Monday, February 8, 1943

Four days ago on February 4, I had a baby girl at the hospital where SueAnn works. I came home today, glad to get away from all the happiness and sounds of crying babies that filled that place, while my arms were empty. I didn’t even see her. I wanted to. Even though I knew it would be hard, and I would have to hand her over to the nurse to take her away forever, I still wanted to see her and look in her face. I wanted to see Sandy in her, because his face is so lost to me now, and I wanted that little reminder of him. But if I’d seen him there, I would never have been able to let her go. Maybe they knew that. Maybe that is why the nurses wouldn’t let me see her.

I had a very difficult time giving birth to the baby. I honestly don’t remember very much of it. They kept me asleep, or nearly asleep, most of the time, and when I was awake, I kept calling out for Mama. They told me I may not ever be able to have another child. Something about my uterus. Right now I don’t care. I am fifteen. I don’t want a child. Except maybe the one I just gave away.

The priest took her away. She is going to a “good Catholic couple” he said. She will have a good life. I asked him if the couple went to our church, if I might get to see her from time to time, but he said, “Certainly not,” as though I’d asked the most stupid question in the world.

Dennis is being real kind to me, even more than usual. SueAnn told him some women get very sad (melancholy was the word she used) after they have a baby, even if they don’t have to give that baby up. I think that’s what’s happening to me. I just want to sleep. I want to wake up and have this whole year erased from my life and my heart.