A story about meeting my biological mother ~
It took me several years to complete writing this after meeting her. And over the years, I would periodically get out the hard copy, read it, meditate on the memories it stirred up, sometimes cry, sometimes share the story with a dear friend, and even tweak it ever so slightly. However, it would always be placed back in the same red folder, tucked away in a box, placed in my closet. I was not ashamed of my story. In fact, I wanted to share it. Share it with other adoptees who could relate, and hear their experiences of meeting their families. However, I was always too critical of my writing and afraid it was not written well enough, or that my thoughts were not clearly conveyed. So there it sat.
After some 17 years I thought today of all days, was a good time to share this story.
Now, not all the details of how I originally came in contact with my entire biological family are in here (since it all took place in stages, and I had written the bulk of this story before meeting some of my other biological family), but I am in the process of writing all about our very own talk-show-kind-of-tale of how we all got in touch. For now, this is how my story unfolds. . .
THE TRUE MEANING of FORGIVENESS
Writing has always been my outlet. So naturally, when I was reunited with my biological mother, over the phone, on the same day she was diagnosed with cancer, I began to write. It was not until some years later though that I was able to fully articulate my feelings deep within. At the time, I was still quite young and had so many emotions that I did not know how to properly identify them nor express them in words aloud, or on paper in a sequential way.
A Little Background
Growing up I always knew I was adopted (being that I was 3 1/2 years old when I was), and so naturally I was confused and hurt how a mother could give up her child. Yet, I still had a deep interest in finding my birth family. In my youth, I would close my eyes and could still remember my birth mothers longer dark hair and had very faint memories of a younger sister. I would often daydream and fantasize about meeting my biological family, even during school when I was supposed to be focusing on school work. I was always a very observant child and took in my surroundings in a very inward way, and so I was keenly aware of others relationships within their families and yearned for that biological connection, and nurturing care from a mother. My adopted mother and I were never closely bonded and had a complicated relationship, and so the older I became (especially in my teens), the more the desire for a ‘mother’ engulfed me.
I was not given much information about my biological family, but somewhere around the age of 15, I was given a picture of my biological mother with me and my younger sister (that I remembered) in her lap, which was taken the last day that I got to see her at the adoption agency. I remember sitting there in my bedroom (upstairs away from my adopted family so no one could hear me cry), staring at the photograph for hours. I carried it with me in my wallet, and showed my closest friends (probably annoying them with just how many times doing so, or subjecting them to certain movies/songs that tied into my birth family fantasy -you know who you are and I thank you!), talking about it any chance I got. I knew one day I would search for them. After all, part of knowing who you are, is knowing where you came from.
The Search Begins
At the age of 18, the day that I moved out on my own, I decided to look for my birth family and began a few searches of my own. Day after day, I sat at the local library in Sonora California (library catalog card scratch paper and library pencil in hand) and searched for hours at end, calling random numbers asking for the only name I knew her by, which only resulted in disappointments. I became discouraged and gave up looking that extensively for some time, until a friend of mine directed me to contact the social services of the county I was adopted in. After a couple of letters, a few phone calls, and many prayers, the helpful social worker I was assigned said it looked promising and would get back to me soon. Finally a hopeful response! (in which this experience later catapulted my own career working at social services).
On June 30, 2003, I got the call that changed my life forever. My heart pounded as the social worker told me that there was consent to contact. I was completely shocked; my birth mother lived in the area of Turlock California, about an hour away from my town of Sonora, and only 15 minutes from the town I had lived in until my mid teens. And as far as my birth father goes; he lived in Sonora! Thoughts rushed through my head, “Had I ever come across them before and never knew it?”. Finally, I would have a chance to meet my biological family.
As the journey of searching nearly ended, a new journey was about to start.
How it all Unfolded
When there is a consent for contact in your adoption file, you are given your parents last known addresses and phone numbers, social security numbers, birth dates and full names, in hopes that you can use that information to locate them.
I did not know why at the time, but for whatever reason, my gut was telling me that I should find and contact my birth mother first. And soon. In hopes that she still had the same phone number, I started there.
The woman on the other end told me Leah did not live there, and as soon as disappointment filled the air, it was filled with relief almost instantly. She said she knew Leah, was an ex (by marriage) relative of hers, and would contact her to see if she was willing to give her new number out to me. No sooner did she say that, her phone rang on the other end, I was put on hold, and I was given the second biggest break in the case. Who had it been? None other than Leah herself! Her new phone number was given to me and I was told that she was anxiously awaiting my call.
