Story of a Girl - Chapter 9

Chapter Nine – Dear Stranger

Unfolding and reading the letter, sent to me by this stranger who had given me life, not once, but twice, was one of the most surreal experiences I have ever had in my life. It seems like a dream, looking back now. A dream that I only have bits and pieces of. The details are gone, and the parts I remember seem clouded. But, I remember the feelings.

The paper seems so loud as I unfolded it. The sound seemed to echo through the house, echoing the vast feeling of …. nothing... I was feeling. How does one, in such an emotionally charged situation, feel nothing. It was more than nothing. It like standing knee deep in a black pool of eternal nothingness. That is the best way I can describe it.

I had shut myself off from feeling anything, because I didn't know what I should be feeling. My life was in utter turmoil, and now I was now about to time travel to what felt like some other person's life.

Story of a Girl - Chapter 8

Chapter Eight – Sometimes the Phone Sounds Different When It Rings

Months had passed and my life was a mess. Cam and I were recently separated. I had just started working again and was trying not to drown in my own self doubt. The kids and I were getting along okay. As okay as can be expected under the circumstances. I was lost and not really wanting to be found. I was fully happy being miserable for the time being. Surely, I am not the only who has ever felt that way. However, I digress. It is no surprise that I had forgotten all about that adoption reunion website.



You know how sometimes the phone sounds different when it rings, and you just know that something bad is at the other end, or at least, something unnerving? The last time the phone had rang that way, it was someone phoning to tell us that our friends' son, our children's best friend, has died in a house fire. On this day, the phone had rang with resonating sound that stopped me in my tracks. I was hesitant to answer it.  But, I did answer and thankfully no one had died, but rather, I had been found. Literally.



My mind raced as the lady on the phone explained that a lady had been going through their (the adoption reunion website's) data base and had recognized my birth information as being that of her sister's baby that was given in adoption. The birth mother had requested contact so they were asking me for permission to give information. The nice lady on the phone counseled me on the recommended process for achieving contact between myself and my birth mother. They did not recommend meeting right away, but exchanging some letters and giving ourselves time to get used to the whole idea. I explained that I wasn't really sure how I felt about it all, but that they had my permission to give my birth mother my name and mailing address. It would be okay, I thought, for her to send me a letter.



After hanging up, I was stunned. I can't remember if I even told anyone what had happened at that point. I certainly didn't want any pressure from well-meaning friends on this one.  A couple days later, Cam had stopped by to pick up the kids, but had arrived early, while they were still at school. I decided to tell him about the phone call. After being married for nearly eleven years, it was still habit to tell him everything that was going on in my life. He was ridiculously excited for me. I stood in stunned silence as he ignored what I said about not being sure that I wanted this but rather chattered on and on about how this will help me to find myself and put together the pieces of my puzzle. When he finally stopped talking, I again explained that my being adopted is not an issue for me, and never has been. This is not going to “fix” me and therefore our marriage. I regretted telling him about it, and at that moment, I fully regretted giving the agency permission to give my birth mother my identifying information. I regretted so much that day. After the kids got home from school and left with their father, I again pushed down the bitter ball, and went to work.



When I got home that night, I drank. A lot.



It was less than a week after the phone call from the agency that I received a letter from my birth mother. It sat on my kitchen table for a few hours, while I busied myself around the house. I would pause and stare at it every now and then. It didn't seem real. I felt like, if I opened that envelope and read what was inside, that I could never go back. Did I really want to know? What if the truth is horrible? What if I don't like her? What if she doesn't like me? Are my mom and dad going to be hurt?



The questions swirled, but they were mixed with curiosity. Do I have siblings? Nieces? Nephews?



Finally, I decided that I would prefer to know what she has to say. I made a cup of tea and sat down to open the letter.



My hands shook as I began to read.

Story of a Girl, Chapter 7

Side-note:  The next few chapters of this story have proven very difficult to write.  They bring up a lot of old unwelcome memories and feelings while working their way to happier memories.     I want to be open and honest in my retelling of my story, but don't want to affect anyone negatively in the process.  I guess the best thing to keep in mind, is that this is all the past and I am very much  in the present and content here.




Chapter Seven – The Bitter Ball



After several unsettle years of career changes and moving several times, we have finally settled into a cute little house in a nice small town. The kids were in school now and life had a busy, but comfortable routine.



