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If I had to guess, I would say that it took almost a month of calling David, of trying to walk that fine line between being insistent (and letting him know that I wasn’t going to stop calling) and yet not being scary or stalkerish. It was really frustrating because the stubborn insistent child in me wanted to call, daily, over and over again until I got David on the phone, but I didn’t. I called…left a polite, albeit vague message…waited for a return call for a few days…called again. After a while I suppose that David finally realized, I wasn’t going to stop calling, and he was left with no choice but to talk to me.

I didn’t expect him to answer the phone when I called and frankly I was caught unprepared. I was listening to the phone ring, standing in kitchen (I think I was dancing along with the radio) when he answered the phone.

“This is David,” a rather curt voice said on the other end of the line.

I was so shocked that I almost dropped the phone, I scrambled to get to the radio and turn it down.

“Hey, this is Joy,” I said.

“Yes, you’ve called several times.” he interrupted.

“I have, I’m trying to get in touch with your sister, Leah, I was hoping maybe I could get some information from you.”

“Why?” he asked.

I was stymied. It was extremely naive on my part to not be prepared to answer this question but on some levels this felt like very personal information that I should not share with “just anyone” and then on the other hand this was my birthmother’s brother, surely he had to know that she had been pregnant. The wheels were flying in my mind as I tried to decide, how to best handle this situation. I realized that anything less than the truth was probably not going to help my cause.

“I have reason to believe that she might be my birth mother.”

This statement was met with a long pause, and by long pause I mean that I started to wonder if he was still on the phone or not. It seemed to stretch on for an eternity.

“I’m going to have to call one of my sisters, someone will get back in touch with you, you don’t need to call me again.” he said, and then he hung up the phone.

“Right-o, no need to put Uncle David on the old Christmas card list,” I thought, as I put the phone back on the cradle.

A week went by, and I was a little despondent. I thought I had been given the big brush off and I was on an emotional roller coaster. Maybe he had called my Birthmother and she wasn’t calling because she didn’t want to have anything to do with me? Or maybe he hadn’t even bothered to pass my message along, since he had clearly told me not to call him anymore. Was I ever going to find my birthmother?

Before I tell you this next snippet, I should probably confess that I have an odd sense of humor and I have always loved “unconventional” answering machine messages. The message on my answering machine at the time was something like -”Hey this is Joy, I’m probably here but avoiding someone so leave a message and if I don’t call back – it’s you.” Terribly witty, I know.

I came home at least a week after talking to David, to a message on my answering machine. The message started with a long and pregnant pause.

“Yes, hello, this is Nancy, you were looking for my sister, and *pause* I’ll call back later.”

I cannot express my embarrassment and chagrin, so far my interaction with my biological family were that I had “stalked” my “Uncle” until he broke down and talked to me. (Probably, mostly to get me to stop calling.) Now my Aunt, who probably thought I was utterly rude and possibly a lunatic based on my goofy answering machine message.

Yes, we were off to a GREAT start.

Before I tell you how I found my birthmother, I should probably tell you that my adoption wasn’t what I now consider to be a conventional one. By “unconventional” I mean that my adopted parents got a phone call from the doctor that I believe delivered me. (Actually as I just realized that my birthmother and I have never really talked about that – I may find out he was merely the family doctor.) My adopted Uncle knew that my parents weren’t able to have children and he called them up and said “hey, I have a little girl here who is going to be placed for adoption, are you interested?” They were, the rest is my history and written up somewhere on this blog.

My Uncle had a relationship with my biological family, he was a Family Medicine doctor in a small town in Texas where my biological family lived and because of that relationship I had a little bit of insight into my biological family that most people probably don’t have. I don’t mean that my Uncle came running to tell me anytime anything happened in my biological family, but I do mean that when I found a lump in my breast at the age of 20 he told me that he didn’t believe that I had a family history riddled with cancer so I didn’t need to be too worked up about it. (Yes, the laws in place now would keep him from telling me even that much I think.) I always knew that I had that link there, it was kind of a security blanket.

