It was around 12:15 p.m. on a Wednesday in February when I
opened the single most important and long awaited message of my life. I slipped into the bustling campus coffee
shop to check my email and Facebook before my voice lesson. As I opened my messages my heart stopped. “Hi
my baby…” With trembling hands I clicked it. The guys sitting beside me in the computer
lab must have thought I was crazy as tears began to roll down my cheeks. Hurriedly I typed a brief message “Thank God!
I don’t have time to write much now but I will write you later!” I searched the
faces in the crowded room to see if I recognized any of my friends as I left. I
wanted to scream, “Hey ya’ll I KNOW WHO I CAME FROM! And she STILL LOVES ME! ” There
is something about amazingly life changing news that makes you just want to
share it with someone and have them laugh and cry with you. I spotted one of my best friends and ran up to
her, “OH MY GOSH KAYLA MY BIRTH MOTHER JUST WROTE ME CAN YOU BELIEVE IT I FOUND
HER AND THEN SHE FOUND ME!” She looked at me puzzled, “Is this good
thing?” “YES!!” Then the hugging and crying commenced, “Yayyyyyyy!! I’m so
happy for you!” Thank God for friends
like Kayla who love you and celebrate with you even when you are an emotional
mess and don’t really make sense.
Many people ask me how I found her, and why I wanted to find
her. Well, I always wanted to find her. I know some adoptees are older when adopted
and who come from bad situations don’t always want this, but for me (and I
would say a greater percentage of adoptees) there is a deep driving need to
know who you are and where you came from.
If you weren’t adopted there is no possible way you can understand this,
because you can’t imagine what it is like to not know who your family is. You don’t sit and wonder where you got your
big brown eyes and strange looking nose from, because you know. My father had always told me he would take me
to find her when I got older, whenever I was ready. While I had been quite content to wait, my curiosity
had been growing lately. One night while staying with my parents over the
Thanksgiving holidays, I snuck downstairs and made my way to the fireproof box
which held all of my adoption papers.
After a few minutes of sifting through the files (and hoping my mom
wouldn’t walk in and ask me why I was sitting in her closet) there was the
little pink rectangular birth certificate which had her name on it. I put the rest of the papers back and
nonchalantly made my way through the living room and up the stairs to my awaiting
laptop. I sat there for a minute turning
the card over in my hands. Now what? I don’t know about you, but when I ever I want to
find out about somebody I Facebook stalk them.(Admit it—you do it too). I typed the name in the search bar and
waited. Then, voilà two names popped
up. The first one I knew I had to be her. She lived in Venezuela, she was the right
age, and most importantly she looked like me. The second name that came up I
assumed was her mother. They were
friends and had almost the same name.
Once again I asked myself, Now
what? I called my support line (aka Caleb) and talked it over with him. “She
has your nose, Kate. That has to be her.” I decided that instead of writing her
and taking a chance that her husband or kids or someone else who had no idea
that she had had me would read it, I wrote her mother. It was pretty simple.
Your basic I’m your long lost family member kind of message, “Hi my name is Katie. I think that I might be your granddaughter. Write me back if I’m right. K, thanx.” The
next day she wrote and confirmed that she was the right one, and asked me not
to write to her daughter yet. I agreed,
and for the next few weeks we wrote back and forth. She shared with me the whole story, told me
about her daughter and her family, and tried to explain to me what had led them
to the decision to give me up. It was
after one of these messages that I became overwhelmed with the guilt of my
birth. I had caused this family so much pain, and for me to come back now would
only bring back more. We didn’t write
for a long time after that--I didn’t know what to say. I pretty much gave up on the idea of ever knowing
the woman who had sacrificed so much for me.
At Christmas I decided to tell my family what I had been up
to. I expected them to feel betrayed,
unloved, and disappointed in me for doing all this behind their back. Boy did I ever underestimate them. If there was ever a time when my parents
exemplified the love of God it was then. I was met with love and understanding,
even joy and excitement at my new discovery.
They encouraged me to not give up hope of contacting her.
Then came that February day three years ago in the computer
lab when she found me…
Curiosity may have killed the cat, but for me curiosity
pretty much just left me really confused. I went from being really
excited, to really depressed in a matter of months. I was angry and unrational. I suddenly felt like she was trying to take
the place of my real mother. I didn’t
want anything to do with her despite her constant texts and messages asking me
what was wrong, and if I was ok. I still
am not sure why this happened. At one
point I even sought counseling, but stopped after the first session when the counselor
stared at me in a daze and bit his finger nails the whole time—seriously? Two things happened that brought me healing.
First, I watched the movie Octoberbaby.
If you have not seen this film, then I encourage you to head to your
neighborhood Redbox right now and rent it.
From it, God showed me that I needed to learn to forgive—both myself and
my birth mother. The second thing that
has brought me the most healing, has been talking about it. The Lord showed me that I was not
alone. Not only did I have family and
friends who loved me, but there are millions of adoptees in this world who
battle with the same feelings of anger and insecurity. I hope these blogs have blessed you as much
as writing them has blessed and encouraged my heart. Things still aren’t perfect with me and
E. I still am not to the point where I
want to call her and spend hours on the phone, but when she writes now I can
respond. We can talk online every now
and then. It has taken me years to finally say that I am glad that I found
her. But mostly I am thankful that God
makes all things new—even me. If you
have been adopted, don’t be afraid to talk about it. And I don’t just mean admitting
the fact that you are adopted, because you know that. Explore those doors of your heart that you
keep locked away before you make the decision to contact your birth family,
because it will change your life. Furthermore,
I would strongly discourage you to do so before you graduate high school. That
task is hard enough emotionally and mentally without having to balance two
families on top of it.
May God bless you and strengthen you, and I hope you find
your E too.