One Sunday afternoon, Cam came home from having a beer over at a new friend's house and tells me about this great website his friend showed him. It was an adoption reunion site. One could register on this site, providing as much info as they can about their birth and adoption, or of someone who has been adopted that they would like to reunited with. This was all then added to a database. One could then search the database and see all the information, and contact the website administrators if you think you have a match. The administrators would then make contact with the other party and provide the opportunity for both parties to connect. It was a pretty successful registry with many happy endings posted on the site.



I listened, while the hair on the back of neck stood up and an icky feeling in my stomach started to grow. Before I could get out the words, “I'm not interested”, Cam told me he had registered me with all the information he could remember.



I was stunned. I wanted to scream, vomit, run away or throw large heavy objects at him. Instead, I stood there, dumfounded. I felt dizzy and so confused. Cam chattered on, while I swam around in my head for awhile. At some point, I think I finally asked him why he did that. I don't really remember what his answer was. It didn't really matter what his answer was. He had made a decision that was mine to make. It was so extremely personal, that I felt betrayed, belittled and robbed of my own free will. A combination of anger and hurt rose up and burned in me. But, I pushed it down into a bitter little ball, as I was accustomed to doing. Cam was smiling the entire time. He thought he had done this really awesome thing, while I burned deep inside.



To this day, and for the rest of his life, I am sure, he will never understand why what he did was wrong.  I believe he really thought he was doing something helpful.  I think he projected his curiosity and desire to know more onto me, and truly believes that I wanted it.  I struggled for years to forgive him.   In my most vulnerable and honest of moments, I would admit that this act of Cam's complete obliviousness to my feelings was a huge factor in our divorce that would follow not too long after this. But, THAT is a whole other story. 



The next day, after Cam had left for work, I logged onto the website and deactivated my information. My hand shook and tears rolled down my cheek. I don't think I told Cam that I deactivated it. I don't really remember clearly, as I have a habit of shutting off the memories of hurtful experiences. I have only the fuzzy recollection of it happening and how it made me feel. Even as I write this, I feel the bitterness of this memory, which is still so hazy.


What lead me to return to that website several months later and start reading the stories and looking through the database, I don't really remember.  What lead me reactivate my registry and update my information with all I could remember about my birth and adoption, I'm not sure that I understand.

Story of a Girl, Chapter 6

Chapter Six – The Joy of Motherhood



Before I knew it, I was young mother of two healthy, wonderful children. I was only twenty when Joshua was born. It was only two days less than a year later when Alexandra was born. I really didn't know what I was doing. But, I loved being a mom. If you had asked me then, I would have told that I wanted to just keep having babies until I couldn't anymore. I was very much in love with my babies and with being a mom.



When Josh's birth was nearing, I had asked Mom to be there through the labor and when he was born. She was very nervous about that. My mom had confessed in the weeks leading up to Josh's birth that she was both excited and anxious about meeting her grandchild as she had never cared for or even held a brand new baby before. My brother was six weeks old when Mom and Dad brought him home, and I was five months. My mom felt ill-equipped, but I assured her that she would be fine. As things would have it, Josh was born by cesarean and Mom and Dad were on their bi-annual hunting trip when the time came. They made daily trips from their campsite back down to the highway to use a phone and check in with us. They came home when he was born. They got to come meet him the next day. It was very moving to see my mom hold Josh. Tears streamed down her cheek as she kissed him over and over. Dad just smiled from ear to ear the entire time he held the baby.



In the weeks that followed Josh's birth, my mom and dad came to visit as often as their schedule and I would allow. Mom felt so bad that she wasn't able to offer advise or insight as I struggled with breast feeding. However, she was such a proud Grandma, and enjoyed learning right along with me.



Grandma and Grandpa continued to spend as much time as possible with Josh during his first year. Then, came Lexi. Also born by cesarean, my parents were again thrilled to experience a newborn grandchild. When it was time to come home from the hospital, my mom came and picked us up. Mom had recently had surgery herself and was not yet 100%, but would not pass up the opportunity to stay with me for a week or so while I adjust to having two babies and recover from surgery. As exhausted as I was, and as foggy as my memory is during those first few days home, I do remember that I was loving sharing the experience with my mom. I think we bonded on a whole new level.



Through those early years of being a mother, I would occasionally consider my birth mother. I wondered if they had let her hold me or even see me. I imagined how hard it must have been to do what she did. I think that most women who make the choice to give up a baby for adoption must feel like someone just ripped a part of their heart right out. Even under the most horrific conditions of an unplanned pregnancy, there is an undeniable bond between a mother and the child that stirs in her womb. I cannot even fathom the amount of emotional pain one must go through to make the choice to give up a child. Nor do I want to.



