I've always known that I was adopted. It was never a secret, and my parents always told me that I was a gift and that I was loved beyond measure. It didn't really matter though and it had nothing to do with them. The damage had been done within the first couple of days and weeks after my birth. You see, my birthmother never acknowledged that she was pregnant. She never sought prenatal care and hid the pregnancy from everyone in her family. She gave birth to me alone in her apartment with her other toddler nearby. She tied a rubber band around my umbilical cord and brought me to the hospital after three days and told the social worker she didn't want me – she never wanted me and was hoping that she would miscarry. And just like that, I was abandoned by the woman who should have loved me the most. I was premature, and under 5 pounds, so I lived in the hospital for the first 3 weeks of my life. No one to love me, cuddle me and whisper into my ear all the things that new parents do with their babies. There was no skin to skin bonding or any bonding for that matter. Just me alone until I was turned over to a foster family. I was about 5 months old when my parents met me for the first time. My luck changed at this point as it was love at first sight.
I had a wonderful life growing up in a working-class family outside of Boston. My parents never kept my adoption a secret. In fact, they always told me that I was a gift. But still, there was always a void. In my twenties with the help of my mom, I searched and found my birth mother. The social worker told me all that she knew, and it was enough non-identifying information that I could do some detective work and locate her. She was not what I had created in my mind as she was twenty-six, educated and working when she had me. What was not typical was that she had gotten pregnant by a married man – for the second time. But that didn't stop me from reaching out to her. It was not an Oprah moment. She knew immediately who I was (my parents unknowingly kept the name she gave me at the hospital) and her first words ever to me were – a gasp followed by "They told me this could never happen!" So goes it. She wanted nothing to do with me, and I respected her wishes and left her alone for over 15 years. I reached back out to her when one of my kids had a serious medical condition, and we were looking for answers. She would never answer her phone, and with her husband's voice on the answering machine, I had no idea if she was even living. I did some searching and learned that I had three siblings. It was my good fortune that I decided to reach out to the youngest – a half-brother. I called him one evening and explained who I was and that I was looking for information. I apologized for putting him in such a situation. He was quite kind and listened to me but offered no information. He told me that he would speak to his mother and see if there was something they could offer that would help us. And just like that, the conversation was over.
I did not hear from him that night and the next day I sent him a thank-you note along with a picture. I got the email the day he received it. These were the days before social media, so there was no googling and looking at pictures. He told me that right after I called him, he drove to his mother's house and told her that I had called him. She denied everything and said that I must have the wrong person. He believed her until he saw the picture. He told me there was no denying that I was telling the truth because I looked just like her. He still wanted to welcome me into his life and would do whatever he could to help me. This led to learning more about the family, the medical history and the complicated relationships. She did finally speak to me one more time, but her anger towards me was quite palpable and certainly clouded any compassion she might have for me. For example, when I asked her about medical information, she neglected to tell me about her own breast cancer. A fact that would be quite beneficial to provide a daughter.
The issues with adoptees run quite deep and I am no different than the others. I am part of a fantastic family, I married my college sweetheart, had four beautiful children and still felt a hole in my life. It's like getting to the end of a beautiful puzzle and missing that very last piece. It's hard to move on. I struggled my entire life with the feeling that I was worthless. For me, it meant pushing hard always to be the best. Subconsciously, I had something to prove. Still searching for validation that I was not someone who could just be left at the hospital, I wasn't a piece of garbage. For me, it meant never being able to accept love and never understanding why. How could anyone love me? I pushed my own children away when they started to be able to express their love for me. It's better to push than be pushed, right?
Finally, one random day for some unknown reason the pain bubbled up to the surface. I felt such deep emotional pain but had no idea where it was coming from. I picked up the phone, and within an hour I was talking to someone who helped me tear off the bandage and begin to heal from the inside. A deep wound that I never knew existed that was making me feel and act in ways that made me sad and confused. It was at this juncture that I began to understand who I was and why I was. This helped me in ways I never knew it could. I took my family on the journey of self-discovery with me. I wanted to protect my children from my pain, but I was advised against that. That would only perpetuate the secrets and the chaos into their lives. So they saw the raw emotion I dealt with. They began to understand why I had trouble when they hugged me and we would laugh together when they felt me doing it. I was always strong and successful, but this healing made me self-aware and confident.
Life went on, and I have stayed in limited contact with two of my half-siblings. My birth mother passed away a couple of years ago and shortly before she died I got a call from my older half-sister asking if I would be willing to talk to her. I said yes. I had hope that she would finally acknowledge me. But that was not to be, she died the next day. I was a bit devastated about the finality of this chapter in my life. There would indeed never be that Oprah moment. Two years ago, my grandson was born on her birthday; it seems God wants to always remind me of how my journey started.
The following year my dear mother was diagnosed with lung cancer. It was so unexpected and turned my life on its axis. I happened to get the call on the same day that I found out I was being promoted at work to help launch a company. It's hard to put into words what those six months were like because frankly I still think I am suffering from PTSD. It took every ounce of strength, courage, and fortitude to step up to care for my mother as we watched this amazing woman slip away from us. I put over 20,000 miles on my car during that time period as I drove back and forth to my parents’ home six hours from my own home. Eventually, I moved in with them to help. At the same time, I knew that I could not possibly step away from the company that was launching. I had to manage both responsibilities. I had felt over the previous two years that I was being prepared for something. I wasn't sure what it was, but I felt that something was coming. This was certainly it.
My mom passed away at home two days after Christmas. The evening before she left us I said to her as I was tucking her in, "I love you so very much, Mom." She replied, " I love you so very much too, Sweetheart." I knew she meant it and I felt so worthy of her love. She was an amazing person in so many ways, and as a tribute to her, I delivered the eulogy at her funeral. I knew I had to be the one to do it. It required every ounce of emotional strength I had inside of me but I really never doubted that I could do it. The day she left me a bit of my light was dimmed for sure, and there are days where I still struggle to find the light through the immense sadness I feel.
Just the other day a thought came into my head. I met a stranger recently who told me I glow from the inside and she was inspired by my strength and confidence. So I got to thinking – where does my power come from? I have had to rely on it quite a bit over the last year. The realization hit me like a ton of bricks. It comes from the woman who was so strong that she hid a pregnancy from every person in her life, never went to a doctor to get care, and had me alone in her apartment with a toddler in the next room, tied a rubber band around my umbilical cord and then drove me to the hospital to drop me off. I can't fathom the amount of strength that took. Strength beyond measure. Fortitude that never wavered. I was born with it. She couldn't give me her love – ever. But she gave me strength and fortitude. This strength helped me care for the mother who loved me unconditionally, who prayed and prayed to God to bring me to her, who searched for my answers alongside me, who had the strength and confidence to know that by helping me find my birth mother that she would still always be my mother. I got through the worst year of my life because I was born with the strength to do it. I feel empowered knowing that although I came into the world unloved that I will leave the world loving many and being loved by many. I was born with this strength from an unlikely source, and now I understand. This is my Oprah moment.
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