By AMY SHANKLAND
Perfectly Imperfect
As my adoption and reunion story continues, I’ve changed some names, places, and dates.
Linda told me that she was concerned about any potential medical issues I had faced. She was one of four children, two of whom were sisters and had battled breast cancer. Her mother had biliary cancer and her father had died of a heart attack. Heart disease ran in her family.
I reassured her that I had always been careful to get my annual mammograms and that I lived an overall healthy lifestyle. I told her about my psoriasis, and she confirmed that both she and her daughter Sabrina had it as well.
“I have one big question,” I said. “When I found out where you were from, I never really looked at a map of Ohio to see how close Cleveland was to Cincinnati, where I was born. It only hit me this year that they’re not close at all. Were you living in a home for unwed mothers?”
“Yes, I spent my whole summer there with the nuns.” My heart broke hearing that, but she reassured me that she had been well taken care of and that it had been her decision to go there. She thought that it would be best for all if she gave me up for adoption.
“You made a great decision,” I said. “I’ve had a wonderful, blessed life and will forever be grateful for my family.” Linda cried after that statement. She was relieved that I didn’t have any feelings of hatred towards her. She loved hearing about my family and my background.
Linda told me she was able to hide her pregnancy during her sophomore year of college just as I had hoped. Only a few people even knew she was pregnant, although her siblings figured it out. She told me her mother had been furious with her and didn’t even visit her in Cincinnati that summer. But both her father and my birth father, Jack, did visit her. I asked her about Jack.
“Jack is a great person,” Linda said. “He and I stayed friends for a long time but lost touch about 30 years ago.” She had even gone to visit him one time and met his wife, whom she described as delightful.
“I had much stronger feelings for him than he did for me back in college,” Linda continued. “We just weren’t meant to be a couple.”
Linda told me she had been a school psychologist for 38 years and had stayed in the Boston area after attending graduate school nearby. I asked if her daughter knew about me, and Linda shared that she did not. Linda was concerned because Sabrina had a typical Irish temper and she wasn’t certain of her daughter’s reaction. I then had to share with Linda about my own struggle with my mother.
We went on to some lighter topics. We were amazed that we had both married men named John. Her husband had known about me before he died. We also couldn’t believe that I was raised just 15 minutes away from Notre Dame and St. Mary’s. Linda told me she got to see me one time in the hospital after I was born and had taken a picture of me that she had given to Jack. I asked about my original name and she laughed.
“I was definitely a hippie back then,” Linda said. “I just thought the name was beautiful.”
We discovered we both had numerous moles on our pale skin, and our minds and bodies were happier if we slept more than eight hours a night – when we could get away with it. We promised to text pictures to each other. I told her about my Internet searches and she confirmed that she wasn’t on Facebook or any other sites where I could find her. I also shared what I had found – or hadn’t found – in the yearbooks.
“Yeah, I really wasn’t into all that stuff and probably wasn’t in there,” Linda replied. She asked me if I had contacted Jack yet.
“Not yet, although I have his information and I’ve seen many pictures of him.” I replied. “I think I just wanted to contact one birth parent at a time.” She said she felt confident he would be glad to hear from me.
Before we knew it, 90 minutes had passed, and my husband was walking in the back door with Jonathon and Jacob. John explained to the boys that I was talking to an “old friend” and rushed them off to take their showers.
Linda and I agreed that we would talk to each other again in a couple of weeks. As we disconnected, I knew I would be facing another practically sleepless night. But realizing that it would be due to excitement and pure joy made it that much easier. My birth mother and I were starting to get to know each other and begin a friendship. It was beyond anything I had hoped or dreamed of!