My Search and Reunion
As far back as I can remember, I've known I was adopted. I grew up in the typical, middle-class home. We had the 2.5 kids, 1.5 dogs, 2 parents, a house, and a van. It never occurred to me what being adopted meant until I was much older, but even as a child, I knew that there was something that made me different from those around me. I knew I was different from my sister, from my brother, from my friends, and from my parents. Don't get me wrong. I love my family very much. My parents provided everything they could for me; a loving home, support, and themselves. Yet, something always felt different.
The earliest age at which I remember feeling like adoption had a "bad" side was in the 5th grade. In an effort to teach genetics to such a young age group, my teacher asked all the students to bring photos of themselves, and photos of their parents. The "game" was for the students in the class to match up the photos. For the first time, I noticed that I was different. While other kids could claim to have their father's chin, their mother's nose, their great-aunt-Mildred's eyes, I was left wondering if I would ever look like someone. For the first time, I longed to find someone who I could finally say I looked like. Little did I know how far that road would take me.
I consider myself to be self-driven. Many call me an overachiever. All my life I have constantly struggled to prove myself. For some reason, I felt like I had to make myself worthy of my parents' love. Everything I did, I did to my up most ability. I had to have the best grades, not just good grades. I had to be the best piano player, not just a good piano player. I felt like I had to be the very best, otherwise my parents wouldn't be happy with their "investment."
I honestly believe that every adoptee has an underlying sense of abandonment. Until they know the circumstances surrounding their birth, and their relinquishment, they honestly feel like they were just unwanted. I took that into almost every relationship that I entered into, both friends and lovers. It wasn't until I met my husband, Geoff, that I began to see who I was and who I will be. Geoff taught me to look into myself to see what my birth family is like.
It was this sudden strength that finally made me take the step to start looking. Events had gone by in my life that I remember being sad at. Graduation, our wedding, recitals, and performances all had a sadness because I knew that I wanted my birthmother there. My one wish was that my parents had been more understanding of my need to find a connection with my past. The only time I remember growing up ever talking to my mother about my birthmother was when she found a diary entry where I talked about wanting to find her. She became extremely upset, and from that point on, I knew that my search would have to be kept secret. The only information I knew about my adoption was that it was in Amarillo, and my birth date.
After Geoff and I got married, I went into action. I had found a name on my birth certificate that I had never noticed before. It was an attorney's name. I decided to look in the phone book in the town where I was adopted, and I found his office. He said that all of the adoptions he handled were through Catholic Family Services. That same day, I called Catholic Family Services (CFS). To my dismay, I found out that I was not allowed to have any information concerning my adoption until I was 21 years old. And then, I would only be allowed to have de-identified information. If I wanted to try to search for my birthmother, I could pay them to do it. But if my birthmother didn't want contact, I was out the money, out the effort, and left empty handed. The two years I had to wait until my 21st birthday were the longest two years of my search. I was completely helpless. I knew that sitting on someone's desk, right in front of them, was the key to my entire past, and I couldn't have it. I was angry at CFS. Not only did my parents have to pay to adopt me, now I have to pay to find my past. Everything I wanted had to be bought. On my 21st birthday, I called CFS to find out if my birthmother had tried to contact me. They told me no, that they had never heard from her since my birth (I would later find out that wasn't true). I was told that if I wanted to search, it would cost near $700, that I would have to attend mandatory counseling, and I would only be allowed contact for the first few months by non-identifying letters. I paid the $25 to get the non-identifying information, and I waited.. and waited.
The day the information arrived, my husband called me while I was at school. Every detail stuck like glue. I knew her first and middle names, I knew what her interests were, I knew what she looked like, I knew her age, and for the first time, I knew that I had been loved long before I was born. Two months later, armed with my best friend, I went to Amarillo, Texas. I had decided that the only way I would be able to find her was to do it myself. I couldn't allow my future to be held so strongly by them anymore. They had held it so secretly for 21 years, and now it was my turn to have the power for once.
