It’s 6:15 am and since the house will be bustling in an hour, and it’s still nice and quiet, I thought I’d sit down and tell my niece I love her. I miss her more with each passing day as I wait to hear a voice that I may never hear again. I remember exactly her little tone, she was so warm with us, it was like she could sense something was very much happening but she of course couldn’t grasp it.

It’s like there’s always a place set for her at the table, every year her stocking goes near the fireplace, on her birthday we pray and have cake and release balloons, holidays have never been the same since this all happened, daily life has never been the same either.

She doesn’t know what relation we have, who we are, where she really belongs, and who she really belongs to. One day she will, until then we wait. Wait, wait, and wait, and wait. I can’t believe how many years we have survived thus far. Each day, we say, ‘ thank God we’re one day closer .’ And that is an honest fact. We comfort each other and talk each down from the ledge.

I’m greatly anticipating the time when we’re all together, I know I’ll be so on top of the world. We’ll all breathe a sigh of relief when we finally receive our miracle. My faith is unwavering, my hope is insurmountable.

I love my niece with all my heart, with all my being. So does her mommy, her grandparents, her cousins, uncles, and most definitely her baby brother and sister. So many family and friends completely in love with her. The seed has been planted, and when this love comes to fruition, it is going to be the greatest feeling in the world. We’re loving her from afar because right now that’s all we can do.

So before my happily busy day begins, before I start managing the millions of things I do with love, passion, pride, and honor, this moment is all for my niece. A moment to say ‘ Auntie loves you, babygirl ….’

Written by: Jessica DelBalzo

After years of tireless organizing, lobbying, and raising awareness, natural mothers whose children were forcibly adopted away from them decades ago are finally beginning to receive the acknowledgement and apologies they deserve. However, this week’s news articles state that unethical adoption practices occurred “as recently as 1987.” Having been involved in reproductive rights and adoption-related activism for the past 15 years, I can say with absolute certainty that coercion and adoption still go hand in hand in the United States.

Thanks to the advent of accessible birth control and abortion, and the lessening stigma against single parenthood, the sheer number of infant adoptions has decreased since the 1970s. Nevertheless, the demand for babies remains high, and the wait to adopt a newborn is often very long. People who earn a living facilitating adoptions have considerable motivation to do whatever it takes to convince parents to surrender their babies. Would-be adopters pursuing a private adoption are equally motivated to do the same. Factor in the religious conservatives who purport to save babies by adopting them away from their families and into Christian homes, and pregnant women today are hardly better off than their mothers and grandmothers before them.

Though many of the old tactics used to procure babies from unwilling mothers have been abandoned, the new methods employed by crisis pregnancy centers, adoption agencies, and prospective adopters are hardly more ethical than the ones used during the recognized era of forced adoptions. From conception to birth, here are the top five ways in which socially vulnerable women are pressured toward surrender.

#1: Misleading Crisis Pregnancy Centers promote adoption.

At the outset, a young woman who fears she is pregnant may be tricked into visiting a CPC for confirmation. These centers often advertise deceptively and frequently position themselves near colleges or universities and women’s health clinics in the hope that unsuspecting women will come to them for free pregnancy tests and anti-abortion counseling. Often associated with adoption agencies and almost always religious in affiliation, CPCs counsel low-income women with statistically inaccurate information about abortion and birth control, while using deceptively simple language to promote adoption. My local CPC, the Friendship Center for New Beginnings in Flemington, NJ, describes parenting as “very challenging” while stating that adoption is a “loving decision” made by “over 50,000 women” in America per year. Other centers appear to follow the same protocol in their attempt to make adoption sound popular and appealing.

#2: Loaded language sets the stage for surrender.

Adoption terminology is carefully crafted to present a very specific image to expectant parents and adopters alike. One controversial term popular among adoption workers is “birthmother” (and any other use of the “birth-” prefix in describing family members). Mothers who were separated from their children decades ago have written extensively about the slur-like nature of this terminology. Historically, the term was crafted by social workers to replace the phrase “natural mother,” which was commonly used but disliked by prospective adopters. Mothers who have lost their children more recently allege that “the b-word” was used as a tool to distance them from their motherhood before they ever gave birth. They say that being called a birthmother while still pregnant made it seem as though adoption were a forgone conclusion rather than one of several options.

#3: Mothers are given a false sense of control in open adoption.