After getting my first update, my Mom called my Uncle and a few weeks later she gave me all the pieces that she had and what she gathered from my Uncle. I learned that my biological father was, for lack of a better term, kind of a jerk – he completely bailed on my birthmom when he found out she was pregnant. (My Mom also told me that he denied being my birthfather and yet signed his rights away, but I believe I would later find out that wasn’t quite true.) My Mom told me how many siblings my birthmother had and gave me her full name at the time I was born, and being a good computer geek – I rolled up my sleeves and went to work.

With the help of some genealogy sites and a little bit of luck, I was able to locate my biological uncle, David, who was still living in Texas, not too far from where I was born. (The only information I had been able to gather about my Birthmother was her date of birth.) My plan was simple, and not very well thought out, to get in touch with David and ask him for my Birthmother’s contact information.

David did not cooperate with my plan.

I left a few messages (and by a few I mean more than one and less than five) on his answering machine over the next couple of weeks, and got no answer, and no call back. I got frustrated.

While venting to my Mom, she told me that David used to work for a newspaper and so I called the newspaper and while I didn’t get David, I did get some news. I called the newspaper office while I was at work, with a friend sitting close by for moral support. I didn’t get David but I got a very helpful secretary that had apparently known David and his family for most of their lives. I explained to her that I wasn’t really looking for David, but for one of his sisters. (I was very vague about which sister and exactly why I was looking for her – something that astounds me when I look back considering the information she readily gave me over the phone.)

The helpful woman at the newspaper office told me that David usually worked in the evenings, which is probably why I never had any luck calling him when I got off work. However through the course of the conversation she also told me that both of David’s sisters were married and one lived out of state and the other lived in England!

I grimaced as I hung up the phone, and looked at my friend, “my Birthmother lives in England.” I said, because I just knew in my heart that it was true.

Well, next week is the week that I’m going to flip the tables and tell you about my search and eventual reunion with my Birthmother. She’s been reading so it will be interesting to see what she thinks about my perspective on the whole thing. It’s a story that will not take months to tell, and honestly I haven’t decided what to do after that. (Any wisdom, advice, or pointers from you dear readers is greatly appreciated.) However, before I “go there” I wanted to tie up all the loose ends that might be left for you from my experiences as being a birthmother, so here goes:

My son Michael, turned 10 this year. He is the oldest of three children that Beth and John have adopted. I was a little jealous when I got my picture updates from Beth and she told me the news that told me that number 2 was coming, I was *their* birthmother, they were *my* adoptive parents – those feelings lasted for about 15 minutes but I am still amused and ashamed that I had them. My son is a beautiful little boy, the pictures and updates that I receive paint a picture of a thoughtful, caring child who inherited my asthma (I cried when I read that in one of Beth’s letters) but is happy, otherwise healthy, and loved. He is all boy, playing with bugs, going fishing, boy scouting with John and he is a tenderhearted love – releasing the fish he catches and loving nothing more than his morning cup of tea with his Mom.

Beth has completely fulfilled her end of our agreement. For the first few years of Micheal’s life I got pictures every few months, but as he got older and changed less the picture packets now come two or three times a year. Usually around his birthday and at Christmas for sure, but sometimes Beth will surprise me and slip one in during the Spring. She sent word once through the attorney that she was worried the pictures and updates made it harder for me, but through the attorney I assured her that I loved them, and to please keep them coming, the envelopes got fatter after that!

Despite the fact I know Beth and John’s last name and where they live, I have kept my side of the agreement – I have never contacted them directly. In this very public, very digital age that we live in I suppose I could seek them out on Facebook or look for them where they live – I choose not to because that was my end of the agreement. Actually I feel very protective of Beth and John, which is why I have not provided any pictures or too much detail about them here, in my heart – they are a part of my family, I have nothing but love and respect for them.

Rob, oh Rob…for a while after he moved to go live with Emily, I would hear rumblings and rumors about what he was up to from well intentioned friends. The stories were never very kind to Emily (I guess these people wanted me to know they were on my side). I heard she tried to host a dinner party and ended up with a table full of guests and a burned dinner and in her agitation she locked herself in the bathroom wailing that she was sure I would’ve done it better. (The person who was at that dinner and told me that story did so gleefully but frankly it makes me sad to think about it.) It took two years before I would hear from Rob again, by then his relationship with Emily was long over. When Rob contacted me he apologized for his bad behavior. He admitted that he cheated on me with Emily, he acknowledged that up until our last conversation I tried to be a good friend, and that he was very sorry for his selfish behavior.

