I Solved the Mystery...Sort Of

Several weeks ago, I sent an email to a company that specializes in finding people. I sent the email not really expecting to get anything in return, knowing that I would probably have to cough up some cash before I could get any real answers. Only armed with a name, an age, and a state in which the person was born, I was sure I didn't have enough information to even attempt to begin a lucrative search. I guess I should back up a little bit further.

I am adopted. I am adopted by two of the greatest people on the planet, two people that happen to be my biological aunt and uncle, but they have been mom and dad to me for 25 years. My parents have always been extremely transparent when it came to my adoption, as much as they could be with what little information they had to give me. The decision they made to adopt me becomes more and more profound to me the older I get, even more so now that I have children of my own. My mother knew that adopting me meant severing forever a relationship with her sister, and my father opened his heart and made me his daughter. They were patient with me as I struggled with an internal fight, always wondering what my life would be like if I hadn't been abandoned by my biological mother (let's  be clear: I hate using that term for her. The woman doesn't deserve to be called a "mother" in any capacity). All I had was snippets. Snippets of the past, snippets of my story, usually brought up at my great grandmother's house while pouring over old photos that showed my mom sitting next to a girl with buck teeth, horrible glasses, and hand sewn flannel pajamas. Any questions I ever had were met with conflicting answers, small pieces of the puzzle that never quite fit together. I was always met with the same answer in the end, "she's the only one who knows, we will never know".

My sophomore year of college, I suddenly felt the need for answers. I needed to know my past, so that I could more clearly see my future. I needed more than snippets. I told my parents I was ready, that I was preparing to make contact and make plans to meet her face to face, to finally hear my story. "Are you sure you're ready to hear what she has to say? You may not like what she has to say..." I could tell my mom was concerned, but I hid my nerves and with a brave face assured her I was ready to face the woman that left me all those years ago.

With the support of my family, the help of my best friend, grandparents, and a few stiff drinks in the lounge at the airport, I made my way down to Georgia. The plan was to stay at my grandparent's house and to have the woman I had never met meet me there, on neutral territory, where I would have a shoulder to lean on should things go horribly awry. I had lists of questions, pictures that I wanted explanations for, a need for the stories of my past, and a knot in my stomach the size of a Volkswagen. I settled into my grandparent's house, knowing that the next two days would fly by and I would soon be face to face with the woman that walked out of my life so many years ago. The anticipation continued to grow as my grandmother rehashed memories of my mother leaving, the months that followed, and the events that led up to my adoption. There were so many holes, so many loose ends to tie up, all of which I would hopefully have answers to in the coming days.

The day arrived. It was a total disaster. Without going into too much detail, let's just say that my lists of questions are still lists of questions, the loose ends are still loose, and my past is still a mystery to me. My questions were never answered, all I received was a web of lies strung together to look like a Nicholas Sparks romance novel, all total and utter bullshit. While the meeting didn't go as planned, some good things did come from it.

The tumultuous relationship with my real parents became clear to me. The grass was no longer greener on the other side, I knew that I was where I belonged. I spent several tearful conversations apologizing profusely to my mom, telling her how much I appreciated everything they had ever done for me. I realized for the first time in my life just how lucky I was, and how different my life would have been had they not adopted me. I was able to meet my half siblings, two people I shared DNA with, one of which I'm still in contact with. Perhaps the most profound thing I received from the meeting was a sense of peace. While I still had no real information about my past, I wasn't stuck wondering. I would just simply never know. I had faced the reality of the situation, I would never truly know what happened, why it happened, or how it happened, and for the first time in my life, that was okay. To be honest, I felt sorry for the woman. She couldn't be truthful to the one person who deserved the honest truth.

Fast forward. I now have children of my own. That feeling of sympathy for the woman that walked out of my life has changed. The sympathy is gone, and a more sinister feeling has taken it's place. I cannot fathom any circumstance in the world that would cause a woman to voluntarily walk away from her children. (Adoption is different, I understand that. This was a choice the woman who gave birth to me made knowing she was not returning, and did not let anyone know about the decision. This was abandonment.) What happened to me has shaped the way I raise my children. It has caused me to be afraid, fearful, and panicked. It has made me a helicopter mom in every sense of the word, and I believe that I have every right to be. I have worked hard to try to overcome some of those tendencies, especially with Addy, knowing she needs to be strong and independent. But I still feel extreme guilt every time I leave them, even if only for a few hours. I still panic when I leave them overnight, something that RARELY happens, and when it does, I'm obnoxiously checking my phone and calling to make sure that everything is alright. This has nothing to do with the people watching my children, it is whole heartedly my own anxiety. I never want my children to feel abandoned, unloved, or left behind.

