As my adoption and reunion story continues, I’ve changed some names, places, and dates.
At this point in my reunion journey, some interesting thoughts would often cross my mind. I began to feel comfortable sharing what was happening in my life with more friends. I thought my mother would probably never travel down to the Indianapolis area again due to her health issues, so most of my friends wouldn’t see her. This was long before we discovered that we had to move her to an assisted living facility in Noblesville!
Everyone was excited and supportive, but a few of them would ask a question that made me bristle inside.
“Have you talked to your mom or dad lately?” Someone would ask. I knew no one meant any harm in that question, but I also knew that those titles, to me, belonged to only two people in the entire world.
My mother need never have feared about what would happen when I found my birthparents. Instead of the experience pulling me away from her or the memories of my father it actually brought me closer to them in my heart.
Now more than ever, I was beginning to truly appreciate all they had done for me. They took a newborn baby into their home, not knowing her background, family health history, or anything else, and loved her with all their hearts.
Mom and Dad had given me an incredible life, full of love, travels around and outside of the country, and a solid education. I had a wonderful brother and sister who never treated me any differently than someone who was their own blood. I had numerous nieces and nephews that I grew up with and adored.
I loved Linda and Jack for choosing to give me life. I loved Linda for taking good care of me in the womb and for making the best decision possible for me. I loved Jack for supporting her every step of the way. Even though I was just starting to get to know them, I loved them for what they had done (at the time) 45 years ago.
However, I knew no matter what happened in my life, I could never call them Mom or Dad. And fortunately, they both understood that completely.
Mom and Dad were the ones who took me to the hospital when I experienced food poisoning at the age of seven. Mom sat up with me many nights when I battled ear infections as a child. Dad worked hard to provide for us and give us a good place to live and food on the table.
They both put up with and still loved a typical, emotional teenage girl. And they were the ones who supported me before, during, and after college.
It was Mom who helped me move away from my first husband, who was verbally abusive. She was the one who cried tears of joy when I finally met the right man and married him. Mom helped me when I had Jonathon and was alone most of the time during the first week of his life due to John working many hours at Mailboxes, Etc.
All of this flooded over me that summer. I started to feel like maybe I could tell Mom about my discoveries as long as I explained to her how they had brought me closer to her. But one incident that was similar to others in the past made me stop and realize I could never tell her what I had discovered.