Within days, a FedEx package crashes against my door.
Inside is the story of “Sonya,” a twenty-five year old with two kids already. An immigrant from a middle-eastern country, she is divorced and works at a fast-food restaurant. She cannot not care for another child because she has no family to help her, she writes.
I instruct the lawyer to show our booklet to Sonya ASAP. All weekend I keep picking up her photo, which shows a dark-eyed woman posing with a handsome African-American man, her baby girl’s father.
Our local attorney says Christine wants to spend more time with us; we arrange another dinner.
The day before our rendezvous, our out-of-state lawyer calls to say Sonya has chosen us! She gives me Sonya’s cell phone number.
Sonya is walking to work, and I can hear the cars rushing by. We talk for about ten minutes. “Well,” she says, “I’ll call the lawyer tomorrow and tell him I’ve made my final decision.”
We call off dinner with Christine and ponder this stunning development. Chosen. Us. Finally.
A few weeks later we spend the weekend with Sonya. She is smart and funny with a survivor’s instinct. Her toddler daughter is adorable. Her son lives with his father in another state. She gives me sonogram photos.
But the baby is still hers.
Anxiety After Birth
After the baby’s birth two days before Thanksgiving, Sonya doesn’t want to put her down even to get some sleep. “She’s perfect,” she says over and over.
Florida law allows a mother to surrender her baby for adoption up to forty-eight hours after birth. Jason and I pace in the hospital waiting room while Sonya meets with the lawyer, a court reporter, and a witness.
We were told the signing of papers will take only fifteen minutes, but thirty minutes has passed. We can barely breathe.
Finally, the court reporter emerges. She whispers in my ear: “Happy Thanksgiving, Mommy.”
I put my head in my hands and release all those pent up tears.
Inside the hospital room Sonya and I shared for the past two days, Sonya cries as she dresses my daughter.
