It’s a manila envelope. Inside, it has two packets of paper, each held together with a red paperclip. Additionally, each packet is labeled with a yellow post-it note. One says “from birth parents file”, and one says “from adoptive file”.
After lunch, I called my husband and told him I was on my way home, and he said he would meet me there. I didn’t want to be alone when I opened it. I got home first, though, and I couldn’t wait. My kids were all playing outside and I had the house to myself. I picked a spot on the couch next to a sunny window, took a deep breath, and pulled out those two packets. I set aside the adoptive file.
The first sheet from the birth parents file was a copy of the only paper I had ever been given. It was a type written (as in typewriter-remember all the documents were completed in 1973) summary of “stats”. My birth gender, weight, length. Descriptions of mother and father including only heritage, level of education, religious background, hair and eye color.
The next page was what I needed. It was my original birth certificate. Until that moment I had never seen it- but there it was, and there was Lori’s name listed as the mother. As I had been told, there was no father listed. OK. I had the proof that her family had been asking for! Awesome. I’d get it to them soon…but there was more reading to do. I flew through the first few paragraphs, and right away, one of my questions was answered…someone besides Lori knew about the pregnancy, and had helped her. CCSB was initially contacted by her friend, Bonnie. By the time that contact was made, Lori was already in labor. Bonnie expressed concern because there apparently had been some amount of denial of the pregnancy on Lori’s part, but because she was already in labor, they were advised to go straight to the hospital. I was born about 40 minutes after they arrived…
Four paragraphs into that first page, I ran into what Molly had been preparing me for. “The father of the baby is a married man, and supposedly is hoping to go overseas.”
Well. There it was. No wonder she couldn’t tell anyone. It went on to say that his wife was from Germany, and that they had a 26 month old son. He was “hoping to find employment overseas, as his wife is from Germany, and has recently returned there”. It’s unclear at which point he told her about his marital status. Obviously, the fact that it’s in my record means that he did, eventually. No one who knows for sure is alive to tell me. Oh…his name was there, too. I’m changing it for anonymity, but for reference we’ll call him “Steven”. As soon as I saw his name, I texted Bridget and sent her on a search for him. I didn’t really want to contact him, but was curious if she could find him, and wondered what he looked like.
This file reads like a social worker’s report. It’s a narrative of what was happening. It’s the story. Or, at least, much if it. As I was reading it, I kept thinking how lucky I am in so many ways, not the least of which is that a file like this exists. It’s not just a collection of forms. The story is being told for me when the people aren’t there to tell it. In the midst of all the reading, Derek arrived home and sat with me. I updated him on what I had found. We talked about how I actually felt a bit of relief…I mean, I was really glad that it wasn’t a story of violence. After talking to Molly, I had really been worried about that.
The rest of the pages included more general information about Lori, her background, a description of her family, education, interests, etc. There was a section about her parents and their heritage, education, and faith. Her father had passed away three years before I was born, but her mother was alive and healthy. There was never another entry mentioning Steven, and there was no information available about his family.
From there, much of the report shifted focus to me, and Lori’ s plans to give up her parental rights. It’s very clear that she had no plan at any time to try to keep me or parent me, as she did not feel that she was able to do that. There are notes about consent for adoption, and plans for placement in foster care. The case was closed six months later after it was noted that Lori had declined any offers of counseling services, and that “the baby was doing well in her adoptive placement”.
Wow. OK. That’s it. He was married. Jerk. (I’m typing this now and trying to get out the thoughts as they were coming to me at that moment…not as they are today. I’ll get to those later) I found myself becoming increasingly angry with him. It was easy for me to picture him presenting himself as a single guy, and starting a physical relationship with Lori. Then, she ends up in trouble, and he’s like “Oh, sorry…I’m married” and he’s outta there.
Here’s the thing- (and this IS something I came around to later)…my life and Lori’s ended up with some similarities. I had a boyfriend when I was 16, too, and I loved him- as much as you’re able to when you’re just a kid. And like Lori, I was still single when I was 26- and at that time, EVERY ONE of my best friends was married, and most were starting families. I was lonely, and wondering if I’d ever find someone. Looking back, it was a difficult time in my life, emotionally- although I tried really hard to keep that to myself. I dated some nice guys, but also came across my fair share of jerks, and was lied to a few times, and it hurt. My point is…two decisions, mistakes, whatever you want to call them, make Lori’s life very different from mine. There but for the grace of God, right? This woman who, in my mind, had hurt my feelings so badly in 1994, was now becoming someone I could really empathize with. And whether it was absolute conjecture or not, I felt that Steven had likely hurt her deeply, and I was angry. He helped create a situation, and it didn’t seem that he did one thing to help her with it.
I still had the adoptive file packet to read. I also still needed to share what information I had found with Lori’s family. I knew that. What I didn’t know, was how much mental processing I still needed to do. There was so much emotional work in front of me. Luckily, I was going to have some help.
My Big Little Miracle 