June 2nd, 2005
Alexandria & Roberto
| Excerpt from The Sound of Hope: |
| The Sound of Hope A True Story of an Adoptee's Quest for Her Origins |
a memoir by Anne Bauer
 | |  | |  | |  | |  |
It was when I was nearly five years old, the world shook beneath my feet. It was a sweltering day in August
one of Mom’s younger sisters and was nine months pregnant, a week past her due date and in no mood for
the likes of me, an inquisitive little girl completely enchanted with the idea of a live baby inside her belly.
My mother and grandmother were sitting like bookends on Grandma’s love seat, each holding a cold glass of
iced tea in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. Aunt Lorraine, whose belly was so far out she couldn’t
even tie her own shoelaces, was sprawled out on the couch across from them, fanning herself with a Good
Housekeeping magazine while the only fan we owned oscillated in front of her. The three of them wanted
nothing more than to be left in peace.
“Don’t press too hard, Annie,” Aunt Lorraine warned, “you might hurt the baby.” From the glare on her face it
was clear she reached her limits with me.
“There it is again!” I exclaimed, my eyes dancing with delight. “The baby just kicked.
Did you feel that, Aunt Lorraine?” I kept my hand steady on her belly but my legs were bouncing with
excitement as I waited for another movement.
Aunt Lorraine smiled. “Of course. I feel it every time the baby kicks, but I feel it from the inside.”
“So is a baby really in there?” I asked, not fully believing it.
“Yes, Annie.”
“How come you don’t need to pick out your baby? Mommy and Daddy went to the special nursery and picked
me out. They said there were lots of babies that needed to be adopted and…”
“Annie! Stop talking so fast,” Mommy scolded.
I covered my mouth with my hand. “Oops… I forgot. ” Ever since I could talk, the words came out as fast as
lightening, in fact, everything I did was super fast. I was full of energy and forever running, shouting and
moving. I drove everybody crazy. By the time I was three, my parents had had enough. Where was the
sweet, quiet little girl who was supposed to sit nicely all day and play with her dolls? Mom, after reaching her
wits end, asked my pediatrician for a medication to calm me down. He refused and told her to enroll me in
ballet classes to help release the excess energy. I started ballet the following week, but it hardly had the
effect the doctor promised, my parents still constantly reminded me to slow down.
Aunt Lorraine still hadn’t answered my question and I remained with my hand cupped over my mouth with
wide eyes, waiting.
Sighing, Aunt Lorraine finally answered. “No, we don’t need to pick out our baby.”
My legs stopped bouncing.
“Why not?”
Aunt Lorraine glanced inquisitively at Mommy, who shrugged her shoulders as if to say, you’re on your own
with this one.
“No,” Aunt Lorraine said, turning back to me. “It’s already here in my stomach. Hopefully the baby is going
to come out soon.” She adjusted the pillow behind her back.
“Then the baby will stay in the nursery until we both come home.”
“Like the nursery I was in, like Thomas and Brian too,” I told her.
“Annie,” Mommy interrupted. “You know what I told you before. When your father and I decided that we
wanted a baby, we called the adoption agency and they told us to come to the special nursery. That’s how
you, Thomas and Brian were adopted.” The answer was given in a brisk, matter-of-fact way, as if she were
referring to picking out a dog at the pound.
I looked at Mommy.
“But how did I get to the special nursery?”
She puffed deeply on her cigarette. “Another woman gave birth to you. She brought you to the special
nursery and then we came and took you home.”
“So I was in someone else’s belly?” I asked, for the first time realizing that not everyone was adopted. Up
till then, in my fleeting thoughts, I always pictured parents going to a big room where newborn babies
wrapped securely in receiving blankets were all lined up, waiting patiently. I never thought about how the
babies actually got to the nursery, having only picturing the parents arriving, then looking over all the babies
like slabs of meat arranged in a deli counter.
“Yes, you were inside another mother’s belly,” Mommy muttered, as if she hated to admit this fact. “After
you were born you were adopted like Thomas and Brian were.”
“So Aunt Lorraine’s baby won’t be adopted?”
“No!” Mommy, Grandma and Aunt Lorraine said in unison.
Another piece of the puzzle slid into place. “Not all babies are brought to the nursery to be adopted?” I
asked, tilting my head to the side. It wasn’t so much a question but a statement needing confirmation.
“No, not all babies. Only the ones whose original mothers decide they can’t keep them,” Mommy said,
stressing this fact. “Only Thomas, Brian and you are adopted.”
My vision of everybody being adopted exploded. Trembling and feeling sick to my stomach, I slid down to
my knees on the floor.
“After we saw your father and I decided that we wanted to keep you.”
“Oh yes,” Grandma smiled, reaching toward the ashtray on the coffee table. “You were so tiny.” She tapped
her cigarette and a long ash dropped off. “And you cried so much and so loud that Thomas asked if we could
pick out a quieter baby,” she cackled.
