Hi everyone. Last week, I wrote a diary titled An Adoptee Finds Her Birth Family. I had mailed a letter that day to a woman whom I believed to be my sister. The diary came mainly from a need to unload some anxiety. I thought maybe there’d be a couple of people who could relate. I, and others, were surprised at the outpouring from people, nearly all of whom had some sort of story to share. A few asked for an update, if there was one. Well...
Last Monday night the phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number and I was in the middle of something, so I let it go to voicemail. Not two minutes later, the phone rang again. Same number. "Bam!" It hit me. "It’s her." So I answered. And it was her. And they are the family that I’ve wondered about for 48 years.
We chatted for about – what – 20 minutes, maybe. She wanted to make it clear that I had been correct in all of the details I had collected. All of the names and places and dates were right. She was also anxious to have me know that they had looked for me. But they thought they were looking for a boy, which is what they were told after my birth – that I was a baby boy. When they were in their 20s and 30s (two are in their 50s and one is 60 now) they had gone searching for me, but had gotten nowhere. I could tell it was difficult for her. She was quite emotional. (I hope I didn’t come across as some sort of sociopath. I don’t cry very easily. I was surprisingly composed. I kept asking her if she was alright - if there was anything I could do.)
There was more. I’m still processing it. I left it all with them as far as where we go from here. The one who called me had done so before she called the other two sisters, so I thought it would be good if she sent up a flare to the rest of the family before we made any plans. I expect I’ll hear from them soon.
Yesterday I mailed another letter with a brief summary of what life’s been like. I enclosed pictures of me over the years. The thing that did make me cry was when I was putting those pictures in the envelope. I was holding a picture of myself as a baby and thinking about Monday night's conversation. When I was on the phone, I got the feeling – very strongly – that even now, they’re still mourning the loss of that infant. The one whose picture I held in my hand. When she spoke of how the loss affected my birth mother and about the sisters searching for me, I could feel her grief right through the phone – hear it in her voice. I kept trying to reassure her, but there really isn’t any way to sooth that grief. Not even with a reunion. They’ll never know that little baby. She's gone.
My sister (The other sister. The one who held that baby when she came home), is so excited about the whole thing. She has more memories of my adoption, of course, than I do, so she has as many - or maybe more - questions. I’m hoping to get them all together at some point in the future when she’s here from Jordan.
This morning I had breakfast with my mom. She was interested and amazed and curious. I told her that I wanted her to come with me to see them at some point. She said "Oh, I’d love to!" I picked her brain for details that I might share with them about my early life. Places and events that they might remember. Looking for those near-misses where we might have actually crossed paths so many years ago. I’m relieved that mom is fine. I was sure she would be, but with something this big there’s always a question.
It’s an amazing thing, really, first collecting the questions framed over decades into one letter and then casting the hope of a lifetime out into the unknown. To have it all land so gently - and with such possibility - is more than I ever would have asked of the universe.
My thanks to those of you who’ve come with me this far. Perhaps I'll post again when we have met.
(I'm sorry to those who left comments last week that I missed. I truly appreciate the support every one gave. Not just to me, of course, but to each other.)