Cindy Knull

It was a cold February evening. I had just finished dinner and was sitting on the carpeted floor of my living room at my stepfather’s feet while he rubbed out the kinks in my shoulders. My mom was nearby in the leather recliner flipping through channels to find something good to watch. I suddenly felt a tightening in my abdomen but dismissed it as I had felt this come and go in the last few days. An hour later, the tightening began to hurt and was more consistent. I was four days past my due date. Alarm bells went off as the watch began to show a pattern every few minutes ticking off the discomfort—solid and precise. With an exaggerated rush of emotions, the whole house was suddenly alive because this was it. Excitement and heavy breathing all rushing in together as if no one had ever experienced this before…I realized it was all me. All me. All of it was going to be on me. The discomfort was growing and the terminology changed to pain. It hurt. It hurt like nothing my brain or imagination could’ve fathomed or had tried to fathom since the first day I saw the positive sign. In the car on the way to the hospital every bump or miniscule crack in the road became an epic sensation of discomfort. Lights burned brighter, sounds seemed as if screeching into my ears. Every nerve ending was firing and I felt like electricity jolted through me at every prick and prodding as the hospital did all of the necessary prep work.
I settled into my new surroundings of sterile smelling air, a bed that broke away transforming itself from comfort to a working table, stiff blankets meant to warm and cover. We made the necessary phone calls–my labor coach, the attorney, the couple. Waves of fear washed over me with every contraction. My brain was overloaded with all that had brought me to this moment. I thought about all the life prior to this day, the decisions, the behaviors, the hurt, the childhood. Everything that was inside me that I had lived through, ran from, or tried to hide from…brought me now to one screaming intense squeezing contraction after another. This human about to be born was going to be the catalyst for a new life, a ton of healing, and a gift unimaginable not only to me but to the couple standing by my bedside. And at 10:12 am on the morning of February 16th, 1990, weighing in at 7lbs and 3oz. my first child was born, a son. He was also to be the first child of the couple standing next to me, tears streaming down their faces. I hugged this little human and thought to myself, “How am I going to get through the next 18 years.”

I am a birthmother.

Can we talk? I mean really talk?
I’m scared to be so vulnerable. I’m scared to reveal what most people judge or have misconceptions about. Yes, I’m one of them. I’m one of THOSE girls. I mean most people praise the couple that adopts, while the birthmother is left to be misconstrued as someone to be pitied or labeled “Cold-hearted,” “Irresponsible,” “Impoverished.” Do you know how many times I’ve heard in random conversations, “How could anyone give their own flesh and blood away?” “I could never do something like that? How can they live with themselves?” Yes, it is unimaginable to think about. Especially if one has never been faced with that decision. But I’m not here to attack that attitude or break apart the misunderstanding. Maybe someday I will write a book about being a birthmother. But for now I would like to share the miracle of God’s faithfulness.

Faith is risk. I grew up in church. I knew right from wrong at an early age. I was someone who followed the rules–I color inside the lines. I am someone who is afraid of consequences. I think before I do. In my life I have led more by my head than I have with my heart. I am a logical thinker. I love facts. I have a very strong intuition and have a great ability to be objective about my own junk. But on some occasions…

Without going into details, the time that I found myself in what is known as a “crisis pregnancy” was a time of irrational behavior. I was not being very logical or fearful of consequences. I was running from pain. I was acting out. I had been struggling for some time with depression and anger. I had a lot of bitterness from wounds in my childhood and a relationship that was very controlling prior to the pregnancy. In other words I just wanted to do what I wanted to do to feel better. I didn’t know how to manage grief or express the anger I felt. So I tried to cover it up with a good time. I really think God was looking out for me in spite of myself. Suddenly, I found myself in a desperate situation. And my logical thinking took over. I took a good hard look at my life and knew that’s not how I wanted to continue living and intuitively I knew that I was not ready to parent based on that assessment. I knew that I had some healing that needed to take place. Thank God. So I made a very painful decision to place the baby for adoption.

The years go by. Life goes on. I could go into all the details of therapy and the psychological/emotional issues of working through post adoption issues…but that is for the book. J

In my adoption plan with the couple, we agreed on a semi-open adoption. Closed adoption was a thing of the past at this time as new choices opened up for not only the adopting parents and birthparents but also for the child. Of course, closed adoption is and will always be an option. But we, the couple and I, found that life would be better living it in a semi-open fashion. This meant that once a year I would receive a letter and pictures. And that is how we did it. This takes a tremendous amount of faith. I had to trust that they would honor our agreement, and yet I would have to be okay if they chose not to. They had the power. But my birthson’s mother was faithful to me…year after year, without fail. For 18 years, she stood by her promise to me. Words cannot express, and to her I am deeply grateful. Thank you, Robin. We did it!

