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The most difficult decision a birth parent or an adoptee must take to reunite with one another is a firm resolve to pursue the search until it's over.
That may sound simple, but it's not.
Do not embark on a search for a loved one without knowing with absolute certainty that it's what you want to do. You owe that much to yourself as well as the other person.
When you get the information on how to contact the person, it should be just a matter of time before you utilize it, however you choose to use it.
Everyone of us does it differently, even though we're all the same, searching for someone, a son, a daughter, mother or father or perhaps a brother or sister.
It doesn't matter. We all feel there's something missing; a hole in our heart, perhaps or a painful memory. It could be just a desire to know more about ourselves.
It's with those thoughts that I contacted Kinsolving Investigations last June and asked them to locate my son, born 28 years ago. I was told it would be a rewarding experience.
I wasn't so sure. I had abandoned my son at birth; his birth mother and I put him up for adoption.
I had no idea what had happened to him, where he lived (if at all), who his adoptive parents where, whether he got a good home, and on and on.
KI found Jeff in six days. They called me with the information. I almost hyperventilated with excitement.
I called my son later that week, after thinking about what I would say and bracing myself for rejection. KI said he would probably be overjoyed to hear my voice. I didn't have such confidence. They were right. I was wrong.
The rest is a happy story that thus far has only a beginning. I have no idea where the story will take me and Jeff. But I am going to find out.
Here's my story about how we met for the first time. As the plane set down on the runway in Lincoln, Neb., where I held my first job in daily journalism, a tableau of memories and faces passed through my mind. It was my first time back, since the 1960s.
Jeff and I had agreed that we would meet for dinner that night and check each other out.
I drove to his house parked my rental car, then tried to decide what to say or what not to say and appear uncool.
I got out of the car and walked up to the door and knocked. The door opened. I stuck out my hand and introduced myself. Jeff smiled, sort of grabbed my hand, then went for the hug.
What a sublime feeling to be embraced by a son. It left me breathless and wordless. It was an auspicious start.
When I had first talked to Jeff on the telephone, I tried to explain to him why I didn't think I could care for him as a father or commit in marriage to his birth mother.
It was not an easy decision to sign the papers relinquishing parental right. I can still remember sitting in the adoption agency, fretting and nervous.
Yes, I never forgot that I had a son. In the 1970s I tried to locate him, but decided it best wait until he was a mature adult. I didn't want to disrupt his adoptive home.
Jeff had told his adoptive parents that I was coming. He said neither felt threatened and both wished him well.
I asked when he first learned that he was adopted. "I always knew," he replied.
Jeff told me earlier in a letter that he also knew that we would meet someday. I had the same intuitive thought.
We went to a buffet dinner, because it was convenient. I wasn't hungry. I looked over at Jeff. He was nervous and drummed his thumbs on the table top.
I told him to relax. We small talked, then discussed football. Hey, that's what dads and sons do.
A concern of mine was that once the novelty of meeting me had worn off, he would say, "See ya. Nice to meet ya."
Not at all. Jeff invited me into every facet of his life. I met more than 20 of his friends at a skateboard meet. I was so pumped at being introduced as "my dad from Frisco" by my son. It was so cool, Jeff calling me "my dad."
Before I got too carried away with parental pride, I also realized that it was a convenient way to name and locate me; an easy handle.
We attended the Nebraska-Baylor football game. We also watched the 49ers lose to the Packers on Monday Night Football at this house with his friends. He's a Raiders fan (a genetic mutation), but was kind and didn't rub it in.
He also invited me to visit him at work, where he drives a forklift in a warehouse. He showed me what he does to feed, cloth and house himself.
When I looked at my son, I saw some of myself. He's 5-foot-11 and 180 pounds. I'm 5-foot-8 and 150 pounds. But he walks like I do, has my skin color and texture but luckily didn't inherit my nose. He got his birth mother's blue eyes.
His quips are thoughtful. Mine are acerbic. He is patient and easy-going. I'm hurried and hyped. He wears tattoos. I wore an earring 20 years ago. He shaves his head. I have longish hair. He has a boa tee. I have a beard.
