I wrote this poem in the midst of the search for my birth mom. I have always been one who relishes in releasing my emotions on paper, poems especially. When I wrote “Doorways,” I wanted to let people see what searching felt like for me; maybe they could appreciate my feelings, maybe even see their own journey through my words.  I remember looking up every Joan in the United States born August 11, 1940. I remember my red pen crossing one name off after another. The names were all these doorways I went through, one after another, coming up empty handed. My discoveries were not what I had hoped. Through each of those doors, I learned who I wasn’t. It was frustrating. I remember having a name and researching that name on the internet. I looked through obituaries, I called up their family members, I talked to ex-husbands and mothers. All pieces that did not fit my biology, my genetic makeup. So, you may ask, did I find that one door, and walk through that one doorway and find the pieces to my soul? YesI did. It was not easy, and after I found her, I found out so many other things about her life and those who grew up with her. I found the pieces that fit my soul, but some of those pieces are jagged and sharp. A word to those soul-searchers, to those searching for their birth families. When, and if you walk through that doorway and discover your truths, be prepared. Just like when you walk through a doorway into a dark room that you have never stepped foot in, walk slowly, with your hands out and your eyes open. You want to be prepared for the unknown.


Written by Rebecca Tillou

There are doorways I have walked through, now shut and locked, the keys vanished.  The wood has become overgrown with truths discovered. Each day those doorways become faded as I walk toward open ones.

Doorways of promise, doorways of discovery.  They stand stoic, waiting for me to go through, to learn about who I am, who I will become.  I will learn patience, frustration, sadness, and happiness. I will walk over the thresholds into a sea of pieces; many will not fit who I am.  I am hopeful I will walk through one door and at my feet will be the pieces to my soul.