I am just thankful that my birth mother put herself second and me first. The painful sacrifice she made is the reason I am who I am. She gave me life, twice. Not just by giving birth to me, but also by loving me enough to give me a better life. And nothing has given me more gratitude for her choice than becoming a mother myself, and watching my parents be the loving grandparents that they are.

Story of a Girl, Chapter 5

Chapter Five - Chosen


There is something that happens when you are expecting a baby. You start to imagine your child and their future. You get to thinking about all the possibilities for this new life you are carrying. Naturally, looking into the future often leads directly into considering the past. I was no exception to this. I suddenly found myself with a lot of questions about my birth mother and her family history. It was a little disconcerting as a first time expectant mother, when I was hit with a barrage of questions about my families medical history at the doctors office. Were there hereditary diseases or conditions? How about pregnancies? Was there a history of problematic pregnancies or births? I didn't know. I didn't even know if I was born early or late; or big or small. These are questions my parents couldn't answer for me. They had not been informed of any medical history. We had to assume that no news was good news.


Then my mom remembered that when they adopted me, they were told that there was a 50/50 chance I could have some form of mental retardation, due to some minor complications during birth, and they probably wouldn't be able to tell for sure until I was around two years old. My parents chose to take that chance and adopted me anyway.


I felt a renewed sense of respect and awe for my parents. Would I have made that choice if I were in their shoes? I considered the baby I was carrying and knew that nothing would stop me from choosing him. But with adoption, you could say, “No, I'll wait for the next available child.”


My parents explained that they had felt that I was their child. As soon as they received the call about me, they knew I was meant for them. They had been waiting for a long time for me, and nothing would keep them from choosing me.





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Story of a Girl, Chapter 4

Chapter Four - Traveling the Road Paved With Good Intentions



By the time I graduated high school, I had come to the conclusion that I did not want to have children of my own. Oh, I liked kids. In fact, I wanted to gear my career towards working with children somehow. But, I had convinced myself that it was never going to be in the cards for me to be a mother. This was mostly because I believed that no man would ever want to marry me. I had, by the ripe old age of seventeen, convinced myself that I would be alone forever. You have to love the insecurity, and tendency towards drama of a teenage girl.



Imagine my surprise when I found myself married only two short weeks before my nineteenth birthday. About a month after we were married, we went on our “honeymoon”. I don't remember how much time we took, but we had decided to travel to Vancouver Island. There were some places my husband, Cam, wanted to visit before we made our down to Victoria for a couple days.



It just so happens that I was born in a small town on Vancouver Island. So, seeming as how we were in the area, I asked if we could visit that town. I wanted to see the hospital where I was born. And it wasn't so much that I wanted to go there to see if I could find my birth mother. I just wanted to see where I was born.



All my life, everyone else seemed to know so much about the day they were born. For example, everyone else seemed to know what time they were born, how much they weighed, how long they were, and how long their mothers were in labor. All I knew was the name of a hospital, the date of my birth and that I was extremely jaundice and spent some time in intensive care. I was jealous of people who knew the whole story about their birth. This is the only hang-up I had over being adopted. I felt a little ripped off that the social worker who handled my adoption didn't give my parents a moment by moment account of my birth. I wonder if my mom felt that way too. I will have to ask her some time.



As Cam and I drove up to the hospital, he asked if I wanted to go in. I was a little surprised. I really just wanted to drive by, but seeming as how we are here, maybe it would be neat to see the nursery where I spent the first couple months of my life. As we wondered the hall through the maternity wing, Cam stopped a nurse and asked about speaking to someone about birth records. I remember thinking, “What is he doing? Why is he doing this?” But it was all a little surreal to me. I was feeling a little disconnected and confused. I followed along behind as the nurse lead down to an office corridor and introduced us to someone in records. I can't really remember the details of the conversation that followed, except that Cam asked a lot of questions and we were told that under the circumstances of my adoption, my records would be sealed and the only way to access them would be to apply to some government agency, and see if my birth mother also applied. Only when both parties have submitted application can those records be opened.



Still in a fog, I was feeling a little resentful that my husband was pushing me. He actually wanted to go find out right then and there to find out where we could go to submit this application. I, however, did not want to do that. I just wanted to be a new wife on her honeymoon. Seeming as how I am one to avoid confrontation at almost all cost, I quietly made excuses as to why we should just forget about it for now and continue on our way. I stared out the window and tried not to let Cam see the tears that were rolling down my cheeks. He would surely interpret them as disappointment in regards to what we were told at the hospital. I didn't want to have to tell them that they were tears of disappointment, but not because of what we were told, rather for the fact that he even asked. However, I stuffed the bad feelings down and decided to put it behind us. After all, he meant well. Right?





