I remember giving the intermediary-lady who found her these questions:
- What is the family health history?
- What nationality am I?
- Who is my birth father?
The third question shut her down. She told the intermediary that talking about my birth father was a very painful topic for her and then she announced she would have no more contact with me. The intermediary went on to explain that my mother was raped. I felt like an ice-skater with her wind knocked out from a unexpected fall.
However, she soon changed her mind about talking and we chatted for hours into the night. It was like walking on thin ice. Would she reject me? Fear of rejection from her was my constant, unwanted companion.
One of the first things my birth mother said was, “Now, I don’t want you to feel bad about your birth father–he really was a very nice man.” Really? Somehow, rape and nice didn’t compute . Then, she added one more detail….he had red hair. I always wondered where our oldest daughter’s red hair originated. There has to be a recessive gene for red hair on both sides of the family. Yes, my husband’s mom had red hair, but who had red hair on my side?
Search angels I’ve met tell me I could probably find the other half of my family. As of now, I haven’t had time to explore and search.
Still, I am curious about him. Still, I wonder if I have siblings on that side of my family. Still, I wonder if I look like him. Still I am searching.
I am wondering if you are searching for a missing part of your history. Were you adopted internationally? Domestically? I’m wondering if you are curious like me. Even as a senior citizen, even at this late season in life, I want to know who my father is.
Every stone, every bit of information gives me hope that I may someday find him. Will it be a grave? Will it be an old codger in an alzheimer’s unit? Will there be siblings still alive.
As for me, I will keep turning over every stone until I take my last breath here on earth.