Women who express a desire to remain involved in their children’s lives are assured that they can have open adoptions with letters, phone calls, and visits as their children grow. Adoption agencies promise them that they can choose the amount of contact they have with their child, giving expectant parents a false sense of control. While it’s true that women may say how much contact they desire while planning to surrender, it is absolutely not true that they have any long-term control over the situation. Upon finalization of the adoption, the adopters have all the power. Even the few states that purport to enforce open adoption agreements for children adopted as infants absolutely will not overturn an adoption because the adopters have refused to follow through on the contact they promised. In the past five years, I have personally received countless emails and phone calls from mothers who were coerced into surrendering their children to open adoptions, only to be exiled shortly after finalization.

#4: Modern-day maternity homes recall The Girls Who Went Away.

Women who were forced into adoptions decades ago recount how they were isolated from their families and friends, verbally and physically abused, and otherwise mistreated and manipulated while interred in maternity homes. Although most of these facilities closed following the advent of legal abortion and increasing acceptance toward single parenting, recent years have seen a resurgence in both state run and private maternity homes. Predominantly religious in nature, private institutions seem to focus on the antiquated notion that because an unmarried young woman has become pregnant, she requires “treatment” for what is perceived as a mental illness or deficiency. Contact with family members and friends is strictly limited – often forbidden – and women living in these homes are not permitted to leave without a chaperone. Many are directly affiliated with adoption agencies, and these often make it clear that a resident who refuses to surrender will have to find new housing accommodations. Isolated from the outside world, required to learn and parrot religious concepts of shame and sin, and directed by case workers who are invested in adoption, the potential for coercion is limitless.

#5: Guilt and manipulation infiltrate the delivery room.

As open adoptions encourage expectant mothers to meet with prospective adopters and make plans to surrender their infants to specific couples before birth, maternity wards have become battlegrounds for women who want to keep their babies. Although pre-birth agreements between parents and adopters are not legally binding, many new mothers report feeling pressured to hand over their babies as promised even when their instincts say otherwise. In some cases, they feel guilty for having spent months getting to know the adopters, accepting financial assistance from them, and making plans to consent to adoption. They give birth while the couple waits – sometimes in the delivery room and sometimes just outside – with the expectation that the baby will be adopted. A young mother with few resources, exhausted from labor, and facing a moral conflict between her maternal instincts and her previous promises, is in no position to offer informed consent to an adoption. In Australia, where infant adoption is neither profitable nor encouraged, such a situation would be viewed as wildly inappropriate and coercive. It is.

While circumstances have changed since the first era of forced adoptions, the institution is still plagued by ethical issues surrounding consent and coercion. As conservatives move to limit access to abortion, deny women birth control, defund Medicaid and family services, and declare that single parenthood is child abuse, the United States is barely a step away from a new Baby Scoop Era. Women simply cannot afford to pretend that adoption coercion ended in the 80s. Tactics may have changed, but the results are the same. Generations from now, this era will be as much a black mark on our history as the last.

You know, this whole time that I’ve had to deal with this enormous thing, I’ve been really patient. I’ve made it a point to pause and pray when I feel like I just can’t go any further. It’s always only about my niece and you’d be surprised how often that happens. I miss my niece so immensely it’s hard to even breathe.

To add insult to injury, I’ve heard our family, name by name, being talked about, made out to be awful, looked at like the bad guys. Funny how we were none of those things until this happened.

I have seen my closest loves, each, one by one, weep and come undone before my eyes. Seeing them hurt from such a deep place is absolute torture. Our lives, once so bright, when dim.

If I could see Lupita now, after all this tornado that she left behind, I don’t know what I would even say to her. Considering that the last time I saw her she said ‘ setting up one adoption was enough ‘ , I think honestly at this point I wouldn’t be able to not say my piece. I’d have to walk away from her and not look back. Her husband, the same thing. I would love to catch him off-guard and face-to-face.

You have to keep in mind the part that everyone played. We knew them, they were our neighbors for many years. These were people we trusted. We broke bread with them, we were welcome in each other’s homes.

We were completely blindsided that these smiling faces betrayed us beyond explanation and the fact that all of us have had to just take it is enough to make me roll my eyes and sigh with disbelief. We’ve tried to do the right things in this really wrong situation, and credit should be given to us for not going on a rampage.

Think about it, what would you do if something like this happened to you?

How would you contain yourself?

