This is me swallowing my pride and asking for the love of this community to help share, post, and blog this link. Anything helps, and there is no end date. However, monetary or not, I accept all support and encouragement, including prayers!
Thanks!
PS I’m the little nugget and that was my first look at my big sister!
https://www.crowdrise.com/meetingmybirthmother/fundraiser/GabrielleB
Yesterday, I used my anonymity here to share with the world the news that the adoption agency found my birth mother. I delighted in telling no one personally, yet everyone anonymously, that she will be writing me a letter in return to mine. Every second that ticked by, between the moments I learned of this news until now, filled my soul with a happiness it has never known before.
And now, I sit here, wallowing in this joy.
I fear telling my adopted mother that the search is over, but I can’t pinpoint why. When I originally told her of my desires, she was supportive. Then when I told her the search had already begun, she was pessimistic. Now, I fear if I tell her the search was successful and already complete, she will be… what will she be?
… Let me start over …
My adopted mother and I have a very estranged relationship. When I was younger, I never bonded with her in the sense that a child bonds with her mother. There was a lot of fighting in my household. My parents’ marriage showed signs of divorce. My sister didn’t appreciate a new baby sister. And somewhere in my nature, I became the middle child. I was the youngest of course, until my little brother was born from my dad’s second marriage some years later. But even as the youngest, I acted more as a middle child: cooperative, flexible, sympathetic.
After my parents finalized the divorce, the middle child in me grew rebellious, as many children of divorcees do. My parents paid more attention to their new divorced lives and my sister to her beaus. With little attention left for me, I began to sneak out of the house at night, meet up with boys from the trailer park, and smoke Marlboro Light 100’s that I’d steal from my mother’s purse. I continued this behavior until they caught me… and then I continued some more.
My actions as a young adult caused much undue stress to my newly divorced parents. I took time away from my mother that she would have rather spent with her new suitors. I took time away from my father that he would have rather spent drinking and hating my mother. And slowly, the relationship between my parents and I dwindled into distrust and begrudging.
Over the next decade and a half my father and I would be able to rebuild our relationship. Although it is not the conventional, calling once a week on Sundays, or visiting over holidays, we still have an understanding that there is love between us. My mother and I, on the other hand, have not quite been able to rebuild the years of ill spoken words, hateful messages, and scarring actions.
… Let’s return …
I suppose I feel guilt. I know that my mother and I have not had a strong relationship. She pretends, to me, that things are better and mended. She visits once a year and we talk even less. When she visits we go shopping, and it always feels like she’s trying to buy my love… like she can fill the broken cracks in that part of my heart for her with trinkets and outfits and shoes. And that makes me angry.
So I suppose I feel angry.
I know that she can’t go back and change the things that happened between us in the past. I struggled to come to terms with my past and our past. I found a way to forgive her actions in my heart. Yet still, she tries to make amends. And I sense that she sees this search as my attempt to displace her as my mother, like a usurper to a throne.
Perhaps it is…
…Does that make me vengeful?
It is a petty idea, that one daughter can only have one mother. Being adopted makes that idea not only petty but ignorant. I suppose it is vengeful of me to try and make my adopted mother hurt now for all the years of misery she caused me in the past. And I suppose I have never truly mended. And I suppose that this is why I don’t wish to tell her that the search is over and the news is in my favor. Perhaps I do wish to see her hurt, in some way.
And this makes me feel guilty.
The person I try to be is an embodiment of love. That gives me no right to hurt my mother. She raised me, and perhaps she did it to the best of her ability. Even at that, she loves me. And I have no right, as her daughter, to wish her hurt or pain. I don’t wish her hurt or pain.
And this is what I truly fear…
I do not want her to hurt from this news. I do love my mother. I do have room in my heart for two mothers. I don’t even know what my birth mother will write to me. And still, my adopted mother will be delighted for me, that something I so desired has come to fruition. And if she is hurt by this, I will comfort her in knowing that she will always be my mother…
So I guess it’s final. I will tell my mother this afternoon. I will not tell her out of guilt, or vengeance, or anger. I will tell her out of my own joy and happiness…
And we will celebrate…
On May 10th, 2015, at approximately 4 am, I finalized my search for my birth mother.
Today is June 2nd, 2015. The e-mail was sent at 9:51 this morning. I received it at 3:41 this afternoon.
It was a strange morning. I rarely check my e-mail as I wake up. I rarely check my e-mail at all, only if I’m expecting something, and I wasn’t expecting this.
I have some GOOD NEWS!!
Good news indeed. As each word registered, I pulled myself up to a sitting position. My eyes awoke, becoming more alert. I reached the bottom of the message, and started from the top again. I carefully read each word, rereading sentences that were unclear, and forcing myself to take my time, lest I skip a crucial word and misinterpret the whole thing.
Her birth mother contacted us today!!!!!!
… I’m left speechless… Save for the shouting I did to wake my boyfriend and tell him the GOOD NEWS!! She’s alive… She’s alive and she has contacted them, and they are contacting me. This feels so surreal. This must be a dream, but I was awake. My boyfriend was awoken. This was not a dream.
Her birth mother told me that she will write letter.
She’s going to write me a letter now?! She’s alive, and she’s going to write me a letter. She wants to say something to me. The anticipation of this letter will plague my existence until the day it arrives. I don’t even know how long it will take for the letter to arrive. It took me almost a month to write my mother my letter. It all came out at once, but in my head, scattered about, were mounds of crumpled up pages with half a letter here, and another half there.
Before this sentence, I could only think of the words as I read them and recited them. Now, my head filled with questions about what comes next.
Can I write back again?
What will she say to me?
How long will this take?
Will she send me a picture of her?
Is she happy?
What’s her husband like?
….
…Calm down…
I spent the last three and a half weeks preparing for a year long wait. I braced myself for the harshest of news. I built a stronghold around my heart so it could not break under any circumstances… and now she wants to write me a letter. A whole new journey has opened up for me. And as I say to my friends, It’s good to have goals.
…
I could not have hoped for a better outcome, and to receive it today, after such an anxiety and self-hatred riddled yesterday, it is a blessing. It was a sign. I made selfish decisions for my own mental health, and did not feel guilty about them. My heart prayed today without solid words or thoughts, but it was prayer nonetheless. I cried with joy, in sobs that wrinkled my face and smoothed my soul. Today was a blessing.
My future on this journey is uncertain. And for my readers, if you are going through this as well, you are not alone. Your family and friends may find it hard to understand. You may know other adoptees who do not know your thirst for answers, knowledge, or understanding. This is not a journey for anyone other than yourself, so do not keep their judgments with you. You know what you are searching for, even if you can’t name it. You feel what your heart feels, outside of words and expression. And it is confusing. This is a difficult journey…
… Just know, you’re not alone.
The Life of an Asian