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Story of a Girl, Chapter 3

Chapter Three - Considering Mothers



As a teenager, I did a lot of babysitting. I had a few families that I was the babysitter for. I enjoyed being with the kids most of the time. I had few bad experiences with out of control kids, but mostly I liked the kids and they liked me. But, what I loved the most was looking after babies. Oh sure, there is a lot about caring for babies that is not glamorous. However, there was nothing like rocking a baby to sleep. Or seeing a chubby little face light up with a smile when you walk into the room.

One such baby that I cared for was Christina. She was as cute as you could get. I started babysitting her when she was about 5 months old. Just a couple hours here and there at first. She was a little fussy with me, but I didn't mind. I enjoyed taking her for walks in her stroller and getting her to laugh. Over time, as I started babysitting her quite regularly. We had developed our own little bond.

Then it happened that I was asked to look after Christina overnight. I was a little nervous. But, she was a little older now, about 9 months old I think. Everything went well until about 3:30 am when I was awaken by the sound of a baby crying. That was a little startling as I was only 15 or 16 at the time, and had never experienced that before. As I groggily made my way into her room, she looked at me and cried a little harder. It was a first for her too. I lifted her up, and gave her a little cuddle, changed her diaper, then sat down in the rocking chair, wound up the music box and starting humming in her ear.

As Christina relaxed in my arms and started to doze off, a thought came to me that I had never thought before. I wondered if my birth mother had ever had another child. Did she ever sit and hold a baby like this and think of me? I prayed for her that night, that she could somehow know that I was okay and had a good family.

And, as I laid Christina into her crib, I thought about what it would be like to one day be a mother myself. And then my thoughts drifted to my Mom and Dad. Memories flooded back to me. I remembered baking with my mom when I was still too little to reach the counter and had to stand on a chair. I remembered my mom holding me and comforting me as I had to get some stitches. I remembered my dad reading bedtime stories and giving me piggy-back rides. I knew that they were going to amazing grandparents one day. I gave thanks to God for them and went back to bed.






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Story of a Girl, Chapter 2

Chapter Two - Repetitive Conversations

It's funny how people always have endless opinions and advise about something that they have no experience with. I have had so many people tell me how I should feel about my birth mother, or my parents. Not one of those people was adopted. Not one of them lived my life or had the experiences I had. Yet, somehow they knew what was best for me. It used to make me really mad when people would ask me about my birth mother, and even after I said that I have no interest in finding her, would still ask if I was going to look for her. I had more than a few conversations that went exactly like this:

Friend: so you're adopted?

Me: Yes.

Friend: Do you know anything about your birth mother?

Me: Not very much, but I'm okay with that. I don't really have an interest in her.

Friend: Why?

Me: Because I have my Mom. I have my Dad. I don't want or need her to feel secure or know who I am.

Friend: Are you ever going to look for her?

Me: No, I don't think so.

Friend: Why?

Me: (insert head explosion here)

I am not exaggerating. Well, maybe about the head exploding part. That loop played out in conversation many times in my life. I had similar conversations with people who had known me for years and knew how I felt. Even they somehow felt that I must be wrong when I said I didn't want to find her.



Here's the thing; my feelings about my parents, being adopted and my birth mother are very personal. Just as those feelings are for any other person who is adopted. I'm totally okay with it. I have known other adoptees who feel like I do. And others who long for answers and feel incomplete without them. Even within one family with multiple adopted children, each child can have very different perspective and feelings. One should never automatically assume that just because someone is adopted, that they have a big hole in their life and long for a reunion with their birth mother. They could be totally at peace with it. I was. I have known many others who were.





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Story of a Girl, Chapter 1

Anyone who knows me personally knows that I was adopted.  For some, being adopted is hard.   It leaves them filled with questions, confusion and a sense of loss.   It wasn't like that for me.  This is my story.

Chapter One - The Girl is Alright

I don't remember finding out that I was adopted.  I just always knew.  As far back as I can remember, my parents told me that someone (my birth mother) loved me enough to give me a better life.  They knew very little about her, but told what little they knew when I asked.   I never had a burning desire to find my birth mother.  I had a mom.  She loved me and I loved her and that was enough.  As a child, I never really gave it a whole lot of thought.


