Birthday Blues

I was born at 2:05 a.m. on Christmas morning.

I've often wondered what sort of problem that created for Mary, being a single mother of 3 little ones.  Who did she leave them with when she went to the hospital?  Did anyone go with her, or did she make the trip by herself?  Was she angry that I arrived on Christmas Day, effectively keeping her from celebrating it with her children? Was THEIR Christmas an unpleasant one that year because of me?

Because Ava is the oldest---she was 7 when I was born--she seems to remember the most about my arrival, but she tells me she doesn't recall anything specific about Christmas that year. In fact, my appearance was so secretive, she was told she was "imagining" having a baby sister, that it was all in her head.  She never believed it, which I guess explains why she seemed so willing to embrace me when I showed up 47 years later. 

For the first part of my life, Christmas was magical.  In addition to the fun of Christmas presents, I got the added bonus of birthday gifts as well.  Without fail, I always get people who say to me "Oh you were born on Christmas, that must be awful......your birthday probably always got forgotten or combined." But in fact, the opposite is true.  My parents not only gave me birthday presents at Christmas, but to make sure I never felt like my day just got rolled into the holiday commotion, they chose to celebrate my "half birthday" on June 25th each year.  This was when I would have my birthday parties, and I would get presents from them THEN as well. Frankly, it was good to be me.

But Christmas time is complicated for me, especially now, as an adult.  I still love the twinkly lights and magical feeling of the season, but I admit that a certain sadness sets in every year in December. There is a loss there.  For many years, the "loss" was that I wasn't able to find my birthmother, and I felt sad that she probably spent her holidays worrying about me.  Then there were the years AFTER finding her, when I knew she WASN'T thinking of me, and that was a new sort of loss.  The last few years, the loss has been about all the things I would never know, because of her decision to terminate our letters.  I would (most likely) never know my father's name, or my family history.  I would never be certain of my ancestry, or where I got my curly hair and green eyes from.  And more pressing than anything else.....I knew I had siblings---a sister, and two brothers---and I would miss the chance to know them.  So although I tried to keep my holiday spirit alive and well, there was always a little piece of me that couldn't shake the sadness that came along with each passing birthday. Every year my husband would see it and say sympathetically "what can I do?" and then hug me tightly as I would shrug and cry.

This year, as I finish wrapping presents, making candy, and sending cards, it occurs to me that this is the first time in over 20 years that my birthday is NOT bringing sadness with it. Well......that's not entirely true.  I'm not particularly happy about turning 48.  But I am frankly amazed at what this last year has brought.  If you had told me last Christmas that within WEEKS, I would not only know my birthmother's name, but I would also know the names of my siblings AND end up getting to know them, I would never have believed it.  So many questions have finally been answered ---so many holes in my heart filled.  It's going to be a great birthday.

Christmas is magical again.

 

Face to Face

It was only a two hour drive, but it felt like it took days.  My adoptive sister and I hopped in her car and headed down the road, on our way to meet Ava, my biological sister. And I was nervous.

 

My sister Terri is almost 10 years my senior.  Our mom struggled with healthy pregnancies, and my sister was born prematurely.  A few years later, our sister Bunny arrived, but much too early, and she didn't survive. The doctor warned mom that any future pregnancies might result in her death as well.  And that's where my story with this family began.  My sister was 9 years and 9 months old when they brought me home.

 

Because of our age difference, Terri has been somewhat of a "second mother" to me.  We were never close enough in age to have any sibling rivalry--no fights over toys, or clothes. By the time I was 8 years old, she had moved out and started her own life.  But for the huge age gap, we have always been the very best of friends.  In my teenage years, when I felt unable to talk with our parents about problems and concerns, my sister was only a phone call away, and sometimes, because we only lived a few hours from each other, I would hop in my car and spend the weekend with her.

 

She had been cautiously excited for me when I found my birthmother, and was heartbroken with me when Mary chose to stop all communication.  She watched helplessly as I struggled to understand how a mother could actually want nothing to do with her child.  And when my new journey began this year to locate my half siblings, I suspect that her heart ached with worry that I might be facing another huge disappointment. But as the process began, she started searching with me, and it was actually her that located the very first photo of my birthmother. She was lovingly supportive, and so, it only made sense to me to bring her with me to meet Ava for the first time.  The irony is that, during all of these years of wondering where my siblings were, my two sisters---adoptive and biological---only lived two hours from each other.

 

As we drove, we filled the time with funny stories----trying to keep my mind calmed.  I was nervous about meeting Ava, but probably less than I would have been if she and I had not been communicating through email for the previous months. Part of me felt like I already knew her, but I worried what she might think of me when she saw me in person.  I suspect she was worrying about the same thing.

 

When we finally pulled up in front of her house, I walked towards her front door and saw her standing on her porch.  I was going to be very casual, but I found myself walking towards her quickly with my arms open to hug her.  And as we embraced, I was embarrassed to find myself crying, saying "Hi Ava" and just squeezing her. The feeling seemed to be mutual as she looked a little teared up as well.   I didn't know it at the time, but Terri had lagged behind and had taken photos of our first moments together.  Pictures I will treasure forever.

