I signed the papers in a hospital room, a few days after giving birth. The papers that forever changed my life. The papers that stripped my motherhood and made me a birthmother. The relinquishment papers – that word (relinquishment) alone sounds so taunting and dooming.

It was a Sunday. In my mind, I remember it being rainy and dark and gloomy outside. But I honestly don’t remember if it really was rainy outside or just in my heart.

It was the last day of my hospital stay. I went home shortly after signing the papers. I had showered and squeezed into pre-pregnancy jeans.

Signing my rights away took all of ten minutes. The adoptive parent’s attorney was there and “my” attorney, someone I’d only met a few minutes early presided over the signing. The second attorney’s wife was there as a witness. And a social worker from the hospital was also present, that was hospital policy. Oddly, she turned out to be the mother of one of my high school friends. At first, I was really embarrassed and asked if there was any one else that could sign but it being the weekend, she was the one on call. In the end though, having her there was comforting.

The second attorney read lots of things off the papers to me. Words like “relinquish” and “termination of parental rights” will forever linger in my mind.
“Do you understand?” must have been asked a million times. “Sign here and here and once more, right there.” That was it – done – I signed away my rights to raising Charlie.

I remember crying of course. And hearing those words no one wants to hear at that moment in their life, “you did the right thing.”

Charlie wasn’t in the room when I signed. I remember a nurse bringing him in when I was done.

I don’t remember much after that. I think my mind, like the mind of many other birthmother’s, has blocked out the harshest parts of the day.