When I first started searching for my biological roots, I told myself I wouldn’t become addicted, I wouldn’t let it consume me. I have learned something about myself in the process. I now see what my family has seen throughout my life, in certain situations. I have learned I have an addictive personality. I see it in my relationships. I want constant compliments. I need more answers when one answer should be enough.
In May of 2013, I found my birth mother’s full name. I found her senior high school photo. Then I found out she had died. My father told me, “You have her name and you know what she looks like. You know she is dead. What else do you need?” It was all I wanted, right? After each step I took, I realized I wanted more.
Once I knew she was dead, I wanted to know how she died. I immersed myself in phone calls and internet searches and money orders…again. I received her estate file, which contained a police report with a cause of death listed. There was also an executor of the estate; nobody related to her as far as I could tell. I wanted to know if the executor knew her when she was younger, knew her personality, knew her deepest secrets.
After additional internet searches for names and phone numbers, I found out my birth mom had lived a lonely, alcohol-filled life. She died alone. It was time to put away the detective hat and get back to reality, right? No! I had to find out who had her autopsy report, order it, and then find out who had her remains.
A year and a half later, I have my birth mother’s remains in my closet in an urn. I now know she was never sober and her liver was diseased. She had bruising from prior falls, she had some false teeth, and she penciled in her eyebrows. I unveiled everything I was going to know. I should have just let it rest, but I was still searching. I didn’t know for what.
I made the trip to Texas to meet my birth mother’s brother and my two biological cousins. I learned the history of my uncle’s life on that trip. I learned he didn’t have much information to offer regarding his sister, because he didn’t know her. I knew more about her than he did. I learned I had the family walk. I learned where I get my dramatic ways from, why I get so easily excited, and why I love to laugh. I came home and I felt at peace. I finally felt that I had all the answers I was going to get. I felt that my birth mother was at peace as well.
Recently, there was a high school reunion for my birth mother’s graduating class. Before visiting Texas, I had gotten in touch with the lady in charge of the reunion. She said she was going to leave a book out on the table for people to write their memories of my birth mom. I found out yesterday nobody knew more about her than she was tall and shy. I am ok with that! I don’t feel the need to seek out answers. I had also put in a phone call to a man whose family had fostered my birth mother. We never made contact. I don’t plan on calling him again. I don’t feel the desire. My addiction has been fulfilled. I finally feel WHOLE.