 

Ava invited us into her home and showed us the improvements she was working on----she's extremely industrious and puts me to shame in the "do it yourself" department.  She also introduced us to her chickens---something a city girl like me finds hilarious. Then we went to lunch and spent the afternoon visiting and laughing. The entire time, I kept thinking how amazing it was that a year previously, I didn't even know her name....and now, I had a new sister that I loved.

 

Her life has been a hard one, but she is a strong woman and has made the best of her circumstances. Our mother only lives about 20 minutes away from her, but they haven't spoken in over 15 years. I don't know all the details, but it's clear to me, from what ALL the siblings have said, that Mary isn't a particularly "motherly" type of individual.

 

And that's when it came together for me.  My life, the one I had "inherited" through my adoption, was a bigger blessing that I had ever realized before.  Yes, I had grown up in a home where there was an abundance of material items, and I had never experienced anything close to poverty. I had had opportunities for guitar lessons, piano lessons, and travel, and undoubtedly many other things that Mary would not have been able to offer me.  But it was clear that the most important thing I gained was a loving relationship with a mother.  A woman who is one of my very best friends.  I find myself wondering what my life might have been like if Mary had made the decision to keep me all those years ago.  I suspect I would be estranged from her as my siblings are.....and it makes me sad.  I feel such a sense of gratitude that I have been given the chance to find Don, Ron and Ava....to have these new family members and enlarge that circle in my life. And through this experience, I've been able to recognize the biggest blessing that has been in front of me all along.

We Have Contact

I told myself I wasn't going to reach out to them.

 

As I looked at their names, I reminded myself that the whole point of getting my original birth certificate was to learn my identity and do some genealogy. Now that I had names, I could figure out my ethnicity and have a lot of questions answered. It didn't make sense to reach out to these people who---most likely---wouldn't want a relationship with me.

 

But something Mary----my birthmother---had said in a letter to me all those years ago, kept echoing in my head:  "My middle son is very excited to meet you someday". She explained that she didn't have much contact with her other two children, but that this particular son knew about me and apparently was at least somewhat pleased about my existence.

 

 It took me about 2 weeks of thinking it through, and wondering if I could cope emotionally with being told again that I was not welcome in someone's life. When I finally decided to take my chances, I sat down and wrote a letter to my brother---Don.  I must have written about 7 different drafts, showing each one to my ever supportive husband, who finally deemed the last one "not overly emotional or rambling".  With the support of a dear girlfriend who had been cheering me on through this journey, I finally worked up the courage to put the letter in the outgoing mail, and prepared myself for a less than positive response.

 

It was almost a week later, while I was I on vacation with friends, that I received one of the best emails I've ever read:

 

"I'm so happy you found us...we have so much catching up to do.....can I call you?"

 

Within days, I had spoken with both of my brothers, Don and Ron, on the phone, and had exchanged emails with big sister Ava.  I don't mind telling you that I was thrilled to learn all three have a wonderful sense of humor, and of course, most amazing of all.....they have welcomed me with open arms. It's as if my appearance has been completely natural to them. I honestly have been so touched by their kindness that it has more than made up for the sadness I felt so many years ago when 'our' mother chose to stop contact with me.

The outcome has been better than I could have ever hoped for.

 

Mary is not yet aware that we are in touch with each other......Because her contact with her kids is infrequent, I am leaving it up to their discretion if or when they want to share that information with her. In the meantime, I have spent the past few months feeling more "whole" in my heart than I ever have in my life.  Pieces that were missing are finally being put in place. And as wonderful as its been, something else amazing is about to happen......

 

I'm meeting Ava face to face this weekend.

What's Your Name?

Imagine for a moment that you are not allowed to know the name of your grandparents, your ethnicity, or stories of how your ancestors arrived in America.

 

Pretend that you have a very distinguishable physical feature, but no idea where it came from.

 

And every single time during your life that you go to a doctor's appointment, and they ask "Do you have any family history of (fill in the blank)?", your answer is an obligatory  "I have absolutely no idea".

 

For hundreds of thousands of people, this is a reality. Due simply to the circumstances of their birth, they are not allowed by law to know names of blood relatives, and in many cases, any pertinent medical information. For some, this poses only a slight inconvenience. But for many, many more, it feels as though their birth is considered shameful, and that they are being expected to "pretend" that they arrived in their adoptive families by an actual stork.

 

Until January 1, 2016, the laws in Colorado---along with many other states---stated that all adoptees were not allowed to have access to their Original Birth Certificate (OBC).  Colorado's laws were even more detailed, only allowing adoptees born during certain years to access their information.  If you were born during the years 1949-1951 OR 1967-1999, you were completely out of luck. No real reasoning. Apparently only people that were born during those intervening years were better equipped to handle the truth.