Rob and I have never been able to be friends. After that first phone call, I felt moved enough to send his mother some pictures of Michael (I had become close to someone who had grandchildren and I was feeling sorry for Rob’s mom for missing out on this precious little boy). She sent back a note saying he was a beautiful little boy who looked nothing like anyone in her family. I never sent her picture again. Rob called a couple of years after that first phone call, just to see how things were going, and then almost like clockwork every couple of years. He even called me from his bachelor party, and that was the last time he called. Last year instead of a phone call I got a friend request on Facebook and I declined it. I sent him a very kind email telling him that far too much of my personal life is on my Facebook page and I didn’t feel comfortable with him having that kind of access to my life (nor with his family having access to my life). I did send him an update on my life and even sent a few select pictures. I didn’t hear back from him again, but I know that he’s married and has a beautiful little girl. I hope he’s very happy, but I will always vigilantly guard my boundaries with him.

I know that some of you will wonder what happened to Russ, so I’ll tell you – he got his wings and became a pilot and while we always stayed in touch, that window for romantic relationships had closed for us. However, he’s still a good friend – in fact I saw him last week when I was in San Diego for vacation. Russ has never gotten married but he has a daughter with a girl that he dated. I don’t know if he’ll ever get married but I know he adores that little girl.

As for me…

Having Michael really inspired me to get a move on with my life. I changed jobs about a year after he was born, because I realized that I was never going to be able to finish my degree where I was working. I’m still friends with some of my old coworkers, and they never ask about my son for fear that it will upset or distress me, so I tell them about him every chance I get! I did finish my BA in Communications, though I took the long rambly route to do it! I then promptly set about getting a job that has nothing to do with my degree for a large health care system, that makes me a slave to the fiscal calendar, and keeps me on my toes – I will say it’s not my passion, but I like it more often than I don’t and I really enjoy the people I work with. In fact, I enjoy one of them so much that almost two years ago, I married him, but I’m getting ahead of myself…

Dating after the adoption was really hard. I’m afraid I had another incident of being “outed” by one of Rob’s friends while I was on a date. I went on dates where I told the guys right away that I had a baby I had placed for adoption and they ran for the hills! I changed up the tactics and waited until we had been dating for a while and then I told them and watched them head for the hills! I ultimately decided that it wasn’t *when* I broke the news that was important as *who* I broke it too. I knew that the right guy would accept me, all of me, even the part of me that let my son go. After yet another relationship came to it’s end I thanked God that Michael hadn’t been there to experience that heartache with me.

I met Nathan at work on a casual Friday. I will never forget it because I had on my favorite ratty sweatshirt when he came in my office to look at my computer, and I was instantly sorry I didn’t look better. Our relationship unfolded very slowly and very publicly because everyone on our floor seemed interested! (He works for a different department but is right down the hall from me.) However, once we decided to talk about not seeing other people, I told him about Michael and he looked at me and said “that only makes me admire you more” and I knew I had a keeper. We were married almost three years to the day from when we met.

When I get my packet full of pictures, he listens as I read the letter from Beth aloud, and he looks at the pictures very carefully. I know that he doesn’t really know what to say, but he listens and that’s what matters most.

When I look back on my experience as a birthmother, I won’t tell you that it was easy or fun, but I will say that the blessings I encountered on my journey have far outweighed any negative experiences that I had along the way. In those blessings I count you, for reading along and sharing this journey with me as I relive it again. The emails and comments that I received here have meant the world to me, thank you.

I’ll see you next week, and tell you all about my Birthmother!

I was off work for two weeks after Michael was born, I slept alot, I ate healthy and unhealthy things. I had Ben there to make sure that I got out of bed at least a few times a day, because he had to be walked. Mostly, one day from recovery was much like another with a few, rather disjointed and notable exceptions.