My birthson’s 18th birthday came and went. And life went on for me. But always in the back of my mind, I was waiting. I knew that it could be any day. But 18 turned to 19. And 19 turned to 20. And 20 turned to 21. And life goes on. Now, two decades later, email and Facebook are a daily part of life for millions of people. Back then, in my wildest dreams, I never imagined that there would be such technology. And that it would play a part in the phone call that came to me on January 4th at 4:17 pm…a time as precise as his birth…I heard my birthson’s voice for the very first time. And he called me “mom.” His name is Jon.

As I struggled with finding the right words to speak, the years melted away and I found myself in a “suddenly” situation. Suddenly. Finally, after years of waiting and wondering and dreaming and imagining and praying…suddenly. We both choked on our emotions and planned to meet as soon as possible. Jon was living in Tulsa. My hometown. He grew up in Nebraska and had recently moved to Tulsa to live with his adopted dad. His adopted parents had divorced when he was two. But he was living in Tulsa. I was beside myself.

I planned to go home to Tulsa that following week. The days of anticipation nearly drove me insane, I did not sleep much as past and present collided. I got reflective and quiet. And for the first time, I was experiencing a real tangible reality of God’s faithfulness. I felt the inexpressible mind-blowing reality that I, in my choice to bear life…had not robbed God to show Himself faithful. All things work together for good. God remembered me. I have been deeply humbled. For before I was a girl taking a risk and trusting God, with no idea of how it would all turn out, it was a hard road. It was a road that not many take and it cost me a lot. But look, God in due season, returned it back to me. It has been a very profound and sacred time for me in my relationship with God these past two weeks. I’m still processing His amazing love for me in all this.

I rushed to Tulsa, arriving Wednesday evening. Jon and I had planned to meet on Saturday. I was struggling with how to do all of this appropriately. I set a meeting Friday evening with my counselor and mentor who walked me through this decision and post adoption grief counseling all those years ago. I needed to get some idea of how to do this. I had always imagined that there would be a facilitator or a middle-man putting it all together. But there wasn’t. It was just Jon and myself. Thursday, I called him in the evening. I had been lying around all day recovering from the long drive and catching my sister and niece up to date on what was about to happen. Our phone conversation was open but still felt strained, what DO you talk about?? I asked him if his dad was home and Jon told me he was gone for the night. Then Jon said, “Do you want to come over now?”

See, the thing is, it wasn’t formal. I kept thinking it needed to be formal or structured, you know…color inside the lines!! But Jon isn’t like that. He is free spirited and artistic and smart and expressive and he took the lead. And it’s all about communication. My heart raced as I asked, “Do you want me to come over now?” “YES.” Within 30 minutes I was knocking at his front door, trembling and nervous. He greeted me with a strong hug and a smile that lit up the room, he told me I looked just like the woman in his dream three days ago when he dreamed of this, he told me I was beautiful. I was overwhelmed. He was tall. He is tall. And his hair is brown and he speaks with a surfer hippy type drawl to his voice…and he’s showing me around the house but all I can do is watch him and study his movements and his gestures, all the way down to his hazel eyes and long eyelashes and I’m literally overcome with the inability to speak. And when he realizes I haven’t said a word, he stops and looks at me and says, “Aww, I’m just trying to impress you.” I am struck with how absolutely special and vulnerable and beautiful he is. I tell him with a great exhale that he does not need to impress me.

We spent every day together for the entire time I was in Tulsa. He met my sister and my niece. We went to lunch, we took pictures, we talked, we made dinner at my mother’s house, we laid around watching television with my niece, we listened to music…we laughed. We went out and watched a live band, we also went to a movie. We did normal things. Together. We did life. Like a family. The time together was inflected with moments of raw emotion and awestruck, and other times with comforting peace. And the missing piece to the puzzle of my life-story has been put back in place. Having to leave and come back to Ohio has been difficult. Integrating all of the parts will be a great work. I miss him.

There is no doubt that I am still in shock. I’m still processing the reality of this amazing season. I’m searching my heart in response to God’s faithfulness. I spent an amazing evening with my counselor, Chene’, who always has a good word and sound advice that I take to heart as gold. Chene’, it took almost 22 years…but we did it. I thank God for your faithfulness to all the women you walked this road with. Thank you.

For those whom I meant to contact while I was home but did not, I hope you understand.

Jon will meet my mom soon as she is working in Houston at this time. I hope to introduce him to my other sister who lives in Kansas. And this summer I will be bringing my little family to Tulsa to meet him. And we are going to do life. What an incredible blessing. God is faithful.

“For the vision is yet for an appointed time, but at the end it shall speak, and not lie: though it tarry, wait for it; because it will surely come, it will not tarry. “~Habakukk 2:3

Thank you, Father God. You walked this with me, you heard me in the night hour. You caught every single tear that fell. You taught me patience and longsuffering in this journey. You saw it all. And You answered my prayer. And I humbly bow before You in gratitude.

I know that I have left out numerous details, by choice. If you have questions, please send me a message and I’ll do my best to answer them. I’m sure I’ll be sharing much more as we integrate the parts. Thank you to all my friends who have seen this journey from beginning to end and loved me all the way through. Awesome, huh?

Then.

Now.