“Jamie Charles Bakker was born December 18, 1975.” Jim was pretending to narrate a biography of his son.

The four of us— Jim and I, Jay and Amanda—were traveling from L.A. to Muskegon, Michigan, for the Bakker family reunion, and Jim was using the occasion to fill me in on some of the family history. Jim continued his story, but my mind stopped and focused on that date. December 18, 1975.

“Lori, you sure got quiet,” Jay said after a few minutes. “Are you carsick? Or just mesmerized by our life stories?” The others laughed.

“No, I…Sorry, Jay, I just had a major reality check when I heard your date of birth.” I swallowed hard. “You’re the same age my firstborn son would have been.” That realization had hit me like a ton of bricks. If I had carried my first pregnancy to term, the baby would have been born in late December ’75 or early January ’76.” I was looking at a flesh-and-blood son—soon to be my son, or at least my stepson—with his arm around his girlfriend, and he was the same age my firstborn would have been. “You guys could have been really good friends,” I said wistfully.

The moment passed awkwardly, Jay didn’t know what to say, and Jim simply looked sad. He reached over and took my hand. As much healing as I have had, the old, familiar grief can still reach out and squeeze my heart in a split second. IT doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it is very real. Every time I looked at Jay for the next few hours, I thought of the son I never had because of my own choices. Gradually those thoughts faded.

Such thoughts, while painful, no longer overwhelmed me because of a deep inner healing I had experienced in 1994. That event remains the single most precious moment of truth in my life.

…..more to come.

Joy Came in the Morning – Part 2
Joy Came in the Morning – Part 3
Joy Came in the Morning – Part 4