Seeing him in his daily life and meeting his friends gave me an insight into my son, but I really learned who he is when we talked about what is meaningful in life.
I asked him directly what was most important to him? "Human rights," he said without hesitation. I was stunned. My son said that! I was so proud. I wanted a definition to his human rights answer. I asked if that means he opposes racism, sexism and homo phobia, and discrimination, even "ageism" against geezers like me. "Yes," he replied. What else is there?
I thought often during my six day visit of how to tell Jeff that I still regret not being there as his father. I didn't think there was more I could say. I asked if we could become friends.
He says we should work on a friendship. Work it we will.
I drew one conclusion from meeting him. That it would not be wise ever to play the role of "father knows best." As a friend of mine says.
I also learned that he makes decisions at his pace. After finding him in July, I wanted us to meet soon thereafter. He put the brakes on, suggesting that I visit in September or October.
I invited him to join me for Thanksgiving or Christmas or New Years. He said maybe in six months he'll come to San Francisco. He's planning to fly here in early March for a week or so.
When I was about to leave, Jeff said something vague about thinking of moving to San Diego, where he has friends. He may also consider going back to college. He'd be a junior. I could hear my internal voice yelling, "Yes, yes." San Diego? It's closer to Frisco than Lincoln, Nebraska.
D.
CA. |
Dear Kinsolving,
Once I received the information from you I made the call to my birth mother. We cried and cried. We compared notes. I was so glad to hear her say she had always wondered what had happened to me and she had worried so much all these years. A week after the telephone call we met. When she walked into that room I knew she was my mother. We look so much alike. Her husband cried like a baby. He's known about me from the beginning. I felt so sorry for her because I knew in my heart she was glad I found her but was now devastated because she didn't know how in the world she would even begin to tell her five children. We talked the following week on the phone several times.
Three weeks later, on a Saturday morning, the telephone rang and it was my birth mother crying her heart out. I asked what was wrong and she only said that someone wanted to talk to me. It was my brother, Peter and my sister Donna. They were wonderful! They thanked me for finding her so she could finally be rid of the guilt. They couldn't believe that she and other family members had kept this secret for forty-four years. The next day the telephone rang and it was my birth mother asking me to come to her home that afternoon. She had her husband meet me on the front porch. We hugged and cried. Her husband took me by the shoulders and said they were ready for me to come in and meet the rest of the family. I was so scared, but they all received me like they'd always known me. The older daughter looked at me and told me she was so glad I'd found my way back home. They have all called, written and by now, told all of their friends. My youngest brother lives in Kansas, so I haven't met him yet.
We're already making plans for family reunions, holiday events and plans for a big beach trip next summer. They are wonderful people. My birth mother is a great lady - a refined southern lady, as my husband says.
Thank you again and again.
Sincerely,
A.
S.C. |
Dear Kinsolving,
I drove from my home to Fayetteville and parked at the Hotel 6. I combed my hair, switched off the engine of the car and said a prayer. "Lord, I've got to go to the door. Please help me."
The almost like an answer to my prayer the door opened and a husky, smiling young man stood, looking at me.
I knew he was my son even though I have not seen him since the day he was born, 31 years ago.
He walked a few feet toward the car and said, "You've come this far. You just as well come on in."
I didn't know what to do. I got out of the car and walked up to him. I didn't know whether to shake his hand or hug him. I think I started to reach out my hand to him not knowing exactly what to do. My son made it easy and I thank God for that. He said, "Come here, I want a big hug!"
I hugged him and he hugged me and we began to cry and to tell each other that we loved each other. I can't describe how I felt at that moment. I can't tell you everything that was said or what happened. It would take too long.
I am filled with so much love and happiness. I don't feel empty anymore. The pain I used to have in my heart is no longer there. I thank God for the good mama and daddy he had to raise him.
I thank you for the part you played in helping me to find my son.
With much gratitude,
E.
N.C. |
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