In 1997, I read and reviewed this book by Carol Schaefer for the O.I. Newsletter. Our stories of pregnancy, relinquishment, and eventual reunion with our sons had many parallels. We were pregnant at the same time; in fact, our first sons are only five weeks apart. She was a little younger than I was, and still in college; I had just graduated, but applied to graduate school while I was pregnant. She came from a Catholic background; I was a very active liberal Protestant. She went to an “unwed mothers’ home,” but I had an apartment. Our mothers’ attitudes were very similar, very shaming, demanding we tell no one, not even siblings or friends. We both had a few very close friends we did tell, which was helpful. Our mothers both even insisted we start wearing girdles, even though we had flat stomachs and were still losing weight from the stress! I was fortunate to have a kind, nonjudgmental doctor, but she did not. I had a very supportive minister and his wife, while Carol had several very judgmental nuns at the so-called “home.”

Even more important than the similarities of time, and parents, though, were our thoughts and feelings, both during our pregnancies and the rest of our lives, particularly grief and longing, which are not the same as guilt and shame. Our first husbands even had the same given name!

Recently, while reading Margaret Moorman’s Waiting to Forget, which is also reviewed below, in which Carol Schaefer is mentioned, I got out my copy of The Other Mother, which Carol autographed when we first met in person at the 2000 Southwest Regional AAC Conference in Albuquerque. I decided to reread it. I found it just as well-written, just as riveting, just as relevant as it was when I first read it in 1995. I would still recommend it to birth parents, adopted adults, adoptive parents, birth grandparents, spouses, and subsequent offspring of birth mothers. Her story is her own, but the thoughts and feelings, and similar experiences, are common to many birth mothers, especially those who relinquished children in the 1960s or earlier, and even well into the 1970s. There is some affirmation in learning that one’s thoughts and feelings are normal, not pathological.

In some families, the attitudes of those years may still persist. The idea that a birth mother, or her family, will somehow forget, was not rational then, nor is it now. At that time, most doctors recommended general anesthesia for delivery (making the birth higher risk) on the conjecture that if the mother (who was often not even called a mother) were unconscious, she would have no memory and no trauma. Never mind the memories and trauma of the whole pregnancy, and the grief and trauma of not getting to raise her child. It was routinely recommended—sometimes even required—that she never see, let alone touch or hold, her baby. Some were even blindfolded during the delivery! “It will make it easier to forget and move on with your life,” we were told. These rules and statements were generally made by male doctors, or nurses and nuns, none of whom had ever relinquished a child; and in the case of men and nuns, not been pregnant, never given birth, and never had to hide their very identity. The attitudes, rules, and requirements were reinforced by parents, sometimes by clergy or churches, by well-meaning friends, subsequent spouses, and by society in general, and even more especially by adoption agencies, who held a great deal of power at that time. The ideas that the birth mother would forget, but also that she was a dangerous person who must never have any knowledge of the child, let alone any contact, was promoted to adoptive parents, who would assign all their gratitude and trust to the agency. The idea of open—or even semi-open—adoption, was virtually unheard of, except that in some states, including New Mexico, it was always perfectly legal and was not “black market” or “gray market”; it was just not conducted through an agency.

In any case, however, a birth mother does have grief and loss that does not go away. The intensity may decrease, and later life experiences, including having other children, supportive relationships, and possible reunion with the relinquished son or daughter may result in great joy and a satisfying life, but those events do not just wipe away grief or memories.

This book illustrates all of the above in words that ring true, just as much today as when they were written. While searching may be easier or quicker today, particularly with the Internet and changed laws in several states, the searcher and the person sought and found still need real humans to support them. In Carol Schaefer’s case, she found adoption support groups that helped her find ways to search, that affirmed her right to search and her thoughts and feelings. People in these groups also warned of possible pitfalls and unexpected barriers, and unexpected reactions of others to both search and reunion. Adoption-related support groups are not as numerous now as in the 1980s, 1990s, and early 2000s, but they still serve a purpose. For some, online groups are helpful, but they can’t offer Kleenex, hugs, in-person smiles and knowing nods, or tears of empathy.

This book is still highly recommended for anyone contemplating searching, or in the middle of a search, or for anyone in any kind of relationship with a birth parent, including birth fathers. For those who searched in the past, even if they previously read it, The Other Mother is well worth reading, and re-reading. It is both affirming and healing.