I looked at Mommy, then at Grandma.
“Why can’t I see the mother who had me in her belly? Where is she?”
“We don’t know where she is, Annie,” Mommy said, shaking her head and glancing at Grandma.
I rested my back against the couch, reflecting on this revelation. Then a moment later I jumped back to my
feet.
“Why not?” I demanded. “Why can’t she see me?”
I tried to picture what she looked like, but the only thing that came to mind was a picture of a woman veiled
in dark gray. Immediately an aura of mystery formed about this phantom mother of mine—my other
mother. I wanted to see her.
My urgent question met with silence. The women just sat there watching the smoke from their cigarettes drift
toward the fan.
There was no valid answer for my question. When I was adopted in 1966, the adoption process was kept
closed in most states. The state where I was born, New Jersey, sealed the original birth certificate containing
my birth name after the adoption became legal. From that day on, history was rewritten and I was
considered to be the natural child of my adoptive parents. Nobody, not even a court of law, was allowed to
unseal or view the original document.
I glanced at Aunt Lorraine on the couch, still fanning herself with the magazine. “Oh, this heat is
unbearable,” she moaned. “Why can’t this baby be born?”
“The baby will come when it’s good and ready. You can’t rush these things,” Grandma said knowingly. “You
were born late, Lorraine, eleven days past your due date.”
I looked over in Mommy’s direction. “Was I born late?”
Mommy rolled her eyes. “Oh, I don’t know… I think they told me you were born right on time.” She gulped
the remainder of her iced tea.
The day I realized I had two mothers, I was cut in half. One mother had had me in her belly and brought me
to the special nursery, while this mother I called Mommy took me home from the nursery to live. One half of
myself resided here with my family. The other half was lost, lost to a shadowy woman floating somewhere
out there in the world.
The story about how I became a part of my family finally sank in. I truly understood what it was to be
adopted and this realization entered like a charging bull, taking hold of my naïve preconceptions and
throwing them to the wind. It left me feeling half naked, as if I was missing some part of myself. But the
lasting impression was as clear as a bright sunny day: My brothers and I were different from everyone else.
We were adopted.
Little did I know, at such a ripe young age, that I had only scratched the surface of the mystery of my
origins. But deep inside, I was sure of one thing: No secret could be kept forever.
one of Mom’s younger sisters and was nine months pregnant, a week past her due date and in no mood for
the likes of me, an inquisitive little girl completely enchanted with the idea of a live baby inside her belly.
My mother and grandmother were sitting like bookends on Grandma’s love seat, each holding a cold glass of
iced tea in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. Aunt Lorraine, whose belly was so far out she couldn’t
even tie her own shoelaces, was sprawled out on the couch across from them, fanning herself with a Good
Housekeeping magazine while the only fan we owned oscillated in front of her. The three of them wanted
nothing more than to be left in peace.
“Don’t press too hard, Annie,” Aunt Lorraine warned, “you might hurt the baby.” From the glare on her face it
was clear she reached her limits with me.
“There it is again!” I exclaimed, my eyes dancing with delight. “The baby just kicked.
Did you feel that, Aunt Lorraine?” I kept my hand steady on her belly but my legs were bouncing with
excitement as I waited for another movement.
Aunt Lorraine smiled. “Of course. I feel it every time the baby kicks, but I feel it from the inside.”
“So is a baby really in there?” I asked, not fully believing it.
“Yes, Annie.”
“How come you don’t need to pick out your baby? Mommy and Daddy went to the special nursery and picked
me out. They said there were lots of babies that needed to be adopted and…”
“Annie! Stop talking so fast,” Mommy scolded.
I covered my mouth with my hand. “Oops… I forgot. ” Ever since I could talk, the words came out as fast as
lightening, in fact, everything I did was super fast. I was full of energy and forever running, shouting and
moving. I drove everybody crazy. By the time I was three, my parents had had enough. Where was the
sweet, quiet little girl who was supposed to sit nicely all day and play with her dolls? Mom, after reaching her
wits end, asked my pediatrician for a medication to calm me down. He refused and told her to enroll me in
ballet classes to help release the excess energy. I started ballet the following week, but it hardly had the
effect the doctor promised, my parents still constantly reminded me to slow down.
Aunt Lorraine still hadn’t answered my question and I remained with my hand cupped over my mouth with
wide eyes, waiting.
Sighing, Aunt Lorraine finally answered. “No, we don’t need to pick out our baby.”
My legs stopped bouncing.
“Why not?”
Aunt Lorraine glanced inquisitively at Mommy, who shrugged her shoulders as if to say, you’re on your own
with this one.
“No,” Aunt Lorraine said, turning back to me. “It’s already here in my stomach. Hopefully the baby is going
to come out soon.” She adjusted the pillow behind her back.
“Then the baby will stay in the nursery until we both come home.”
“Like the nursery I was in, like Thomas and Brian too,” I told her.