Occasionally, a friend would ask about it.  Once, when I was about 7, a friend came over and we were sitting at the kitchen table coloring and having a snack.  My mom was making dinner.  My friend asked what it was like being adopted.  I shrugged and said that it was fine.  She asked where I was born.  I asked my mom, because I couldn't remember the name of the town or hospital.  Then my friend asked one of those questions.  The ones that can pierce the heart of an adoptive mother.  She asked, "Don't you ever miss your real mother?  Do you wonder where she is?"  Now, I was 7, so I didn't know that this conversation was tearing at my mom, as she kept her back to us and made dinner.  She didn't say a word.

Again, I shrugged it off.  "Not really",  I answered.  "I have a mom." 

Later, after my friend went home, my mom asked me how those questions made me feel.  Mom was clearly hurt that I did not correct my friend as describing my birth mother as my real mother.  I knew this was bothering her, because she told me.  I was 7 after all.  Not all that perceptive yet at that age.  My mom cried, and told me I hurt her.  I didn't understand why she was so hurt because of course she is my real mom.  That other lady, the one who gave me up, she was just someone who loved me enough to give me a better life.  I was confused, but I knew that I never again wanted to hurt my mom.

A couple things happened in sixth grade that changed my perspective on being adopted.   Not some life changing, cloud parting, angels singing kind of thing.   Just a couple of events that deepened my feelings and made me feel different.

First, I met someone else who was adopted. We talked about it. He too, was okay with it. He too wasn't driven to find out about his birth mother. He was the first person I talked to about it who said, “Really? You're adopted? Cool! So am I.” For the first time in my life, I didn't feel like there was something wrong with me because I didn't want to know more about her. It's funny, how all the people who questioned me and made me feel bad weren't adopted. They had no idea what it was like, yet they all somehow knew that I should want to find my birth mother. But, now I had a friend who understood. I didn't have to explain to him.

Then she came. She was the teacher who came to take over the job as our sixth grade teacher, as Mr. Shaw had to leave. We all loved Mr. Shaw and therefore automatically, she was the enemy. As I write this I can't even remember her name. One afternoon, as I sat in detention, I asked her for help on an assignment I was working on. Until then, she was still the enemy. It was her fault that Mr. Shaw left. But, as she helped me with my assignment, I noticed that she looked a lot like me. She was short, like me. She had a bumpy nose, like me. Her smile was a lot like mine. She smelled good. I liked her laugh. Then it happened. For the first time ever, I wondered if she could be my birth mother. Or, at the very least, I wondered if my birth mother was a lot like her. I don't remember if I told anyone about this, as I wasn't suddenly wanting to know once and for all. But, I was curious, for the first time.



Fast forward to 11th grade when I was given an assignment to write a persuasive essay on a social issue.  We had a long list of issues and ideas to choose from and we were advised to choose something that would mean something to us.  One immediately jumped out at me.  Adoption.  I decided to write about open adoption.  It fascinated me, as my adoption had been typical of the era.  It was a closed, government handled adoption.  The files were locked.  I knew someone at school who was pregnant and was choosing open adoption.  She wanted to meet and choose the parent herself, then keep in touch through the years to receive pictures and hear how the child was doing. All I could think was that would create a lot emotional stress for her and the parents.   I wasn't sure if I was going to write from a pro or con viewpoint yet. I had to learn more about this.  I starting my research right away.

I gathered magazine and newspaper articles.  I sent away for some brochures from adoption agencies.  They were sent to the school.  I didn't tell my parents.

My mom had a habit of looking over my homework when I left it on my desk, as I rarely showed her what I was working on unless I needed editing.  She was doing just that when she saw all the brochures.   Now, you should know that I wasn't trying to be deceitful, or anything.  I was just avoiding having uncomfortable conversations with my parents, which I knew would inevitably come up if I told them.  Turns out, it was much worse.  Mom kind of freaked out.  But, she didn't want to talk to me from an emotional place, so she had my dad talk to me.   I always hated when he sat me down and started our talk with, "Your mom is very upset because....".  Those were always very long talks.  We had a few of those through the years. 

Once Dad explained that Mom had found my brochures and was hurt because she thought I was searching out my birth mother behind their backs, I got my turn to explain.  I told my dad that I was researching open adoption for an essay assignment and that I still have no interest in finding my birth mother. He told me again, as he and Mom had told me many times before, that if I ever feel like I want to find her, that they would like to know, and offer whatever help they can.



I would never take them up on that offer. I would never choose to actively search out my birth mother. However,  I would wonder if I looked like her, if we had the same eyes, nose, smile. But, I would never really want to find her. I mostly just wanted to see a picture.

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