How would you maintain?

How do you keep going?

Some days you have to peel yourself out of bed, some days you’re thousands of miles away, and still can’t escape the emotional anguish that losing a child brings.

Most first reactions I hear is ‘ I’d kill them.’ But really how do you do that? How do you risk facing that kind of judgment from God, never mind the courts. You can’t even say a swear word because that makes you an unstable monster.

We can’t laugh, because then that means ‘ this isn’t affecting us.’

We can’t cry because that makes us ‘ bad people.’

We’ve been picked apart under the microscope, then the telescope as we’re watched from a distance by everyone that wants to make sure this thing stays nice and quiet. As if the details of this secret adoption won’t eventually come out. Sooner or later, my niece is going to start asking questions.

This thing with the now infamous balloons has shaken up things once again. I’ve been making calls to lawyers and sending emails. I’ve prepared packets for officials. I’m writing to the congressman about adoption reform. I wonder how long all this will take before someone even gets back to me because it has been another three months. Well, ten years and five months to be precise.

The point is I know they’re talking about us and I know I’ve made my niece’s ‘ handlers ‘ very uncomfortable. They’re likely and typically scrambling for any loophole that suits them like they always have. Like that fuse that takes a minute to burn then finally explodes, so shall this adoption unfold. I’m anxious for when things will begin to change and I’m even more anxious to have a relationship with my niece. The truth being silenced is terribly draining and very disturbing.

Shame on all those that are getting in the way of our family being a family; at the end of the day, everything comes back. Everything that was done to us will come back to them all one-by-one because they’re not exempt from judgment.

So for those who ‘ think we’re crazy ‘ and those passing their hypocritical judgment upon us, please give us a break. We have been through hell, trapped in a prison of despair, and we’re doing our best to survive this ….

When you long to melt your love over someone but technicalities and paperwork keep you from doing so, what exactly happens to that love, and where exactly does it go?….

Does it reside in the most protected place in your heart?

Does it exist only in your thoughts and memories?

Will that love find a way to come to you in your wishes and dreams?

Is that love always with you no matter where you are or what you’re doing?

If that love ever seems to be fading, do you pull it back into your guarded space?

Do the memories you’re most fond of derail your train of thought in a mere instant?

What do you do with all the love you want to get out?

What do you do with everything you feel?

Where do you focus that euphoric energy of true love if the person you adore can’t be in your life just yet to accept it?

Quite literally, when the love overflows, where does it go? ….

For me, the best part of writing besides hitting the print button, is the release of the heaviness of carrying around these details. Once its written, it’s on record, it’s explained, it’s addressed, it’s debated. It is no longer just a thought rolling around in my mind.

Once I think it out and write it out, it feels like at least that little part is put to rest. It is one less point to obsess about. When I cross it off my list, I don’t think about it anymore. One less negative thing makes room for many more positive things. When it’s finally out, I can think straight.

Well, the same thing goes for this complaint I was just recently working on. It is addressed to the Supreme Court Justices of Nevada. I feel the documentation I will enclose to accompany the complaint will speak for itself, so I was very matter-of-fact, as to not dance around the issues. I respectfully got to the point, and I feel relieved that our case will be brought to light whether or not anyone wants to deal with it.

So like the other information I want my niece to have, I am also including this complaint because it’s important that she has it ….

********************************************************

Dated:   March 5, 2015

Dear Justice _______ ,

I am writing this letter of complaint addressed to the Supreme Court

Justices of Nevada since ten years of constant complaints to the

Elliot County Courthouse have been blatantly ignored.

Our family alleges that in late 2004, Lupita Stamos, a court clerk

for the Justice Court, did in fact facilitate and profit

from the adoption of my niece while on the clock, from her home,

through doctor’s appointments, meeting with Adoption

Alliance ( Adoption Alliance lost their license to practice less

than a year after our complaint, for reasons they are not willing

to disclose. ), as well as a few meetings with her lawyer friend

that handled the paperwork that pushed this secret adoption

through in 28 days. She also received engraved Tiffany & Co. jewelry,

plane tickets, fancy dinners, and who knows what else from the

adoptive couple. We sent complaints to the judge whom was her boss,

as well as the district attorneys and didn’t even receive a call back.

Ms. Stamos referred the investigating officer to her lawyer and

that was the end of that.

