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by Sharon Fieker Cummins
I placed my daughter for adoption in August of 1969. The social worker told me to go on with my life— like the adoption didn’t happen. I did just that and didn’t discuss it with anyone for 25 years. I hemorrhaged after the birth and almost didn’t make it. Although one niece tried to get me to talk about it, I told her not to ever mention it again, as I didn’t want to talk about it.
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 by Jean Widner
From deep inside the womb, I know both love and sadness. They ripple through my blood, my bones, and intertwine to create the essence of me. |
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