Unicorns Never Fly...: A Garden Full of Flowers

I was adopted at birth. Four days old to be exact. My mother begged and borrowed to cover the costs, and raced off to pick me up and bring me to my new home. And she loved me. There were turbulent times, and unfortunate circumstances sprinkled in for good measure, but always one consistent force remained, my mother loved me. Still does, by the way. (I love you too mommy!)

Being adopted was never a secret to me. My mother framed it for me as something special. I was wanted, hoped for, wished for, prayed for….and of course, loved.

I always wondered. It is sort of built into the deal. Some people may choose not to search, but I don’t believe anyone who says they never wondered. You have to wonder. Who do I look like? What are they like? Do they think of me the way I think of them? Nature vs. Nurture…..? Medical histories? Nationalities?

In my mid-twenties I finally received the information necessary to begin my search. Names! So many people don’t ever receive that kind of information. When I was finally given those precious pieces of paperwork, I was blown away. These people had real names. First names, middle names, and last names!

I got to work on the internet, and within a couple of hours had potentially located both of my birthparents. Just like that. There they were.

I gathered up my courage and made the first phone call. SHE was not home, but I left a message and waited. The call came later that evening while I was at a Mexican restaurant. I left my companion to eat alone, and sat on the ledge outside for 2 hours as I spoke to her and her mom at the same time. They were excited to hear from me. I was equally excited, my body shaking as we spoke. We exchanged basics, and addresses, and promises to send pictures and letters. SHE explained that it would not be a good idea for me to contact HIM.

Months passed before anything else happened.

Christmas Eve. One of those sticky notes from the Post Office was left on the door. You have a package, blah blah blah. My companion raced me over to the Post Office only to find that they had just closed. I began to cry. My companion banged on the door, and begged the worker inside to just give us this one package. It’s Christmas. Please! I received my package full of pictures, a Christmas gift, and a letter. All from my birth grandmother. Awesome! I quickly gathered up pictures of myself throughout the years, composed a letter, and sent it off. We have continued this process since that time. We exchange a couple of letters throughout the year, me and my grandmother. We hint at meeting from time to time. SHE is not into having a relationship with me. Her mother wants to wait until SHE is ready. I love my grandmother. At this point, I don’t really care to meet HER, but would like to meet my grandmother, who is a very caring and loving woman.

Years passed, and I continued to wonder about HIM. SHE said not to contact him, and for some strange reason I listened to that advice for 6+ years. Last year, a bit before Christmas, I changed my mind. I wrote him a very vague, yet identifying letter and sent it off with my e-mail address. I heard nothing. Until….

my birthday, a few months later. I came home from work and checked my e-mail. There it was. An e-mail from him. A picture, and a brief but heartfelt Happy Birthday message. I was floored. Had I mentioned my birthday in the letter? I don’t think I gave the actual date. Well, as it turns out, I didn’t. He remembered.

Since then, I have been communicating regularly with him. We have spoken on the phone a couple of times, but mostly we send e-mails and text messages. It is still complicated, as his family is not open to this situation, but it is lovely getting to know him.He is a really special person. And interestingly enough, we are very alike. We think alike, and look alike, and share many of the same interests and talents. This has been a tremendous, life changing experience for both of us. I love him very much.

Cathartic. Healing. Magical.