Finding my birth parents - part I
Finding my birthparents – part I
Finding my birthparents (part I)
Here is a story I would like to share with each and every adopted person out there! It is actually kind of a long story, so I think it will be best to break it down into parts. If you’re interested or intrigued by this story please stop back every few days as the story unfolds. If you would like to be notified that a new posting has been made, the easiest way to do that is just add yourself to my mailing list. I’ll just send you a quick notice that there is a new chapter available and you can visit the site at your convenience.
I encourage everyone to post their own adoption story, comments or other information you would like to share. Hopefully, the end result will be a great resource and support platform to help all adopted people in search of their birthparents. There is strength in numbers. One thing I have learned for certain is that no one, no matter how they might imagine so, really understands what we, as adopted people, feel. So it is my hope, that knowing you are communicating with a group of truly understanding souls, you will feel a sense of camaraderie and support here.
A few short months ago, at the age of 48 I finally found and met my birthparents. I was very eager to share this story and did so with most of my family and friends and even some people I don’t even know. The reaction from all was the same…. Tears of joy and then telling me I should write a book about it. Well, I don’t know the first thing about writing a book, so I thought that posting a blog of the story was the easiest way of sharing it and hopefully help someone else have a similar experience.
When I was five years old, my parents gave me the news that I was going to have a sister. Actually, they gave me that news and that of my own adoption in one sitting. I really can’t remember exactly what they said. I know I was more distressed about having a sibling than I was about being adopted. Let’s face it. At five years old, you have no idea where babies come from (or at least in those days you didn’t) and it really didn’t matter to me. I just knew that another child was going to invade this perfect little life I had. I wasn’t all that happy about it.
My mother’s friends have her a baby shower for my sister. I remember games and fun and lots of gifts that weren’t for me. And I remember my mother being joyous and putting a pillow under her shirt and parading around our house and making all of her guests laugh. She was good at that… making people laugh. In the end, it was a fun day and I knew my mother was very happy, so I would be happy, too.
My best friend at five was Kenny Coombs. I remember being at this house after an afternoon of sleigh riding and eating grilled cheese and tomato soup as our mittens dried on the radiator in his front hall. His mother had a giant, swollen belly and I said to Kenny “Wow, your mom is getting fat.” He laughed and called me silly. “Don’t you know my mom is having a baby?” This was the first indication I had how babies actually came into the world. My God, they actually came out of your belly?? And my thoughts immediately went to my own mother with that pillow under her shirt at my sister’s shower. And I realized I did not come into the family in a traditional way.
Only then did I ask my parents a million questions about where I came from. Those poor people, they tried very hard to answer all of my questions. But I could see that it pained them, especially my mother. When I asked “why didn’t I come out of your belly?” my mother started to cry. I never saw her cry before that day and I knew I really didn’t want to see it again, so I tried not to ask anymore questions. But she did tell me that she wanted me very, very much and just couldn’t have a baby. So she found a woman that was to have a baby that just couldn’t take care of me. And while that woman loved me very much, it was best that I come and live with my parents and I would have a happy life and so would my mom. I was pretty satisfied with that answer. We really didn’t talk about it again for quite some time.
On my sixth birthday, my mother put an extra candle on my birthday cake. She said if was for someone that loved me very much. I really didn’t understand what she meant by that, but I knew it was emotional and something important she was trying to say to me. That was the only year that she did it. I really didn’t get it until years later, but I know she was trying to let me know that my birthmother was out there and loved me and she wasn’t forgotten either.
Over the years it became easier to talk about. My mom became quite open about it. I was having a perfectly normal, happy childhood and it just didn’t come up that much. I do remember one day riding on the school bus when I was in grade five or so. A boy said to me “My mom says that your mom isn’t your real mom. You’re an orphan.” An orphan? What a terrible word. I was absolutely devastated and embarrassed in front of my peers for the first time… at least on that subject! I cried and went to my mother and told her the story. Without missing a beat, she said “you go tell him that his mother got stuck with him, but I got to pick you.” I was very proud to be my mother’s daughter that day. She was amazing and I was truly blessed to have her in my life, even if only for a short time.
Part 2 next time. Please check back.