I spoke with the Elliot County Sheriff’s Office recently and I was

advised to call the new District Attorney to ask him

to reexamine our complaint. It’s no surprise to me that I didn’t

receive any sort of response. We have made complaints to

the Public Integrity Unit of the Attorney General’s Office,

Senator Feinstein, Adoption Alliance, the Nevada Attorney

General Catherine Cortez Masto, the FBI of Reno, as well as

countless phone calls and two police reports with Elliot County.

I was advised by each and every one of those offices/officials that

it is an internal case, therefore it needs to be investigated internally.

Obviously, Elliot County wants to just wish this situation away, as

they continue to ignore our complaints. When our attorney filed the

petition to set aside the adoption, I didn’t understand then why all

this wasn’t thoroughly addressed, and ten years later, there is

no closure. I asked Elliot County point blank, if there was no

issue, then acknowledge what Lupita has done and stand behind her.

There are so many red flags regarding this adoption, too many to

list in an introductory letter, but I’m hoping that after all this time,

not to mention what this has done to my sister, her daughter and

our family, those involved will finally be held accountable.

I have enclosed a copy of the original police reports, our family’s

letter of complaint, the petition to set aside the adoption, and the

complaint to the Public Integrity Unit. If you need further information

or if you could offer some kind of advice or instruction, feel free to

contact me.

I thank you for your time and I do anxiously await your response.

Whenever I write, I get into the zone. I don’t like to be interrupted because it’s like stopping a speeding train. I write when I absolutely have something to say. I don’t ever schedule a time to write, I just write it when I feel it.

Since I have made several serene places for me to sit down and create, a sign was necessary so that I would be given the privacy that I need. (Since I’m always in charge of every thing and every one.)

Decorated with the help of a few of my students, this door-hanger is now hung wherever it is I choose to write. Although this case is horribly ugly, I’m grateful for the many flakes and flashes of beauty I have seen and been given along the way.

I am ever-so-thankful for the many people who have loved me and helped me get through this. I appreciate them for the time and space they give me to contemplate, cry, and create ….

It takes a special kind of evil in a person that laughs at another person’s heartbreak. Especially this kind. The kind that has it’s very own category; loss of a child.

Not only did we get thrust into a life-altering ‘thing’ but we’ve had to maintain our composure, which I frankly think we deserve a medal for at this point.

We’ve literally had to explain why we laughed, why we’ve cried…. all the while dealing with individuals that there isn’t a word awful enough to describe. But for the sake of painting an exact picture, think smug.

One by one, the people parading against my family and I shot us looks of death followed by a ‘ we have her ‘ smile.

I mean really, isn’t it enough that we were torn from each other, do we really deserve the ‘ F-U ‘ look? Not only were we breaking down to cry, we did it while under the microscope, looked at like how dare we fight for her. The looks they gave us, that smirk, smug, and intentional. It made me want to go berserk. Even when I think about it today I have to center myself, it irks me tremendously.

Empathy, the failsafe thing that makes you think twice before you hurt someone, none of these people have it. It is significantly missing.

It would have made Lupita not sell a baby away for profit in secret, it would have made that couple not receive a baby under such circumstances. It’s that thing that is supposed to keep you from hurting another person with such force that it leaves nothing but destruction behind it.

No matter what they say, these people don’t have it. In fact after we went through this case I actually said that I’d never encountered such a ruthless, heartless bunch. The attorneys, ever-so-Hollywood, I just rolled my eyes under my dark sunglasses. I was in disbelief. I silently thought to myself, this cannot be happening, this cannot be happening. But it was and it did, and we were left behind like luggage. Left to figure it out, left to hurt, left to suffer. Left to be empty.

When I write about what happened to us and its aftermath, I write it exactly how it happened. I’m trying to paint a vivid picture, nothing is exaggerated. This is a non-fiction account of what we have experienced, it’s a story that tells itself, I don’t sit down and make up what to write. I made an outline and as I’ve explained each detail I intended to, I cross it off and breathe just a little easier knowing it’s on record, it’s addressed. I won’t let anyone else tell our story, I won’t let that be taken from us too.

Those notes in my niece’s lunchbox that she couldn’t  even read, were they really necessary on that particular day?

For our visits, was it necessary to try to implement new rules and contracts more and more?

Was it really a good idea to have our visits at 8am in a freezing park while they sat in their car and watched?