For example, one day I had bopped on down to the laundry room to move my laundry from the washing machine to the dryer and a young man from the complex asked if I had just had a baby. I smiled and said yes and asked how he knew, and the young man blushed as he nodded towards my chest. I had started lactating (despite the meds I was taking to keep that from happening). I was very embarrassed and when I got back to my apartment I cried. It’s one cry that I am blame 100% on hormones because I really couldn’t tell you exactly what I was crying about – anything and everything. I was crying because I didn’t think I would ever be able to go back to the laundry room! (A completely rational response!)

There was the day that my web guys came over after work. The phone call giving me a fifteen minutes “head’s up” had woken me up from a nap so I was vaguely crabby. Then I opened the door and felt like I had let a troupe of monkeys into my apartment. There was someone pulling Chinese takeout containers out of a bag, there was someone in my kitchen taking out plates and calling out to people to ask about utensils, and there was someone in front of my DVD player. It felt like they were everywhere, too loud, too into everything.

The boisterous group hustled me into my own living room and a plate of Chinese food was placed in my hands and Ken and Tim settled in on either side of me, while Josh sprawled across the floor. There was a little laughter and cutting up while they kicked off the movie, something nice and SciFi thus avoiding any emotional stuff, and then it was quiet. When the food was gone, the plates were whisked away, and then Ken stretched an arm out along the back of the sofa, so his warmth radiated around me. It wasn’t a flirty move, but rather a calm and reassuring move that let me know they were there for me. Somehow, these geeky computer guys knew that being there without saying anything is just as important as long, heart to heart talks.

I had lots of moments like that after Michael was born, and gone. There were lots of friends, ready to welcome me back into life as I was wading back in. There were moments, like the ones above that I will never forget, and moments less clear but no less important that I don’t remember anything more than the feeling that truly I was blessed with good friends and loving family.

However, the next life altering moment happened right before Michael was two months old. I went to get my mail and I had an envelope waiting for me, it had a beautiful letter from Beth and it was full of pictures of Michael. I was so excited to see his beautiful little face, and to see Beth and John beaming at me. He was happy and he was going to be all right.

I did what seemed to be the most logical thing in the world, I grabbed the envelope and headed out to my parents house to share them with my Mom. She smiled when she looked at the pictures, and she looked at each one carefully.  After she was done looking at the pictures we moved on to talk about something else, and then she got very quiet and thoughtful.

“I would’ve done that,” she said, “for your birthmother.”

I think in the time since Michael had been born and we had said goodbye, her understanding of what a birthmother was had grown and changed. She understood that somewhere out there, my birthmother might be thinking of me and wondering what happened to me, if I was happy, what I grew up to be.

Of course, there were no semiopen adoptions at the time, but the seed had been planted, and after I left my parent’s house I turned that thought, my birthmother, over and over in my mind.

With the papers signed and me on the mend there was no place to go but home, that afternoon Dr.A signed my discharge papers. I was given some prescriptions and some instructions (things to keep my eye out for to help me determine if I needed to seek medical attention or if it was normal healing stuff going on) and then it was time to pack my bag and get on my way. Moments before the wheel chair arrived to take me out (hospital policy, groan) – my cell phone rang.

One of my best and oldest friends Elizabeth had been at school in Montgomery through most of my pregnancy. She had been a wonderful long distance lifeline and she was calling to tell me she was headed home to see Michael. I didn’t know what to tell her, was she too late?

I knew that Michael wouldn’t be discharged until the next day, so I went down to the room next to the nursery where I knew Beth and John were spending their time. (You know I still don’t really know what that room is for, but it’s still very vivid in my mind with it’s neutral walls and warm dusty pink rocking chair.) I felt so awkward and uncomfortable to go them and ask if I could come back with Elizabeth to see Michael. The lines were still blurry between “birthparents” and “adopted” parents.

Beth and John were where I expected to find them, Michael was not. Apparently he had just been taken back to the nursery and they were trying to decide where to go for lunch. Beth’s face was a completely open book and I could see the concern in her eyes as soon as she saw me, but it was not concern for Michael, but concern for me because she could tell that I was agitated about something. I could tell because as I explained about Elizabeth driving her way to town, as we spoke, her expression changed from one of concern to one of happiness.

