My friend, Marianne, said “I’ve never thought much about adoption, but once I started reading, I was drawn into the story and couldn’t put it down.”

Marianne got me thinking. Maybe I should blog my book chapter by chapter and post it for free on social media sites. After all, writing it was never about making a lot of money. I’m no Stephen King. Maybe other people who’ve never thought about adoption would get interested in learning about my experience of the most hidden part, the first mother, of what’s called “the adoption triad (adoptive parents, adoptees, and birth parents). Nearly every time I bring up my book, I’ll Always Carry You: A Mother’s Story of Adoption Loss, Grief, and Healing, people assume I must be an adoptive parent.  What birth mother would broadcast her experience to the world?

Amber Lea Starfire said, “Memoir shapes life events into a story that communicates your truth to others.” Yes, communicating my truth. That’s what ultimately kept me writing away, whether I’d ever publish it or not. It started with putting words down on paper to pin down the turbulent emotions that felt like I’d gone temporarily insane when I searched for and re-discovered my lost son I’d given up to adoption in 1964. It turned into a deep dive into the truth of adoption then and now, plumbing the dark depths of secrets and lies, lifelong grief and trauma, and the irretrievable loss of original family – my own and millions of first mothers, adoptees, and other first family members.

Navigating the churning waters of early reunion while opening my eyes to the larger social, cultural, and financial forces underpinning the separation of up to six million mothers and their babies during the Baby Scoop Era of 1946 to 1973 felt at times like being hit with a tsunami, the waves of loss overwhelming me but ultimately washing away the heavy sorrow I’d carried unawares.

Somewhere in Texas in a dusty vault, there’s a birth certificate that says “Baby Boy Franklin born to Linda Louise Franklin.” Since my son’s original birth certificate is still hidden from him and me, I’ve never seen it. Now I don’t have to. I’m no longer hidden, made invisible. I’ve reclaimed my identity as the first/birth mother of my son.

I invite you to read for free about the journey I traveled to get here. I hope you enjoy it, and I look forward to hearing your comments.