Was it really necessary to have it in writing that we couldn’t call her terms of endearment, we were only allowed to call her the name they gave her?

Does this adoptive ‘father’ have to call my sister and harass her, beating her down over the phone every time she calls to speak to her daughter?

Did the adoptive ‘mother’ really need to come up to me to tell me how hard it had been on THEM? ( I was beside myself, I didn’t even know how to respond to that.)

Did Lupita really get ‘things’ for my niece? (Yes, she did.)

All the little digs made this even more devastating. The things they said and say, did and do, all make it worse than it has to be. This couple is really in a fight with themselves, a fight that consists of hiding my niece hostage in regards to her identity and place in the world. All the little things they did to add onto this already huge thing, shame on them. All I hope is that they get exactly what they gave us, no more, no less.

Ever since this awful thing happened to us, absolutely nothing surprises me. Nothing people do ever shocks me. Once you’ve had the carpet yanked out from underneath you, everything else is downhill from there.

Thrown into turmoil… check, broken heart, check… fighting for the very fabric of our family, our good names and our emotional stability… check…

I want space from this whole thing. I want everyone that isn’t in our family to stay out of our family.

I feel like this thing pushed me down and I’ve had to look up and go hand over hand to climb through it. I’m thankful that I’ve had my heavy hitters to block me from the everyday craziness of life. I’ve been blessed enough to have traveled the world and seen so many incredible things.

It’s like a double life. Half is so very happy, half is so very hurt.

I cook, clean, work, study, read bedtime stories and give bubble baths, plan birthdays and every other celebration, and I make time for heels, hugs, road trips, and homemade muffins. Everything else in life is a dream, with one nightmare in the middle of it.

All but this one thing, and this one thing is so huge that there’s no getting away from it.

I make the world go round for so many people, then when night falls, I pray and write.

I’ve been asked so often how I get through this and my response is always the same. I get through it by love, by faith, by patience. I love with passion, I  live as righteously as this world will allow, and I’ve learned that I don’t have to wait in misery.

I  don’t deserve  applause for my strength and I don’t need anyone’s approval. My life isn’t up for debate or discussion. I have to keep as much privacy as I can in dealing with something that feels so public.

In short, I face this and I get through it because I have to. My heart won’t let my niece go, and for now all I can do is wait and tell our side of the story.

I’m keeping it together because that’s what I do. Injustice in general is particularly irritating to me and I won’t just sit back while we’re made out to be animals.

One day, I won’t have to deal with this anymore, and I anxiously await the time I can set this bag of cement blocks down. I will smile until then, I will let love rain over me, I won’t feel guilty for being joyous…. 

Love, faith, patience…. Love, faith, patience, and round and round we go….

I trust in God to lead my niece home.

It’s as simple as that.

Looking across the room on my writing desk, I see 450 printed pages of book one in the series of books written to my niece over the last ten years. The answers to questions I’m sure she’ll have, hopes and prayers, page after page of raw emotion, there it sits, just waiting to be published and read.

I had to be certain the truth was told, I needed to make sure that I explained ‘our side’ in great detail. I refused to let anyone bash us further, I was adamant about telling our story in hopes it will help in reuniting and mending our family, and maybe sharing our story will prevent another family from suffering the same fate.

Had I not written this book, I do believe I, and perhaps my sister, would have suffered a nervous breakdown or maybe something worse. I look at those printed pages and think that those were just a small fraction of the thoughts that are rolling around in my mind. If I didn’t write out everything I need to, I’d never get any rest. I’d constantly be thinking it out until I wrote it out.

As I check off topics from my book’s outline, I feel such a relief. I feel a little more free with each  part as it all comes together. I feel a little more peace.

In writing, I’m doing all any of us can do at this point. I won’t allow justice to escape us forever, one day those responsible will be held accountable under God. The ‘court’ of my niece’s opinion, and the court of ‘public opinion’ are what’s important. Judges and lawyers will always manipulate and confuse the facts, and they find ways to justify their behaviors and actions. They find every loophole they can slither through.

The way I’ve put this case together with reports, depositions, appointment information, I’ve made ‘A’ so obviously point to ‘B’. So now, I wait. I write Book 2, and wait some more.

As I stare at the 3-ring binder, I’m so thankful that I was able to get out all that I wrote about. It’s down on paper, it’s a record of this horrible thing we have been forced to survive. This book quite simply means less spinning thoughts, less restless nights ….