Janelle’s Adoption Story

As I walked down the long hallway to the adoption agency, my mind juggled the heavy decisions that lay ahead. At 17 years old, I was clueless about what the future held, but I had reached a place of certainty that adoption was the best option for my baby. I flirted with the idea of parenting but that was not a reality that was in our future. “This is the right decision, Janelle,” I whispered to myself with each step. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but it was necessary to give this little one the best shot at life. It wasn’t about what was best for me anymore—it was all about the baby.

I sat down across from my adoption caseworker, took a deep breath, and prepared to continue the conversation about potential adoptive parents. We went through our usual check-in, discussing school, communication with the father, and how I was feeling… then, she handed me an unexpected letter. “The family I told you about last week sent in a letter for the file,” she said. As the paper passed from her hands to mine, I imagined the woman who had put her thoughts into words, writing from her heart.

The letter began with “Dear Birthmother,” a label I had not yet been given but felt like I was trying on for size. She wrote about why they wanted to adopt, their marriage, and their hopes for the future. But a few lines stood out as if she was answering questions I hadn’t even considered. “We want to teach our children so they can grow up to be independent, healthy adults.” “We know we are not perfect parents and will not have perfect children, but we hope to convey a sense of worth and belonging...” These were words I longed to hear in my own life.

She shared how they would communicate with their children about their birth parents: “They were courageous” and “They love you.”

I must have read those words a hundred times, each time feeling calmer about what may be ahead, as if she were writing directly to me, her future child’s birth mother. By the end of the letter, I was confident that the woman who had written those words would play a significant role in my baby’s life.

A few weeks passed, and I was whisked off to the hospital when the physical pain became unbearable. In some ways, I wished the pain would continue, knowing that when the physical pain ended, a new, deeper pain would begin—a pain I didn’t feel equipped to carry. But for the little one I had named Amber, she was worth every bit of it if it meant stability and a bright future. As I held her in my arms, I whispered through my tears my hope was that she would grow to be an incredible woman, that she would know love, and that one day, she might understand why I made this decision for us.

Amber was welcomed into her new mother’s arms a few weeks later. The woman who had written that letter lived by every word, and I am forever grateful. She accomplished what she set out to do and so much more. The mother I chose for Amber embraced the importance of biological parent engagement and was consistent in her connection with us. Amber is better for it. Because of her adoptive mother’s unwavering commitment, I was able to heal and thrive.

Our letters went back and forth for many years sharing updates, milestones, and eventually a request to meet. Our letters turned into emails, and emails turned into connections on social media and so on.

Today, Amber is an independent, amazing woman and a wonderful mother to her son— or should I say “our” grandson. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined how one letter could impact generations. I doubt she knew her words would speak to my soul, but here we are, 31 years later.

Just last week, I opened a text message from “Amber”. In our ongoing conversation, she shared meaningful words about her adoption journey: “If you haven’t heard this before—you CRUSHED it for being so young and in the situation you were [in].” The words we’ve exchanged over the years, between birth mom, adoptive mom, and much loved daughter, are powerful and healing, beginning with that simple letter passed across a desk to a teenager making the hardest decision of her life.

-Janelle Basham