up in the worst pain I had ever felt. I opened my eyes to find myself face to face with a man. My wrists were being held tightly and I could feel the tears on my cheeks. I remember being in and out of it, and the pain, I remember screaming and begging him to stop. I came to as a door shut. I got up and all I could feel was pain and fear. I tried to find my clothes, and ran downstairs. Heather was passed out on the couch, but no one else was there. I grabbed my keys and ran. I got halfway home, and stopped at a rest area to calm myself down. I went in and I had blood all over my jeans. When I did get home, I threw the clothes in the washer and took a long, hot shower. I found bite marks on the insides of my legs, bruises everywhere, on my wrists, my neck, and my arms. I went to bed crying. The next day, I wore a turtle neck to cover the bruises so my Mom didn’t find out. I was so embarrassed. She always warned me to be careful with who I hang out with. I went back to Heather’s house and asked 101 questions, who were they, where did they live, did she know them personally? She maintained that she didn’t know them and didn’t know where to find them. That was the last time I talked to her. I was too scared to go to the cops because I WAS underage, and drinking… I didn’t know if I had been drugged, or what. I was so lost. Too scared to tell my Mom or anyone else, I pretended that it didn’t happen. The bruises eventually went away, the scars got lighter, and I quit partying. Three months went by, and I was on the road to healing. I had gotten my period normal for the first three months after the rape. Then, on the fourth month, it didn’t come at all. Not on the fifth month either. I got scared, I went to a very close friend of mine, and told her what happened, and how scared I was. We went to Rite Aid and got a pregnancy test. I took it in the bathroom, and it came back positive. We bought a second one-it too, came back positive; my heart sank. I cried the whole way back to her apartment, over and over saying that I couldn’t hurt my family like this. We talked about abortion-she offered to help me pay for it. We went to the clinic, and I couldn’t get out of the car. I just couldn’t do it. My heart wouldn’t let me. My only choice was to tell my family, and that scared me more than anyone would ever realize. I waited until one weekend when I was home with my Mom and we were lounging on the couch watching a Lifetime story about a girl who was raped… And told her that I needed to talk to her. It seems like I blurted it out, which I may have, I don’t remember. Her first reaction was shock… Then came doubt… We had a rough couple of days- they were full of tension, and moments where we didn’t know what to say to each other. It was then that I decided I would turn to someone for help. I turned to the Yellow Pages, and looked for an adoption agency. I called the number, and explained my situation. I got support from a stranger on the other end of the line, she was understanding, caring, and she gave me hope for the life that was forming inside of me. Things moved quickly after that. They sent me a package with forms to fill out on family history, information on me, and told me to set up my first doctors appointment. I went alone to meet with a mid-wife, and explained my situation, and my interest in adoption for my child. She had a sister that placed her daughter for adoption, and she soothed my fears. It was then that I heard my baby’s heart beat. In the weeks before, I had started to feel movement, but hearing her heartbeat pulled at my own heart. They told me that I was 28 weeks along. We made an appointment for my first ultrasound and started my prenatal care. The day came that my Mom told my Dad about my pregnancy. He was- to say the least- outraged. We had some words, and we didn’t speak for a while. Everyone knows how stubborn men can be, especially with their baby girls. It broke my heart that he was acting the way he was, but shock tends to make people react differently. I don’t know how long it was before he called and told my Mom that he wanted to talk to me. I was afraid he was saying goodbye. When he got on the phone, the first thing he said was that he loved me with all of his heart. He supported my decision to give my child a better life by way of adoption. In the weeks afterward, he would call and ask about how I was feeling. When I got the package with Erin and Jeff’s bio in it, something clicked. They felt right. They already had one adopted son. They were educators, travelers, they came from a big family (like me), they were perfect. I let Mom read the bio, and she felt the same way, I read it to my Dad over the phone (he worked in Florida, we lived in West Virginia) and he cried, he said they sounded wonderful. I started out slow talking to Erin and Jeff, first through emails, and then phone calls. Slowly, we let the rest of my family know. I got support from every end of the spectrum, whichever path I chose, I had support. My Mom started going to appointments with me, she heard the heartbeat, and even went to my ultrasound. She even saw my belly for the first time, she got all teary eyed, so did I. The ultrasound said that it was a healthy baby girl. Erin, Jeff and I named her together. Phoebe Nichole. Phoebe meant Goddess of the Moon, and Nichole is my middle name, so she would always carry a part of me with her. Erin and Jeff flew in to meet me on November 17, 2003 at the mall by the hospital Phoebe would be born. We sat in the food court, and talked a bit. On the phone, Jeff and I had an ongoing joke about RC Cola and Moon Pies, both cracking jokes at the country life that surrounds me here. I brought him both. They brought me a journal to record my thoughts. My Mom and I had set up an ultrasound for that day, and surprised Erin and Jeff with it. I wanted it to be special, I wanted them to be a part of that too. The look on their faces was priceless. The next month went quite quickly. I went for an ultrasound on December 17, and said that she had grown to 9 lbs 5 oz, and they had to induce me. I went in