Monday felt like a week.
After my “freak out” post–that’s what I’m going to start calling it–I did all this ugly crying crap for entirely too long to be considered healthy and woke up with my eyes so swollen I could hardly see. I was hot.
Come to find out, my biological mother had messaged me on Facebook before I had even written that post; I didn’t get the messages until I messaged HER and basically begged her to read the post. Also? She was excited to speak with me and gave me her number. As far as I know, she offered before she had read my post. I’m not exactly sure why that matters to me but it does.
Things could have gone so differently. It was obvious how desperate I was to be heard. To be acknowledged. To be worthy of pride and care.
I received those in spades. I’ve gained a brother and a sister and a not-mother–I already have a mother. Possibly a friend? Lord knows everyone can use a friend.
Monday was one of hardest days of my life and could have been devastating. I got lucky that my birth mother cares enough…is good enough…to talk with me and to answer my questions.
I learned so much from her.
I learned I better start being a good Southern girl since my birth mother can trace her Southern lineage back 17 generations. You have no idea how weird it is to go from knowing absolutely nothing about my past to being able to trace that past back 17 generations. Gobsmacked is an apt descriptor.
I can finally let go of the idea I’m Indian–dot or feather.
I’m a bunch of stuff, but I’m not that. In fact, there’s a good chance there’s gypsy mixed up in my genetics. And that my ancestors got themselves cursed by the “king.” Anyone surprised by that? Anyone? Didn’t think so.
Blue eyes are on both sides of my genetic coin. I guess Cara really is mine, huh?
I spoke with my brother Monday night.
He answered the phone with, “What’s up, little sis?” He’s a trip. This has thrown him for a loop as well and, like I told him, I don’t “know what I want to do with this.” Sure that sounds like I’m being a little shit and I own that fact but there’s only so much change I can take at one time.
I’ve seen my sister’s Facebook page–Facebook stalking is A-OK when you’re trying to find your birth family, fyi.–and I scoured her features for commonality. We do resemble each other to some extent and it’s strange to not guess if I’m related to her. I know I am.
My birth mother says we should approach this as new friends. Get to know each other. Figure out if we want to take this any further. Maybe we’ll meet–we’re too close geographically to not meet at least once. Maybe we won’t.
Part of me wants to rush to where they are with open arms and say, “Hey, y’all! Let’s do this family thing.” But they’re strangers. Awesome strangers but strangers nonetheless. It’s hard for me to remember that. I’m a stranger to them as well. It’s hard for me to remember that, too.
And what of Cara and Ollie? They’ve never NOT known I was adopted. We’ve had discussions about how G didn’t carry me in her uterus. How someone else had me and then gave me to G. Cara actually understands it all. Ollie seems to comprehend some of it and the rest he just ignores. He’s three. That’s his prerogative.
They both know they have an aunt and and uncle other than Tucker’s sister and her husband. They both think it’s hilarious that I’m the “baby” in that family; Cara’s taken to asking me if I want a bottle. She’s such a pain in the ass sometimes.
My adoption has never been a negative thing so it’s only natural they want meet everyone. But shouldn’t we all figure out what the hell is going on before we bring in the kids?
The only reason to not meet everyone is fear. Fear of being hurt. Is that possibility of hurt worth forsaking the possibility of awesomeness? I don’t have that answer just yet. Maybe I won’t ever?
We had to exchange some stuff at Target yesterday and I caught myself searching people’s faces to see if I might be related to them. It hit me in the gut that I don’t have to do that anymore. I know who I’m related to and know how to get in touch with them. I’ve searched my entire life. It’s hard to break old habits.
Where does this leave me? My family…adopted and biological and the family Tucker and I created? Not sure. Time will tell.
Somehow through all of this, I feel like I’m closer to Mom. Tucker says it’s because, even though I’ve finally found the woman who gave me life and gave me up [for completely understandable reasons], I’ve always known the woman who has always been my mother. She didn’t give birth to me, but she’s mothered me for thirty years and that matters just as much as meeting the woman who birthed me.
As an aside, I want to thank each and everyone of you who have supported me in this. The obvious person is Mom. I expected her to support me. To care. What I didn’t expect where the Facebook messages from people I only know online. The Facebook comments of support. The very late night comforting when I thought I had blown my chance to speak with my biological mother. Emails. Texts. Phone calls. That means something. That is a sense of family I had been overlooking–neglecting–for far too long. You guys see me in a way I will probably never see myself and I love you all for that. For your belief in me.
While this opens up a whole nother can of worms, I can rest.
I don’t need to search any longer. I don’t know who my biological father is and I’m OK with that. There are relatively inexpensive genetic tests out there that can give me answers to questions I have about him. He ran. He’s not worthy of my time to search.
I’ll take what I have and be thankful. So very thankful.