“Annie,” Mommy interrupted. “You know what I told you before. When your father and I decided that we
wanted a baby, we called the adoption agency and they told us to come to the special nursery. That’s how
you, Thomas and Brian were adopted.” The answer was given in a brisk, matter-of-fact way, as if she were
referring to picking out a dog at the pound.
I looked at Mommy.
“But how did I get to the special nursery?”
She puffed deeply on her cigarette. “Another woman gave birth to you. She brought you to the special
nursery and then we came and took you home.”
“So I was in someone else’s belly?” I asked, for the first time realizing that not everyone was adopted. Up
till then, in my fleeting thoughts, I always pictured parents going to a big room where newborn babies
wrapped securely in receiving blankets were all lined up, waiting patiently. I never thought about how the
babies actually got to the nursery, having only picturing the parents arriving, then looking over all the babies
like slabs of meat arranged in a deli counter.
“Yes, you were inside another mother’s belly,” Mommy muttered, as if she hated to admit this fact. “After
you were born you were adopted like Thomas and Brian were.”
“So Aunt Lorraine’s baby won’t be adopted?”
“No!” Mommy, Grandma and Aunt Lorraine said in unison.
Another piece of the puzzle slid into place. “Not all babies are brought to the nursery to be adopted?” I
asked, tilting my head to the side. It wasn’t so much a question but a statement needing confirmation.
“No, not all babies. Only the ones whose original mothers decide they can’t keep them,” Mommy said,
stressing this fact. “Only Thomas, Brian and you are adopted.”
My vision of everybody being adopted exploded. Trembling and feeling sick to my stomach, I slid down to
my knees on the floor.
“After we saw your father and I decided that we wanted to keep you.”
“Oh yes,” Grandma smiled, reaching toward the ashtray on the coffee table. “You were so tiny.” She tapped
her cigarette and a long ash dropped off. “And you cried so much and so loud that Thomas asked if we could
pick out a quieter baby,” she cackled.
I looked at Mommy, then at Grandma.
“Why can’t I see the mother who had me in her belly? Where is she?”
“We don’t know where she is, Annie,” Mommy said, shaking her head and glancing at Grandma.
I rested my back against the couch, reflecting on this revelation. Then a moment later I jumped back to my
feet.
“Why not?” I demanded. “Why can’t she see me?”
I tried to picture what she looked like, but the only thing that came to mind was a picture of a woman veiled
in dark gray. Immediately an aura of mystery formed about this phantom mother of mine—my other
mother. I wanted to see her.
My urgent question met with silence. The women just sat there watching the smoke from their cigarettes drift
toward the fan.
There was no valid answer for my question. When I was adopted in 1966, the adoption process was kept
closed in most states. The state where I was born, New Jersey, sealed the original birth certificate containing
my birth name after the adoption became legal. From that day on, history was rewritten and I was
considered to be the natural child of my adoptive parents. Nobody, not even a court of law, was allowed to
unseal or view the original document.
I glanced at Aunt Lorraine on the couch, still fanning herself with the magazine. “Oh, this heat is
unbearable,” she moaned. “Why can’t this baby be born?”
“The baby will come when it’s good and ready. You can’t rush these things,” Grandma said knowingly. “You
were born late, Lorraine, eleven days past your due date.”
I looked over in Mommy’s direction. “Was I born late?”
Mommy rolled her eyes. “Oh, I don’t know… I think they told me you were born right on time.” She gulped
the remainder of her iced tea.
The day I realized I had two mothers, I was cut in half. One mother had had me in her belly and brought me
to the special nursery, while this mother I called Mommy took me home from the nursery to live. One half of
myself resided here with my family. The other half was lost, lost to a shadowy woman floating somewhere
out there in the world.
The story about how I became a part of my family finally sank in. I truly understood what it was to be
adopted and this realization entered like a charging bull, taking hold of my naïve preconceptions and
throwing them to the wind. It left me feeling half naked, as if I was missing some part of myself. But the
lasting impression was as clear as a bright sunny day: My brothers and I were different from everyone else.
We were adopted.
Little did I know, at such a ripe young age, that I had only scratched the surface of the mystery of my
origins. But deep inside, I was sure of one thing: No secret could be kept forever.
| Buy The Book Click here for online retailers: Barnes & Noble amazon.com Local Retailers: BOOKENDS Ridgewood, NJ Order through your local bookstore using ISBN: 978-0-5955-2030-5 (paperback) ISBN: 978-0-5955-0936-2 (hardcover) Available in e-Book |
| Anne Bauer | anne@adopteesvoice.com © 2008-2009 All Rights Reserved |
"Bauer’s yearning to understand her past, the journey of her search, and the resulting complexities make for
captivating storytelling...Bauer is able to make a personal narrative feel like a universal truth."
-Fore Word Clarion review
captivating storytelling...Bauer is able to make a personal narrative feel like a universal truth."
-Fore Word Clarion review
