Ten days earlier an adoption angel contacted me. She asked me if I had found my son. You see, for the past 15 years, I had been registering on adoption websites to help my son be able to contact me if he so desired.
(If you are interested in reading the whole story about my pregnancy in high school, you can read it in this book, "The Spirit of Adoption.")
At first, I was skeptical. I don't believe everything I read or fall for any email scams. Talking it over with Wade, my husband, we concluded that there was nothing to lose by asking Amy, my angel, what the process was.
By the end of the next day, I had my son's name, last known address, phone number, confirmation of matching adoption files, and link to his Facebook page. His name is Brian Jones. He lives in Valencia, California.
An event that I never imagined would ever happen was now suddenly going to take place. I was going to make contact with my firstborn son.
My sweet angel advised me on how to construct a letter that would be an introduction. Amy suggested that I keep it short, giving him information about my family, and offering nothing more than medical information and family history.
Sending the letter in a UPS envelope would allow for tracking without requiring a signature.
With Wade and Amy's approval on the content of my letter, the packet was mailed on Tuesday, December 18.
As is my nature, my mind raced with all the potential outcomes. Struggling to overcome this mind race, I kept busy and watched UPS's tracking on this package on my phone.
When I saw that it was finally delivered, the anticipation really became overwhelming.
A quick email to Amy was helpful as she helped me understand the different ways that people like Brian might respond to receiving this information. Amy was adopted as well. While her job is teaching, her vocation is to help adopted children and their birth parents find each other.
So many possibilities to consider: most adoptees take a few days to digest the information before making contact, or they may speak to a trusted family member or friend. Perhaps Brian was on vacation.
All I could do is go about my day and make sure my phone is on.
I memorized the phone number that was given to me so I wouldn't ignore it, thinking it to be a robocall.
On Friday night Wade and I attended a concert. Being the responsible concert-goer, I silenced my phone during the event.
After arriving home at about 8:00 pm, we changed into our evening at home attire and settled into the night.
At 10 pm I remembered that I had silenced my phone. When I reached into my purse to retrieve my phone, I immediately recognized the number listed as calling three times around 8 pm. My son was reaching out to me.
My heart raced with anticipation. I kept asking Wade what I should do! Call him back? Was it too late? Did I seem to anxious? He didn't leave a message, so what did that mean?
Then I thought to check Facebook. Bingo. He'd sent me a friend request.
It was all I needed to step off the ledge into the unknown. I hit redial.
With my phone on the speaker, so Wade could hear every word, the three of us talked for an hour. Well, at least two of us talked and one did a lot of listening.
Do I remember what was said? Not really. Wade would later refreshen my memory, along with observations that we had the same intonations to our voices. Brian rambled along in the story in the same manner as I did. We laughed the same.
Now to the point of this essay. The tears that flow from my eyes throughout the day are filled with joy. Until Brenna was born, and then Kalie, and then Jesse, the longing I had for my firstborn was muted. Having a baby at 16, then placing the child up for adoption, not being able to really talk about the emotions I had during those 9 months, there is bound to be some emotions.
The tears that are flowing from me now have been dormant for 44 years.
The depth of my love for Brenna, Kalie, and Jesse bring clarity to the love I have for Brian, even though the last time I saw him he was barely 1 day old. I was intentional in unconditionally loving my children because of the lack of unconditional love I felt in my youth.
It is impossible for me to believe that I love Brian any less than I do my other three children. However, it feels as if I have gone from zero to 500 in the last week. Truthfully, there is an aching in my being that is not being squelched with Facetime and phone calls. I need something more. I need to hold him. Though I don't think he will fit on my lap, I want to read him a bedtime story and tuck him into bed.
Equally as emotional is the realization that I now know that he was cared for and loved by his parents, the people who reached out to adopt him. I have so many questions for them. My heart wants to sit at their feet and offer them gifts of adoration and thankfulness for taking my boy and raising him so well. For loving him to the best of their ability, giving him the opportunity for happiness and success.
Isn't that what we want for our children?
This journey of adoption that I have been on for 44 years isn't over yet.
Did I mention I have a 13-year-old granddaughter?
