What can I say here?
I remember meeting Alicia’s mother, Mirah Riben, at my very first adoption conference. Adoption Forum of Philadelphia, 1980. I was 24 and had six years of reunion behind me. But I had never before met a mother who lost her first born to adoption. That was the same day I met Sandy Musser, too. My eyes were shocked open. Their emotions, their pain, laid bare.
Here we are in 2018, 38 years later. Still activists. Still banging our heads and screaming. Is anyone listening? Does anyone care?
Alicia, I didn’t know you. I wish I did know you. I wish I could have walked with you, arm in arm, carrying our protest signs at the March on Washington DC in 1989 when your mother organized the speeches at the podium in front of the Reflecting Pool. I spoke. So did others. Your voice should have been heard that day.
Your mother carries on, for herself, and for you. RIP dear Alicia.
Sincerely, I’m the Ghost of Alicia
I was born in The Summer of Love, 1967. But love was not enough to help my mother. No one helped her. They told her that I would ruin her life. Me, a tiny, helpless newborn infant!
My mother fought hard to keep me. She wouldn’t give up on me. She wouldn’t sign. I went to a wonderful foster family who really loved me – especially my two big teenaged foster sisters! Mom visited me but it was hard and the pressure was on her. After six months I never saw her again.
Then just a week before my first birthday my foster Mom put me in my car seat and she was crying. They took me to the house in New Jersey with the plastic covers on the furniture. They handed me over to my “new Mommy.” I had three big brothers. And…
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