Keep Your Heart Open and Willing

I was a teenage girl in the 70’s. It was an odd time to be a teenage girl as we were bookended by the sexual revolution of the 60’s and the sexual free for all of the 80’s. Cultural norms were being challenged and changed daily, and it was hard to know up from down and right from wrong. We just did not know what we were supposed to do in so many ways.

On the one hand, we were encouraged to “explore our sexuality” but at the same time, we were held to high standards of being the “responsible one” if anything “happened.” In the 70’s, we also started seeing a lot of young girls taking on the responsibility of being single moms as opposed to giving children up for adoption. However, getting pregnant and not being married was still considered scandalous.

I grew up with a girl named Lindy who lived about two blocks away from me. She was a year ahead of me in school, and we really did not hang out in the same circles, but we were friendly enough. As children, we were in the same Girl Scout troop. So, I would call her a friend, but not a close one. There certainly no bad feelings between us. Just two boats on the same lake so to speak.

In high school, we were both theatre and band geeks. She was a townie, and I was a military brat, so there was that dynamic. And our high school was huge; there were almost 700 in my class alone. So there really was not any real connection except in passing.

One thing I strongly recall was that Lindy was a teeny tiny little thing. I do not think she ever got much bigger than about five feet tall and maybe 90 lbs. Teeny tiny little thing.

During her senior year in high school, Lindy got pregnant. It can happen to the best of us. In fact, I remember thinking, “there, but for the grace of God, go I.” Her pregnancy really hit a chord in me. By the time the end of the school year came, she was huge. She was so tiny, there was just nowhere for that baby to go!

I remember seeing her walk around the campus just looking so damn uncomfortable because she was just so tiny. And I kept it to myself, but I worried about her and the baby. I know it was incredibly hard on her. I never reached out to her and offered comfort, because I was your typical self-centered teenage girl and, like I said, we did not travel in the same circles. But my heart hurt for her. I frequently thought about her and what she was going through.

I recall one afternoon, she was directing the senior play which I had a part in, and she was sitting in the theatre with that huge belly, and she was just gently rubbing her tummy with a faraway look in her eye. I could just feel all the love and sadness she felt for that baby, and it just made my heart clench. Like I said, “there, but for the grace of God, go I.”

At the end of the semester, a few of us theatre geeks approached Lindy’s mother about having a baby shower for her. Her mother asked us not to, because Lindy had decided to give the baby up for adoption. I totally understood the reasoning, but the image of her sadly rubbing her belly stuck with me. The maternal instinct was so strong in this tiny girl. That image stuck with me.

And it stuck with me. And stuck with me. And stuck with me. For some reason, I became emotionally invested from a distance. Every time I saw a pregnant teenager for decades after that, I thought of Lindy and her baby and wondered how they both they were doing. I thought of them a lot in my 20’s, 30’s and 40’s. I never knew why I cared so much, but I did. Lindy and I were not close. But I knew she loved that baby. And for some reason, I could never shake thoughts of Lindy or her baby.

About seven years ago (2007), I got a random text message on Facebook from this young man named David. He said he found my name on a high school reunion site (I never joined one, so that was weird) and then he asked if I had graduated in 1977 or 1978 from the high school I graduated from, and if I knew anyone who had had a baby and given it up. My mind immediately went to Lindy, even though there were other pregnant girls in my high school. Some of whom had given up their babies also. But I just knew in my heart that this was Lindy’s child.

So, I said, “Maybe.” and then followed up with “Are you tall?” because both Lindy and the “baby Daddy” were on the smaller side.

David laughed and said, “Uh, no.”

So, I asked him to send me a picture, and it was so obvious this child was Lindy’s. Like I said, I grew up not far from the family and he was clearly part of that clan. Chills ran down my arms and I felt my eyes tear up.

He then told me that his birth mother had left a letter for him after she gave him up and he sent me a copy of it. It was just the most heart wrenching letter I ever read with her telling him how much she loved him, and that she felt he would be better with a family. And that she would always love him. I remember, she started the letter out “Dear Child,” and it just tore me into pieces.

My heart just fell to the floor. I knew I was talking to that little baby I had thought about so much over the years. He was about 36 at the time. He said he was born in October 1978. The timing was right.

So, I told him, that yes, I thought I might know who is mother was, but it might take me some time to find her. He sent me his email, phone number, and I started researching.

Unfortunately, Lindy was not on Facebook, her family had subsequently moved, her best friend (who for some reason I remembered her name) had no idea where she was, but they thought she went to Albuquerque after the baby had been born.

At this point, I was determined and on a mission. It felt so fated. It sounds arrogant, but I truly felt God’s hand was in this and that I was being called to do this.

I Googled her name, checked Facebook, all the normal first steps. And then I decided to go ahead and invest a few dollars in one of the people search sites, and I found her! She had gotten married, and her last name had changed. I then Googled her with the new name and discovered she was working for the State. And lo and behold, there was a work email! It took less than three hours to find her!

I quickly typed out and sent her an email reintroducing myself (we had not had any contact in almost 40 years and would have no reason to) and telling her who I was and asking her if October 1978 meant anything to her or if she was curious about anything that might have happened in October 1978 or anyone related to that time.

I did not get a response until the next day when her boss contacted me and told me she had recently retired and wanted to know if I wanted him to forward the email to her. For some reason, this man trusted me and believed me when I told him I was an old friend from high school with important personal information. I think on some level he understood that this was a “big deal.” I asked him to please forward the email to her.

Within 15 minutes, Lindy called me. At first, she did not remember me, but after a few minutes she realized who I was. She was extremely emotional, and I gave her David’s information. It turns out that the birth had taken a horrible toll on her and she had no other children; although she did get married and had several stepchildren.

Anyway, to make a long story short, she met her son, and they now have a wonderful and beautiful relationship. They see each other regularly, and Lindy now has the son she had given up. They were both open to the reunion, and it is loving relationship. David was a musician (as were all of Lindy’s family), had married, had a child and a stepchild he had just adopted. Lindy now had her family back. For the record, David’s adoptive family were supportive also.

I was so happy to be able to play a small part in the reunion of these two beautiful people, but as soon as it was done, I no longer had worries or strong feelings about either of them. It was so weird. I was happy for them, but I was no longer was invested. It was like, my job was done. Every year, I get a Christmas card from Lindy thanking me, and to be honest, it makes me feel a little awkward because I was just the facilitator. This was God’s work.

I do not know why I was chosen to do this, but from the start it always felt like I was being guided by something much bigger than me. The whole process seemed to have a divine touch involved. Again, I was just a facilitator. And I was so honored. I am not relating this story to massage my ego. I just want to share something that moved me so much.

Keep your heart open always. You never know when you will be called.