My mind could barely comprehend that this was all really happening. I did not want to get my hopes up, but admittedly simultaneously, I was. It took me a few hours to get up the courage to call, as I was uncertain of the outcome.
June 30th, 2003 8:20pm
As I heard the ringing on the other end, I felt a rush of nerves hit my stomach, making me nauseated to the point I felt like hanging up the phone. Would I be one of those people who would hang up several times before getting up the nerve to follow through with the call? No time to figure that out as the phone was picked up quickly (as what I can only perceive as the reason being caller ID), and my younger biological sister answered the phone saying “do you know who this is? It’s your sister (so-and-so)”. Then my other sister got on the phone - the very one that I remembered right before I was put up for adoption. As we nervously laughed, it hit me how life changing this very phone call was.
The phone was then handed to my mother, and I immediately recognized her familiar voice which brought a sense of comfort, but also sadness. They say a child can remember its mother’s voice even if they are separated at birth, and the realization of that sent chills down my spine. I knew that this was no cruel joke being played on me; it was indeed my mother. Pacing the living room floor with questions floating in my head, paper and pen in hand to write down the answers, I said, “Hi Leah, this is Emily, your daughter”. We both cried, and had the same nervous laugh, as we talked to each other for the first time in 17 years. She told me she had always thought of me after all these years, and hoped I would contact her. We talked about our hobbies, what our likes and dislikes were, some of our personality traits, what we looked like, and how even our voices were identical. The similarities were very eerie. She told me at the time of my adoption, her life was a mess and she wanted to give me a better life. She told me all about my two younger sisters who lived with her, and that I had two older sisters who were put up for adoption before me. All I had known at that time about my older sisters who were out there somewhere, was their first names, and it would not be until a few more years down the road where it all came together of being reunited with them.
At the beginning of the phone call, she told me she was sick, but it was only later in the conversation that she told me just how sick she was. To this day, I still cannot remember what I said in response to that news. I am sure I said something encouraging or comforting, but I really don’t know because it was such difficult news to take in and digest, that the rest of the conversation was quite a blur.
As I hung up the phone, I was hit with an overwhelming amount of mixed emotions that it left me feeling raw. I was speechless, but yet full of many jumbled thoughts I wanted to share. I was overjoyed to find her, but I was afraid of that vulnerability it caused within me. I was fearful, yet passionately curious; confusingly hurt, but not resentful to the point of letting abandonment overtake me. This was my journey, and I was not going to let anything stand in my way. I also had a guilt that came over me like a flood when I asked myself why I had given up searching so intensely some time ago. I could have found her sooner, before she was diagnosed with cancer. I had all these piercing emotions, and I did not know what to do with them, so I am immersed myself in writing, jogging and art.
Face-to-Face Meeting
After a couple weeks of phone conversations, I was informed that her cancer had spread and probably was not treatable, and I knew it was time to meet face-to-face. We had a family reunion at the hospital where she was at, on July 12, 2003. Just shortly before my 20th birthday.
As I drove down from the mountains where I lived, anticipation and nerves surrounded me, leaving me little air to breathe. Upon arrival at the hospital parking lot, I began to feel numb as I was not sure how this would all play out. I came in from the back enternce, walked down the long hallway to room 210, and heard faint sounds of laughter that filled the room. I hesitated for a moment, but pushed the fear aside and walked in. I will never forget the look on her face; her blue eyes shimmered and her smile was from ear to ear as I embraced her. It was a long awaited hug ending with tears of joy. A strange feeling came over me as I met some of my other family including two aunts, my grandmother and my two younger sisters. I felt I had known these people my whole life. It was very surreal to be sitting with people I did not know, but they did not feel like strangers. I did not grow up with them, but, they were flesh and blood and I had numerous things in common with them. We all had the same demeanor, some of the same characteristics, and dare I repeat this for emphasis; the same nervous laughter :) To this day, I still am amazed how genetics are so strong even to the point of shared talents like photography, writing, and art.
My two biological sisters and I all wore very similar outfits that day (not planned of course), all wearing jean skirts, the same brand flip-flops, toe rings, one of us having red toenail polish, the other white toenail polish, and the other blue toenail polish. How bizarre!
