At twenty-nine years-old, I don't know how I feel about adoption. You would think that I would be all for it being adopted myself, but I cannot say whether I support it or am against it. Sure, if I was never adopted, I would have never met my beautiful wife nor had my beautiful son.
Being adopted has caused me psychological problems. I cannot stand to be alone, and I desire female companionship. Almost to a point where I feel as if life isn't worth living. This comes down to rejection, that one I have figured out, although it did take twenty-nine years. My adopted mom cares more about her extra curriculars than she does about her two sons that she picked out.
I was given a letter on Thanksgiving 2016; given is not the best word of choice. The letter was tossed in my lap while I sat on the couch next to my wife and son, and told, "Here, this is yours," in front of my whole family. Oh, and my older brother who is also adopted received his letter the same way. Yes, there's some animosity towards my adopted parents.
The letter was the beginning of slide, a long spiraling slide that changed my view. The envelope that the letter was in contained not just one letter but two. One from my caseworker with some background on my birth family and medical history. The other was written by my birth mother. Both letters broke me down. Now, I'm not a super tough guy, I've always been sensitive. And both letters broke me.
The letter from my caseworker described my birth family as hard working people who worked in factories. But my birth mother loved computers and wanted to go to school for computers. She was twenty-four and my birth father was twenty-one. She was a waitress at the time working on a military base where she met my birth father. She was the responsible, scrimping and saving every penny. He, not so much, he liked to live in the now; a lot like me. That's part of the reason I was given up, because she didn't want me growing up without possessions.
Before having a son I would say that it was the actual line, "At this point in my life I am not mentally stable enough to have a child," that made me thankful to be adopted. After having a beautiful baby boy, it was the paragraph before that line talking about having things that she could not give, that made me believe her reasoning was hogwash.
My son doesn't have a lot of toys, he is only one year old at the time of this, what he loves to play with is us, my wife and I. And both of him show him love everyday, and I know that's all he cares about. So to me, to say, "I'm giving you up because I can't buy you things, even though I'm perfectly capable of love," is a cop-out.
After reading the letter's I was torn, almost destroyed. I had always toyed with the idea of finding out who my birth parents were and are. This letter solidified my decision and I fought for months to find them. It was overwhelming. I talked with the agency that brokered my adoption and they gave me a contact with a larger organization that has more resources. And that was the best worst decision I made. The lady I spoke with was super helpful, and understood that this was a sensitive matter. She sent me all sorts of paperwork, which made things even more overwhelming. I searched Google for about a week before discovering I can request a copy of my original birth certificate. Which was a long shot because my birth mother could have requested not to be on it, giving me an empty birth certificate.
My wife was and is super supportive, pushed me to send off for it. It was simple, send a copy of my driver's license, the paperwork signed and a check for five dollars. The anticipation was almost too much. I checked our bank account daily looking for the transaction of the check being cashed.
Then it was, and a few days later I received an envelope. I pulled it out of the mail before my wife could see it and placed it on my desk in my home office, where it sat for two days. Honestly, I was scared. Not that I'd open it up and it not tell me, but that it would tell me.
I opened it, and there it was: My birth mother's name with middle initial. I was stunned, I stood looking at it. Tearing up, my wife saw me and immediately rushed to my side. She looked too and she started to cry with me. Were these tears of joy or sadness? Both? At this point I can't say.
What I can tell you is, my inquisitive nature took over and I began to look for her. Low and behold, only five minutes of starting my search I found her. The joys of social media I guess.
Now, I know; how do I really know it's her? One; after more searching I discovered there was only one person with her name, and she was in the city I was born in. The bad part; she didn't achieve anything she wanted professionally, causing me to think that no matter what I did, I wouldn't be successful in the ways I wanted.
I also discovered that she had married to a veteran, which begs the question: is that my father? Looking at his page I found even more; they had a child who lived in Maine, a brother, or half brother.
This is where the struggle really started for me. I checked her page daily, even though she hadn't made a post on over two years. I became angry at the drop of a dime, overreacting to everything. I became depressed to a point of thinking about suicide. My own blood didn't want me, but two years later, had another child. The ones who picked me didn't want to nurture me. It hurt and still does.
Adoption is still on the table for me, not just because of my story, which is brief here and I have left a lot out. But also due to one of the girls my adopted mom and step-father adopted when I was eleven. When she was eighteen, I was twenty, she had a child and kept him. In 2015, she had another, whom she kept. But in 2017 she a third child, and decided she couldn't, and gave him up.
Now, I should mention that she is a drug addict; her second child is a crack baby and she lost custody of her first, who is now being raised by my adopted mother and step-father. Her second and third child are from the same drug dealer.
I feel for the little guy. Why was he unwanted and she kept the first two? The couple who adopted the third child wants him to know his brothers and mother. I couldn't imagine, I still struggle with the decision to find my mother, even with a specific name. He is going to fight with rejection his whole life, just as I have. Although, I hope his adopted parents are more nurturing than mine.
At this point, I'm not sure if there's anything that can solidify my views on adoption. I think there's a part of me that will always be against it, but a small part feel obligated to be for it. But let's be honest, who knows where I would have ended up.
I'll leave both you and myself with this; a quote from one of my favorite movies, "Yeah, but if it had been an inch the other way, you would have totally missed." - Charlie Conway / The Mighty Ducks.