So after all of that happened, I stopped wondering. Until Addy was born, I never felt the need to search out the other half of my DNA, my biological father. I know that Addy's limb difference is not genetic, but it got me wondering about my own genetics and what health risks are present on my father's side. So I started looking. I had a name, a state of birth, and an approximate birth date. I sent an email to a company, not expecting to have any luck. They sent me a few websites to try, a shot in the dark. A few clicks, and there he was. His name, date of birth, and date of death.

No more wondering. No more searching. It's all over with. The only other source of information about my past died four years ago, taking any information he had with him. That's assuming he even knew I existed, yet another question I'll never have the answer to. There was no flood of emotions, no gut wrenching pain, just an "it is what it is" kind of feeling. I'll never know. And that's okay. Because here is what I do know...

I have two beautiful children, a loving husband, a supportive family, an incredible life. I may not know my past, but I can clearly see my future. It's full of love, it's full of craziness, it's full of blessings. I am loved, I am full of love to give, and I am trying to make the best life possible for my children. I have everything I need right in front of me. And that's more than enough. 

Does She Know She's Missing Something?

Since Addy came into our lives almost eighteen months ago, there have been so many questions and only a few answers. Most of our questions, Addy has answered for us. She's shown us that she is able to figure things out, adapt, and improvise. There's one question that I find myself asking daily, more so lately. Does she know there's something missing?

We have watched Addy study her lucky fin so intensely that we wonder if she's putting two and two together. She will stare and pick at her little nubbins, she often points to her lucky fin and gives us a "what the heck?" look. She will reach into the trash can, using her left hand to hold open the lid, and reach in with her right arm, only to realize she can't grab the coffee filter full of coffee grinds laying on top to throw all over the kitchen. She will try to carry her juice cup and hold a toy, and struggles to figure out how to handle it all, but she always finds a way. Lately, there have been gloves. 

It's Winter, and it's freezing here. Keegan recently started preschool which means we venture out into the cold every day to take him and pick him up from school. He also gets to play outside if the weather permits, so Nana got him some really cool Batman gear to keep him warm. His Batman gloves have become one of Addy's new favorite things. As soon as we get in the door, Keegan begins stripping off layers, and no sooner does he pull off the first glove, Addy scoops it up and puts it on her lucky fin. Only on her fin. And then it happens: the look. The look that makes me wonder if she understands that she's missing a hand. That glove goes on and she starts clapping, and giggling, and showing it to us (read that as shoving it in our faces). She will wear it all afternoon if we let her. Is she excited to have more fingers? Obviously they don't work, she can't grab anything, or carry things easier, but does she enjoy the aesthetic look of them? I know that asking her these questions will only lead to one of her go to responses: nana, papa, turtle, bite, dog. She just can't express herself yet, and to be honest, I'm not sure I'm ready to try and answer her questions just yet. Yes, we have armed ourselves with as much information as we can over the past year, and I will of course be honest with her and try to explain her limb difference to her the best way I can. But I still fear hearing her ask me why she's different. 

I know that the community of friends we have built through different organizations will help Addy realize that being different is amazing. I know this because these parents have helped me. They have stayed in touch after only meeting one time, they have shared their stories of happiness and of heartbreak. They have explained to us the ebb and flow of this journey, one that we are only beginning to understand. My Addy is a force to be reckoned with. She will take the world by storm just like our other limb different friends who have been all over the media lately! Between Ezra Frech  and Tommy Morrissey sharing their stories on The Ellen Show, to Noah Galloway winning the "Ultimate Men's Health Guy" title and scoring the cover and the countless others spreading the word that anything is possible, our limb different friends are paving the way for our daughter and so many others like her, and I can't thank them enough. When Addy realizes she's different, and begins asking questions, I will be able to point to role models and our friends and show her that she is not alone. I guess I'm more ready than I thought, but that doesn't make it any less scary. Fingers crossed I have one more year of my blissfully unaware crazy girl before the questions start flying!