the next night. We called Jeff and Erin and let them know, and they drove to meet me. We had agreed that my Mom and sister Shelly would be in the room, and that I would call them when things settled down. They were in a hotel about a mile away. On December 20, 2003 at 2:28 pm Sweet Phoebe Nichole graced us with her presence ( after many hours of waiting and three good pushes. ) I cried when I heard her cry, so did my mom and my sister. My other sister Rose, was on the phone, and we called my dad, who couldn’t make it in, but wanted to know details anyway. And then we called Jeff and Erin, who heard her cry, and waited to hear the news. She was 8 lbs, 6 oz, and 21.5 inches long. After all of the commotion, they took Phoebe to the nursery, and my Mom and sister left to go get me something to eat… Liquid diets are horrible, real food was needed, badly. They moved me to a private room, and my Dad called. He was an emotional man anyway, but he was a mess. He said that when he first held me, there was no way he could have ever given me up, and never should have expected me to do that. It meant a lot for him to say that, and I explained to him that my decision was made, and it was in the best interest of Phoebe- my mental state was just not in the right shape to raise her, the way she deserved to be raised. When Mom and Shelly came back, we walked to the nursery and saw Phoebe, they had a little bow in her hair. My nurse caught me, ( I wasn’t supposed to be out of bed yet) and told me that it was okay to shower. I got so excited. They brought Phoebe to the room, and Mom, Shelly, and I took pictures, and gushed over her. She was beautiful, but I’m biased. Shelly had to head back to Maryland and get back to her kids, and her job, so we kissed goodbye, and I walked her to her car. When I got back, Jeff and Erin were on the phone. I asked them if they would like to come up and see Phoebe. They jumped on the offer. We spent about two hours talking, and taking turns holding her. We talked about the little gifts she had gotten already, a frog from Aunt Shelly, a prayer bunny-blanket from Aunt Rose, and a quilt my Mom had made for her. We said our goodbye’s and agreed to meet the next day. I lost it when they left, I cried so hard. The looks on their faces, they were so proud, so grateful. My Mom and I talked until I calmed down, we talked a lot over the next couple of days. The next morning, when I woke up, Mom had already gotten Phoebe from the nursery. We changed her clothes and took pictures… Lots of pictures. Erin and Jeff stopped by and we made it a short visit, they fed Phoebe and went to get some lunch. I had a lot of phone calls from my family. My mid-wife came in and said that I was going to be released, and asked if that was okay. I knew that if I was released, I wouldn’t see her until the day we signed the relinquishment papers, so I decided to stay another night with her. Erin and Jeff came by later that night, and we made plans to meet after we signed the relinquishment papers at their hotel for our goodbyes. The hardest part was being released from the hospital. I chose to walk down, pushing the baby crib with Phoebe in it. Erin and Jeff were waiting in the lobby. I walked over to them, already crying, and picked Phoebe up. I kissed her, told her I loved her, and placed her in Erin’s arms. I told them I loved them, and Jeff hugged me and said that they loved me too. I cried, turned to my Mom, who held me up, and we walked through those doors. The same doors I had walked through only 5 days before with a pregnant belly. I walked out with empty arms. I cried the whole way home, so did my Mom. She kept telling me it was going to be okay, and I told her that I knew it would, she was in great hands, but it didn’t make the pain stop. When I went into the lawyers office to sign, my Mom held my hand. She made sure that I was positive in my decision, and vowed to stand by me no matter what. My lawyer too, was very understanding. They were signed on December 23, and I walked out of that office knowing that I had given Phoebe a life, and a great one at that. We met with Erin, Jeff and Phoebe at their hotel, and spent about an hour with them, honestly gabbing about nothing. I held Phoebe, and she slept. We took a few more pictures, and gave our hugs and kisses goodbye. I left there with weak knees, but a strong heart. Throughout Phoebe’s first year, I received pictures and updates of her monthly. I also received occasional emails in between to let me know that they were on their way. Changes in the adoption plan were inevitable, and now that Phoebe is a year old, I will receive pictures every four months. I look forward to them. In every picture I get, she is happy, smiling, laughing, playing with her older brother. She’s beautiful. I am free to send letters or even gifts whenever I like. I have a semi-open adoption, with visitation when she is older, and ready. I’m okay with that. It gives me time to sort out the details so that when I tell her about my life, it will be in order. I do not regret my decision at all. I have given her life, and a great one at that. I will always be a part of her. I sent a scrapbook with her when she was born; it had my life from my birth to hers. Erin and Jeff will tell her about me, and show her the things I send as she gets older. I’m not saying that this is a fairy tale. Being a birthmother is hard. I still cry, I still wake up thinking that I’ve felt her kick. I’ve had problems in my adoption plan, but she will know who I am, and those little problems will work out. I keep a journal of my thoughts and feelings. I plan on giving them to her when we meet, so that she can see the pain, the joy, the suffering, the smiles and the tears that I have endured throughout this. I love her with all of my heart and soul, and not a day goes by that I don’t think of her and think of the day that she will be in my arms again.
Pictures
Brandy is a contributing
author for the BirthMom Buds Bulletin.
Thanks for taking
the time to read my story!
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About
Brandy