As warmth and love covered the room, new beginnings took place. We shared stories and looked at old photos of the years we missed. It was a lot to take in, but a certain ease presented itself and immediate connection was being formed somehow. The day ended when everyone gave Leah and I some time alone. I pushed the awkwardness aside as she held my hand while talking to me, telling me how proud she was of me for turning out to become whom I had in life. I wanted to ask her more specifics of why she had given me up, but I could not find the words to do so, nor did I want to embarrass her or cause her pain by asking such questions. As we said goodbye, I turned towards the door and heard her say in a soft voice that screamed of guilt, “I so wish I hadn’t given you up . . . and I want you to know I am very sorry, and that I love you” (to my older sisters, I know she deeply felt the same about you as well and expressed those sentiments). Holding back the tears, all I could manage to say was, “Thank you for saying that to me”. Not knowing how to grasp my own feelings, I was not sure how to respond to hers. Later that night I cried myself to sleep, trying to process it all. I kept playing the events of the day over and over in my mind, hoping I would never forget even as the years passed. Moreover, I particularly focused on her expression of loving me. What was I supposed to say when she said that to me? Was I supposed to say it back, even though I was not sure how I felt? After all, this is the mother who gave me up... but she is expressing her regrets. Alternatively, should I say them, because she needed to hear them, especially in a time like this? Those thoughts echoed in my head for weeks.
A few days after the reunion, I received another disturbing call. The doctor said that my mother only had three months to live as the cancer was at stage four. They were not hopeful chemotherapy treatments would help and she would probably be very sick in her final days, but she decided to go through with the treatments anyway, as she wanted to be there for her family.
A True Forgiveness Sets In
The next three months went by with some good times and hard times. As I sat in the chair next to my mother, I studied everything about her. I noticed that we had the same hands, the same olive skin tone, the same smile, the same silly humor, the same facial expressions and body language. I even noticed the times she smiled trying to be brave when I am sure she really wanted to cry, and I noticed the way she twitched her feet when she was in physical or emotional pain, the same way that I do. To have these similarities and connections through genetics and DNA was all so new to me. It was no longer a fantasy of who my mother was and who my family was, it was now a reality, and I began to find a sense of identity through the whole affair. There were some laughs along the way, as well as some trips down memory lane as she told me what I was like as a toddler. One of the words she used to describe me was, clumsy. Imagine that? I am still like that today, and the reason why I no longer own a motorcycle ;) We talked about what it was like growing up, in which I shared with her only a couple struggles I had in life, because I did not want her to feel guilty for giving me up. There were times she would drift off to sleep mid sentence and would wake up laughing at her self. We always found something to laugh at, even if it was at ourselves.
Some days were harder than others as the chemotherapy made her sick or she was in pain, so all she could murmur was an “I love you” while holding my hand. I still did not know how to respond when she said those words because to have her in my life finally, but now I would grieve her loss all over again, was immensely difficult to process. Also, those abandoned feelings would creep in sometimes. The loss of a mother, of a childhood I could have had, of a family I could have had, was still raw. However, as vulnerability sat in, I found myself lowering my guard. This was the mother who gave me life after all, and who felt so much regret and guilt for giving me up. I was told what her own childhood was like, what her life was like in her adult relationships, and I started to piece things together of how she got to the point of putting up children for adoption. I am uncertain at what moment I forgave her, but all I knew was that hurt was being resolved, and surfacing was a genuine empathetic love for her. Love for whom she became, for someone who eventually stood up to abuse, for loving her daughters and doing the best she thought she could under the circumstances.
Each passing week meant time was slipping from us. Sometimes I was barely able to hold it together, bursting into tears in the hallway as soon as I left her room. The warmth and kindness of my biological aunts and grandmother in those moments was a comfort to me and soothed the sadness, in which I am internally grateful for their support during that time. Desperate to have more time with her, I felt robbed. This was not supposed to happen. She is so young. How could she be dying? How could this happen? I was to meet my mother and I have many years of memories. But that wasn’t the case.
I saw her for the last time a few days before she passed away. To see someone you love suffer, where you can do nothing for their pain, the pain that she fought to ignore and put on a brave face for her daughters; was something no human should ever have to go through - yet all of us do at some point in our life, repeatedly. All I could do (all any of us can do) was stay by her side, hold her hand and comfort her. No words were needed, just genuine compassion and unconditional love.