Fortunately some legislator recognized the utter nonsense of the law and it was finally amended to allow ALL Colorado adoptees to receive their OBC.  On January 2nd, 2016, I mailed my notarized form and payment off, and waited anxiously for the information I had been searching for.  And on January 30, 2016, I received a thick envelope that included a blurry copy of my OBC, and the name of the woman who I had once exchanged "anonymous" letters with.  I cried for 30 minutes after staring at it.

 

 

My birthmother's name is Mary.

 

It's a very simple piece of information, but with that name, my entire world opened up more than I ever dreamed it would. I spent the next few weeks scouring the internet for pictures, names, and anything else I could find. I stayed up late at night filling out family trees. I learned information about my bloodlines that was previously a complete dead end to me. 

 

 

 

And  I didn't know it at that moment, but my family was getting ready to expand.

Finding Family

When I think of words to describe who I am ( mom, domestic goddess, charmingly lazy, hilarious.....), I can't escape one in particular that defines me deeply: Adoptee.

 

I grew up in an amazing family with a sister who is almost ten years older than me...and is the natural child of our parents. She was born premature and spent several weeks in an incubator before she was allowed to come home. A few years after her birth, our mom had another daughter, but there were complications and she was stillborn.  The doctor warned my parents that if a third pregnancy was attempted, it might not be just the baby who didn't make it.  My parents took him at his word, and decided to adopt.  Enter, me.

 

I was born to an unwed mother who had 3 other children from her previous marriage. I suppose that the idea of feeding and clothing one more little one played a major role in her decision to place me for adoption after my birth, and at no time in my life did it ever occur to me to be angry or sad about her decision. I was told from the time I was able to understand words that I had been 'chosen' to come into the family that adopted me, and I always wore it as a badge of pride. I was special. It's probably part of what developed the undeniable ego I have, and some might silently wish my parents hadn't hammered the "chosen" thing home quite so much.

 

In any case, my parents are loving and kind people who taught me much about what being a parent means. My sister and I, despite our difference in age, grew up as best friends.  She was almost a second mother to me and was the person I would confide in when I felt our mom just wouldn't understand. I never felt I didn't "belong" in our family ---aside from not looking like anyone--- and my parents always let me know that, if the day came that I wanted to find my biological parents, they would support me in any way possible. 

 

As a teenager, I occasionally wondered what my birthmother looked like. Like many adoptees, I sometimes wondered if my birthparents were secretly rich or famous --- don't ask, it's apparently a coping mechanism for when our "adoptive" families weren't being cool enough. I honestly never gave my birthfather much thought, aside from wondering if I looked like him.  Maybe I worried more about how my birthmom was coping with losing a child, and men didn't seem as 'connected' to children. To this day, I'm not even certain he knows I exist.

 

When I became an adult and had my first child, I was surprised that one my first thoughts as I held my newborn son was that of my birthmother.  I pictured this poor woman having to say goodbye to a child she had carried for 9 months, and as I looked at my new baby, it hurt me to think of all the years that she had spent worrying about me. I decided at that moment that I MUST find her. I absolutely had to let this woman know that I was okay, and to stop her suffering.

 

As expected, my parents were hugely supportive of my decision to search, and although my first attempts were minimal and fruitless, I was eventually able to locate my birthmother when I turned 30. I have previously written about my experience and you are welcome to read about it here:

http://hubpages.com/family/finders-weepers

 

It is now 17 years later, and there has been no change in the ending to that story. But a brand new story has begun, and in part 2 of this blog entry, I will share with you how my family has grown in a way I had never expected.  Stay tuned :)

Sometimes You Need a Push

I'm a writer. 

 

Well, I'd LIKE to be. 

I've been a college student, a missionary, a stay at home mom, a French translator, and a radio personality. More recently, I've been lazy and done basically nothing. All of those things are part of my life experiences that I appreciate and even love.

 

But years ago, after resigning myself to thinking that I had absolutely no talents whatsoever---besides my astounding ability to binge watch entire seasons of sitcoms---I discovered that I was sort of good at something: Words. On paper. Maybe not GREAT, and maybe not in a way that will ever change anyone's life. But the realization that I could express my thoughts in writing, better than I have ever been able to do in speech, has sort of changed MY life. 

 

You should know that I have attempted to write 2 novels. I have 3 pages completed on one of them, and a quarter of a page on the other one.  I also have about 4 other ideas hanging out inside my head. This has been going on for about 6 years now, which gives you some insight on my laziness.  My personal motto seems to be "I'll get to that later"....and I will. 

 

But in the meantime, there seems to be a lot of things going on in the world---my own, and everyone else's ---- that have given me the push I need to start a blog.  I don't suspect it will be a "viral success", and aside from a few friends, I may be the only one to read it.  But to quote Mr. Allen Ginsburg : “To gain your own voice, you have to forget about having it heard.”

 

I'm a 40-something year old woman, and I'm finally finding my voice.