Friendship Friday

I am participating in Friendship Friday over at Create With Joy.  She has asked the question, "What has inspired you most this week?"

I have two answers.

1.  I have discovered Pinterest this week.  Lord help me, is it addictive.  But it IS very inspiring.  Pinning things and creating boards of things I love, has reminded me about things I love.  Some forgotten things, including my love of blogging!  I have found new recipes to try and awesome storage and organization ideas for my home.  If you would like to follow me on Pinterest, click here ---->  Shari's Pinterst

Legacy

Dear Santa...

I have been updating my retail therapy page with gift ideas that I love, and that would make amazing gifts for others whom like to do the things that I like to do.  

It is pretty much my Christmas wish list, with both realistic and far reaching items.  

Someone please tell my husband!  

Retail Therapy?  Yes, Please!

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.