It was late at night on October 15, 2003 when I got a call from my aunt. The doctor said that it could be her last night and wanted us to be prepared. The words were hard to swallow, and came crashing down on my wounded heart. My aunt held the phone up to my mothers ear as I said my final goodbyes. I remember trying to block out the meaning of why I was on the phone so that I would not fall apart, and wanting to be strong for her. What was I supposed to say in a situation like this? I did not feel prepared and did not have the tools to handle it all or know what to say. As I heard slow breathing on the other end, I knew this would be the last time I would get to talk to her. With silent tears streaming down my face, I poured out my heart to her and I told her that the past is the past and I forgave her, and thanked her for giving birth to me and showing me motherly love those past few months. I told her that I loved her and always will. I know she needed to hear that, and I needed to say it. Although she did not have the strength to respond, my aunt told me that she grinned when I spoke to her. And in the early hours of the morning, she slipped away from us all.
Though darkness clouded my journey, I’m ever thankful that I met her in time, in time to heal, in time to find a connection that would forever enrich my life. I am forever changed as it brought a sense of belonging in my life, that I am not sure I would have gained if not given the opportunity. A complex situation of meeting my biological mother while she was dying, but I found the courage and strength within that I did not know existed until then. I was able to experience the first most valuable lesson in my life; what true forgiveness means and having the vulnerability to allow a mothers love, my mothers love, sink deep within me and guide me the rest of my life.
In the midst of it all, beauty overlooked the shadows.
*picture taken at the adoption agency, March 1987
*picture taken March 17, 2018 in which my Instagram post stated: "There are some moments in life that are unexpectedly profound. Be present in those moments. Don't rush it. Life is trying to teach you something."
What this day in particular taught me? That I still had some leftover grief to get in touch with and let go of.
I had not been to my biological mother’s gravesite since she passed in 2003. On one of my visits to see my biological sister in the valley, I decided to go to the cemetery where Leah was buried on my way home. I had not told anyone beforehand I was going to do so, as I needed the alone time to process.
Not remembering the slightest where exactly her headstone was, I drove around just making a few right turns. The surroundings did not look familiar to me and there was a few new construction buildings onsite. I decided to park my car on the right side near some trees and headstones and gather my thoughts. Something so deeply in me felt it was the right location, but I second-guessed myself, thinking because it did not look familiar that I could not have possibly stumbled upon her by chance. I did not get out of the car to go search, instead I drove back to the main entrance, walked in the building and asked the woman upfront if she could locate where my birth mother’s headstone was at, in which she printed out a map for me to follow. As I followed the map, I was retracing every single step that I had just driven, and stopped in the exact same spot that I had previously parked, as this was indeed where my mother was at.
As I got out of the car, I was in disbelief that my intuition led me to that spot earlier.
I walked past a few rows, putting the map in my pocket, and the moment I found her headstone I burst into tears, saying out loud (without a care in the world if anyone nearby could hear me), “How did I know you were here?” I kept repeating those words while I continued to cry. It most likely was an ugly kind of cry, but a therapeutic one at that.
I talked to her as if she was there for what seemed to be an hour, apologized for not coming sooner and I felt her presence with me (which at the time I was still in a religion that taught that that does not happen, that once you have passed you no longer exist and there is no spiritual afterlife, but I most certainly felt her there with me).
I then sat there for a long time in silence, being still with my feelings, thoughts and emotions. I felt the grass beneath me, saw the trees swaying from the light breeze, looked up at the blue sky with the clouds spattered across, and heard birds chirping. It was peaceful. I had comfort knowing she was there, somehow, with me. I was at peace knowing she was at peace. I gently kissed my fingers, placed my hand on her headstone saying my final goodbye with a hopeful statement of “I will see you again someday, and will get to know you even more”. I plucked a few wildflowers nearby, said goodbye once more, and walked back to my car placing the wildflowers in a safe place that I later would dry and place in a book.
The first initial thing I was taught from her when I met her the age of 19 was about forgiveness. She continues to teach me to this day about being present in the moment, and about trusting my intuition. I feel she has guided me through some steps in life without me even realizing it until now. So I make this promise to her; I will continue to stay humble, continue to grow as a person, love those in my life unconditionally, never allow toxic relationships back in my life, and always stay true to who I am.
Wishing you a very (hippie) Happy Mother’s Day Mom ❤️
and to all my loved ones and to all you mothers out there, and to one of my dearest friends who took me under her wing and provided a stability in my life where it was lacking ❤️ You have taught me another big lesson in my life; what true unconditional love is, how to nurture that inner child, and grow into my most confident and authentic truest self. I feel so deeply that God, and specifically, my mother guided me to your life - which has been healing on several levels. Our friendship (and all that it entails with wine nights, shopping, trading clothes and hours of talking), along with your nurturing support and unconditional love has been invaluable, and I am forever grateful you are in my life!
I am now free and at peace.
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