That adoptee is me. And I'm 98% sure that the letter I just mailed is to my sister.
I've always known I was adopted. My parents always talked about it. It was never a big deal. Just something that made me special. That's the way they made it seem.
I always wondered about my birth family. Who they were. What they looked like. I looked around a few times, finally ordering my pre-adoption birth certificate a few years ago after they opened up the records here in Oregon. But I never got anywhere, really. Not until this last time. I found my mother's obituary, and in that obit were the names of my sisters.
So there they were, names and all. I wrote a letter to the oldest one. And today, I put it out for the mailman to pick up. Then I got in the car and took my kid to have lunch with his grandma. My mom. The only mom I've ever known. The mom I love.
The wierd thing is, I have no need of another family. I love the one I have. I can't really even put words to why I'm doing this. It's primal. A need to have my tribe know that I exist.
I'm not concerned about the medical aspect. I get a bit of a kick out of making doctor's work for their money instead of giving them crutch of genetics.
Truly? I'm more than just a bit apprehensive. What if they're people that I don't want to know? I've opened this door, but it really isn't mine to shut. I can't say, "Okay! Thanks folks! Done with you now!" I was born in a small town in southern Oregon. Chances are, we won't see eye to eye politically.
Oh, man.
Anyway. Evening musings. By this time next week, the 60-year-old woman whom I believe is my sister will have gotten the letter and had time to contact other family members.
Can't even imagine what that'll mean.
Any other adoptees out there? Any other stories?