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.
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.
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