I appeared before the family court judge and basically asked him for my future. I honestly didn't expect him to open my adoption records. Everything I had heard in the past led me to believe that they were sealed, and that it was virtually impossible to get them opened. I don't remember hearing the judge say he was opening them, I just remember sitting at the records room, with the piece of paper from the judge saying that my records were now open, and could be copied. Now I had her name, her full name. I had her past address. I had my birthfather's full name, and his address. I enough of the pieces of the puzzle, that I could now begin to put it together.
Still shaking, my friend and I decided to drive the 15 miles to the town my birthmother lived in when I was born. We drove by the house that she lived in growing up, and when we did, a "nosey" neighbor from across the street came and asked if we needed some help. In a moment of bravery, or maybe insanity, I asked her if she knew where the people who lived there were now. She told me that she goes to senior citizen meetings with their family, and asked who I was. I was too terrified to tell her. But evidently, she must have known, because later I would find out that she informed my grandmother that her granddaughter was looking for her. She told me to come back by tomorrow, and she would give me the phone number.
That night, I must have written the same letter over and over again. I wrote letters to my birthmother and to my biological grandmother, explaining to them that I'm sorry if I intruded on their lives, but that I just want to meet them. I want them to know I'm happy. I think I must have slept an hour that night. In my heart, I knew what the next day could bring.
The next morning, I choked down part of breakfast, and we drove back to the neighbor?s house. As soon as we got to the door, the lady excitedly told me that I was to call this number immediately. It was my birthmother?s mother, my grandmother. She had told them that I shouldn't leave town; I needed to call today. My heart began to race. The neighbor asked if I wanted to use their phone, and I told her no. I was terrified. Part of me wanted to call right then and there, and part of me wanted to jump back in my car and drive the 5 hours home. We drove around the town several times, which in this town took 5 minutes. Finally I stopped at a gas station, and decided to call.
I don't remember a word I said. I don't remember a word she said. All I know was that I was answering questions, and she was asking them as fast as she could. Finally, she said the one thing that will stick in my mind forever. "Do you realize who this is?" Never in my life had tears come so quickly. We were to meet in a few minutes, at a restaurant down the road. I got there first, and began my pacing. My friend tried to be a comfort to me, but I was a basket case.
A few minutes later, she walked in. Immediately, I knew that this would turn out well. We sat and talked for a while, looked at photos, talked about where I lived, what I do. Then, she asked, "Do you want to meet your mother?"
People talk about the chemical nature of relationships between people. They say that you can tell when someone you are related to has been in a room by the way you feel when you enter it. Suddenly, I felt this feeling that I cannot describe but as familiarity. I will never forget as long as I live the look on her face when I saw her. We hugged for what seemed like forever, yet didn't seem long enough. We sat and talked at the restaurant for a long time, then I went and met my brother and sisters. That day was the biggest surprise in my entire life, but it would change me forever.
My relationship with my birthmom is incredible. I have been welcomed into their family like I never left. Her husband, Jim, is a wonderful man, who has accepted me like his own. I don't think twice about telling him I love him, and my kids will know him as another grandfather to spoil them. I have had several opportunities to go and stay with them, and each time, I find myself loving them more. I have a sister, Meghan, who is incredibly special to me. I only hope I can be as wonderful of a sister to her as she has been to me since we've met. My brother, Matthew hasn't blinked to accept me as his siter, and Lexi, well, Lexi is adorable.
I now have a peace about who I am. I've heard the stories about my birth that I've longed to hear. I've heard the "when I was pregnant with you" stories that kids take for granted every day. I don't fear abandonment anymore because I was never abandoned. I don't fear rejection because I was never rejected. I now understand that I have been loved long before I was born, and that love will never die. But more importantly, I can look into the eyes of the person who gave birth to me, I can finally see myself in someone, and I can share and feel the love for her that I've never been able to before. I could not ask for better blessings. Now, the only bad part of the entire thing, saying goodbye and driving away from visits!
I love you mom!
You are visitor number