“Of course, that would be fine, we would love to meet your friend.” She said, and we chatted for a few minutes, ironing out the details.

“We’ll see you later,” John said with an encouraging smile and a pat on my shoulder.

I felt the tight ball of anxiety in my chest relax a little bit, and I called Elizabeth to go over the plans.

About half an hour later, I was wheeled out of the hospital. I was a bit of an emotional wreck again, I had walked through these doors just a couple of days ago, with a son, and I was leaving without one. My Mom had tears in her eyes as well, and I knew she was thinking of the grandson we were leaving behind. Though logically the adoption was done and over with, and I still believed I had done the best thing for Michael, I still felt the pang of his loss.

My Mom and I went to pick up my prescriptions, some odds and ends to keep me entertained while I was on the mend, and then to pick up Ben. My beautiful brindle boy was literally dancing with joy when he saw me, and it lifted my heart to run my fingers through his soft fur and look in his soulful eyes. Then we were home, back in the apartment, where everything was the same as I left it but still seemed a little bit different somehow.

While I waited for Elizabeth, I took a shower in my own bathroom, which was nice. I tried on an assortment of clothes and realized it was going to have to be maternity clothes or sweats, I was not ready for “pre-maternity clothes” yet. (I admit I had fantasies that the baby and most of the baby weight all came off at once.) I took Ben for a walk around the apartment complex, and I could tell how happy he was to have me home, and I had to admit that I was happy to be home too.

The problem that I was grappling with is that in some ways it was “finally over” – Michael was born, I had done what I knew I needed to do. The next step was that I needed to get my life together and move forward. In other ways it was far from over, I knew that I would mourn losing my son, because I had lost my son; I knew it was a choice I had made not something that happened to me, but it was still a very real loss nonetheless.

It’s hard to put into words all the thoughts I had and all the feelings I was feeling, but ultimately I decided what was best for me was to focus on the positives in this situation. I felt really good about Beth and John, I really believed that they cared about me as a person and that even though there wasn’t time for updates – I felt like I knew that they would follow through with their end. There was never any doubt that they would love Michael, but that adoptive parent and birth parent relationship sometimes seems a tentative relationship. I knew that Michael would not only be loved, but there would be nothing that he needed to help him achieve his dreams and goals that he wouldn’t have. I had loving friends and a good support system in place and while I knew that there were going to be bumps in the road ahead, I knew that I would get past them.

I was in pretty good head space by the time Elizabeth got there to pick me up, and I hugged her warmly and was glad at the easy shorthand that only good friends can share as we drove back to the hospital.

The only thing I know for certain that changed from the my stay in the hospital to my visit that afternoon was me, my personal revelations about the situation. I was happy when Beth and John welcomed me like a good friend into the room where Beth was just finishing feeding Michael. We all sat down and we talked, and in that moment, that visit with Beth and John is everything that I wished the earlier part of our hospital visit could’ve been. We passed Michael around, taking turns holding him and fussing over him. While we passed him around we talked, we really talked, about how we felt about the whole adoption process.

I told them everything I had held back, I told them about the horrible up’s and down’s with Rob and about our quick (albeit painful) standoff over who would get to adopt Michael. They told me about well meaning friends who kept telling them not to get their hopes up as I could still change my mind – “it happens all the time” people told them. We laughed even cried a little together, and there in that room and in that moment I knew I was really at peace with my decision and that in time my heart would heal and catch up.

Elizabeth gave me the greatest gift that afternoon, not just in making this magical moment happen, but after almost an hour and a half of talking before we left, she offered to take a picture of the four of us together – Beth, John, Michael, and Me. They let me hold Michael for the picture and we all leaned in close, we look so happy in that picture and I really believe in my heart it’s because in that moment we were.

This time when we hugged good-bye, there were no tears, and as I hugged John he told me – “this isn’t good bye, we’ll see you again” and I believe not only that he meant it but that it was absolutely true.