3. Bridget

More than five, but less than ten years ago, I switched hairdressers. My new (and current) hairdresser’s name is Bridget. I came to know of her years before, because I had worked with her mom. Actually, I was her mom’s preceptor (mentor/trainer) when she was a new nurse in the Birthing Center where we worked. Bridget’s mom, Laurie, is an excellent nurse, a great friend, and is one of the funniest people I’ve ever known. When we worked together, we all enjoyed the stories she’d tell about raising her four young kids. Fast forward to years later, and one of those kids- who is every bit as hilarious as her mother- is now my hairdresser.

What’s the point, you say? Well…Bridget, in my opinion, is solely responsible for every bit of this story. Because without her pushing me, I would have never pursued any of this. So this entry is dedicated to her, and how our conversations, and her persistence with me helped point me toward uncovering my adoption story. A story which eventually- and quite literally- saved my life.

I don’t know how it is for men and barbers, but the ladies know…when you have a great hairdresser, part of the experience is the conversation when you’re in the chair. Sometimes it’s between the two of you, and other times there’s a group chat among everyone in the salon. As time passed, and Bridget and I got closer, eventually the fact that I was adopted came up. Additionally, as we got to know each other, we would always find random things that we had in common…likes/ dislikes, behaviors, pet peeves, etc. Eventually, this was enough for Bridget to declare that we were likely related.

Bridget’s father had been married and divorced prior to his marriage to her mother. There were no children from this first marriage. However, she was SURE we were related. So the theory was that I must have been conceived just prior to the divorce (the timing would MAYBE have been possible) and his ex-wife must have given me up without telling him. Hilarious. What’s funnier, is that if you know Bridget and me, you know how we couldn’t be less similar in appearance. I’m tall-ish, dark hair and eyes. She’s…um…not tall. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and although she is adorable…she does not look anything like me.

In addition to the “probable” relationship between us, she had started to ask questions about what I knew of my history, which was very little. I had told her about my failed search in 1994. She was always bothered that I didn’t have a more detailed medical history. I mean…I was too, but there wasn’t much I could do about it. She disagreed.

Bridget comes from a large Irish family, and they had done some work on Ancestry.com building their family tree. She wanted me to order and submit my DNA to see if I could locate anyone from my birth family. My answer was no. This conversation started easily five years ago (2014-15?) and we went back and forth about it for years. Every time it came up, she had all kinds of reasons why I needed my medical history, for myself and for my children. My reason for refusing was that I had already been told, in very clear terms, that my birth mom did not wish to be found. Of course, in 1994, no one could have imagined that one day we would have access to DNA tests by mail. Still, I felt like if I forced the issue, and was able to find her, it wouldn’t end well.

Internally, I was torn about it, because my feelings hadn’t changed. I DID want to know. I still wanted to know who she was, what she looked like, tell her all the things I wanted to say 20 years ago. I also was interested in a detailed medical history. I just couldn’t see forcing the issue, though…much to the frustration of my hairdresser. Who, by the way, had now made this statement. “You get an Ancestry DNA kit, I’ll find your birth family”.

I don’t know what changed my mind, and I never will. But on Black Friday 2018 I ordered that DNA kit. Two, actually…I got one for my husband, too. I wrapped them and put them under the tree, and we opened them on Christmas Day. Then they sat. We didn’t open the actual boxes for months. Honestly, they got pushed to the side and we both forgot about them. March rolled around, and we were packing up the kitchen to have some work done in our house. I came across those boxes, and grabbed my husband. “Come on. Let’s get these things mailed in. I’m not packing them up.” So we did. The results were emailed to us two Sundays before Easter. It was April 7, 2019. I texted Bridget first. I told her “Great news! I’m Scotch/Irish, just like I thought!” She responded- “give me your login info”.

Nothing has been the same since.