Happy Birthday

Cincinnati, April 15, 1963

It was a cool dry spring day when Janice gave birth to her baby girl. It was best not to see the baby, she’d been told. It would be easier to let her go. Janice looked out the window, to the hillside where white and yellow daffodils were starting to bloom. They waved in the gentle breeze, bobbing their trumpet heads.

“How are you feeling, my child?” a soft feminine voice inquired from the doorway of the hospital room. It was Sister Miriam, one of the nuns from the home.

“Tired,” Janice replied wearily. “And a little tender,” she added with a wince. She felt drained, sad, and empty. “How is my baby?” she turned to Sister Miriam.

“The baby is doing very well,” Sister Miriam raised her eyebrow. She emphasized the word ‘the’. “You should get some rest now,” she stressed.

“I want to see her,” Janice declared.

“That wouldn’t be good idea, dear,” Sister Miriam sat on the edge of the bed. “It just makes it harder.”

“I’m not sure I want to go through with this,” Janice clutched the white sheet covering her lap.

“What do you mean?” Sister Miriam seemed dismayed. There were couples practically lined up to give a healthy baby a home. “Surely, you are not thinking of keeping this child,” she contended. “You’re just a child yourself!”

“I’m a mother,” Janice stated emphatically, looking Sister Miriam directly in the eye. “And I want to see my baby.”

“Janice,” Sister Miriam’s voice softened. “You’re exhausted. That’s natural. You should sleep now and things will be clearer to you later,” she explained. “You’ll understand why it is impractical for you to take this on,” she frowned. “Impractical and impossible.”

Not impossible, Janet thought. Nothing was impossible. The only thing that was impossible was going the rest of her life, knowing that she had a daughter out in the world somewhere. It was impossible to think about living with that knowledge. She couldn’t expect a nun to comprehend what she was feeling. She wanted to shake Sister Miriam. How could she be so nonchalant about what was happening? I gave birth, she wanted to scream. A live, breathing human came out of my body and you want to take her away from me!


“I want to see my parents,” Janice said, flatly. She last saw her family seven months earlier when Edward and Ruth left her in Sister Mary Johann’s office. Sister Mary Johann was the nun in charge of St. Brigid’s Home for Unwed Mothers which sat high on a hill in rural Kentucky, overlooking the Ohio River. Edward and Ruth thought it best that Janice go away as soon as her pregnancy began to show in late September. She had begun her senior year and had to leave abruptly, without explanation, but she kept up her studies within the walls of the home, along with an astonishing number of other young girls. Janice didn’t understand the point of hiding when speculation on the part of her classmates would lead to the obvious conclusion. Why else did young girls disappear for long periods of time and then return as if nothing was amiss?

Two hours later, Janice’s parents were standing in the doorway of her room. They stood there silently, as if they’d been punished and placed in a corner. Finally, Ruth came over to the bed, put her arms around her daughter and held her tightly. Her father walked over slowly and quietly put his hand on her head. Tears streamed down Ruth’s face when she gradually loosened her embrace. Mechanically, Edward handed her a folded white handkerchief and she dried her tears.

Janice spoke first. “I want to see my baby,” she began.

Ruth looked up at Edward, questioningly, then back at Janice. Edward shrugged, as if to give in to whatever his wife wanted. “Janice, we just assumed…”

“I know!” Janice snapped. “Everyone has assumed. No one has asked me.”

Ruth stood up, took her husband’s arm and led him out into the hallway. Janice sat on the bed, alone, trying to overhear the whispers that passed between her parents. She couldn’t make out words, only a series of hushes and hisses. Then she heard another voice in the hallway. It was Sister Miriam. Janice could tell by the tone that she was protesting whatever her parents were telling her. Her parents came back into the room and stood at the foot of the bed, their arms entwined.  “We have three beautiful children,” Ruth told Janice. “We can’t imagine not having one of you.” Janice felt her heart skip. “Your father and I will support whatever decision you make. But things won’t be easy,” she stressed. “You understand that, don’t you?”

Janice nodded her head fervently. It’s all she’d thought about since this all began.  Before she could speak, Sister Miriam entered the room. In her arms was a pink blanketed bundle. She put one hand under the baby’s head and gently placed her in Janice’s arms. Edward and Ruth huddled around and peered down. Janice carefully peeled back the soft blanket and revealed a small round face with closed eyes and a busy little ruddy mouth. The baby’s tiny pink hand peeked out of the swaddling, searching her mouth. Janice laid the infant on her lap and unwrapped the blanket. Soft rosy limbs flailed about as she and her mother inspected fingers and toes. “She’s perfect,” Ruth announced.

Sister Miriam stood back, resigned. “I’ll leave you all to get acquainted,” she said solemnly. She turned on her stiff black shoe and went out the door.

Janice never looked up. She held her daughter close to her and kissed her delicate forehead. She carefully stroked the baby’s sparse silky light hair. “I’m going to call her Jodi,” she proclaimed. “Jodi Leigh.”
Ruth bent over and touched her granddaughter’s cheek. “Welcome to the world, Jodi Leigh.”