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The following is my true story, (NAMES CHANGED), which I hope to tweak and publish. I debated whether to post here, but when I saw the number of people looking for answers and encouragement, I thought this true story of my reunion with my birth mom might help.
It's VERY long, as I plan to divide it into chapters, so if you're in for a good read, grab a ''cup-a-joe'' and get started! :coffee:
(All Rights Reserved 2009 CLHailey)
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[FONT="Georgia"]Angels, Angels, Everywhere
Sometimes, it takes a lot of them to do the job...
After forty-two years, an angel named Hazel led me to my birth mother. My journey of discovery did not last as long as it sounds. I had only started my search a few months before. Finding Rhonda Saunders so quickly after a lifetime of separation was truly a miracle...one that may have never taken place if not for Hazel.
I led a privileged life among both adopted and non-adopted siblings. We were blessed with country living, surrounded by farmers and animals. In every way, we were like our peers, except that our dad worked in an office and theirs worked in the field. After work, however, he donned boots and gloves and sweat it out in the barn, field, garden or orchard. This was his first love, well, aside from my mom, of course. My parents raised us with love and a very firm hand. We were what many would consider the ideal blended family.
I cannot speak for my adopted siblings, but for me, I always wanted to know who my mother was. I was enamored at a very young age with the book, Are You My Mother?Ӕ I could relate to that little bird, always wondering if this or that person just might be its mother. Our parents were great about letting us know we were adopted-we grew up fully aware. They were not so great, however, at talking about the 'before' in our lives. We learned at early ages that this was one of those things you wondered about but didn't talk about, like sex in the Boomer Era. I don't remember ever being taught this, but just knowing it. Still, one of the benefits to not knowing where you come from is that you can imagine the truth to be anything you want it to be. The scary side of finding out lies in the possibility of finding what you never imagined.
Somewhere along the way, I decided my biological mother looked like Aunt Bea on Andy Griffith.
My adoptive mother died at a relatively young age, only months after discovering the mysterious illness from which she'd been suffering was ALS. It was a hard and terrible time for our family, but in time, life with all its busyness and vast surprises, continued. Suddenly, I found myself with near-adult children preparing to meet the world and still wondering myself, where I came from.
Over ten years before actually embarking upon the search, one of my sisters went to my father on my behalf and without my knowledge. She knew of my desire to find my birth mother and talked with him about it. He called me, brought the subject up himself, and gave me his blessing to look. Afraid of hurting his feelings, I never would have started the search without that blessing, but even then, the timing seemed wrong. My sister was the first angel involved in my story.
Years later, seemingly from nowhere, a passionate desire to find my birth mother rekindled. I wanted to let her know everything turned out alright. I wanted to thank her for not aborting me. I wanted to let her know how God had blessed my life. I wanted to relieve her of any guilt she might be carrying in regard to my adoption. And I wanted to see what she looked like. I harbored a secret hope that I would resemble her, even a little, because that was somehow a big thing to me...knowing there was someone in this world I looked like because we shared genetics. My children were curious too. I began to passionately ask that God allow me to find her.
My birth/adoptive state laws required closed book adoptions. I could have access to any 'non-identifiable' information, (information that supposedly wouldn't lead to discovery of my mother), that Vital Statistics had, but on the other end, there was an absolute locked door. I discovered later that there were those of my biological family who had tried to find me only to come against these walls intended for their privacy and my protection. I don't agree with these laws, but I'm not here about that. Sadly, my mother had been told I died at birth, but quickly figured out for herself that this was untrue and that I was a female. Because she had loved my birth father and he had a name that could be of either gender, she secretly named me after him. After a period of time, she returned home where life went on, for the rest of her family, as if nothing had ever happened. I can only imagine the loneliness she must have felt as a teen-ager with this huge secret that she couldn't even discuss with family, not even her own mother. A terrible, embarrassing mistake had been effectively erased from their lives.
But not from my mother's. She never forgot the baby she was never allowed to hold. She married and bore two children and as my half brother and sister grew older, it was revealed to them that they had an older sister. Just as I was always curious, so were they. Children don't care about circumstances, but they do care about having a lost sibling.
At last beginning my search, I was informed I should call the State Vital Statistics Department. When I asked how to obtain my non-identifiable information, the kind woman informed me I would have to go to the Dept.of Vital Statistics in Warner County, where my parents were from. I don't know how she could relay that without having the information I sought, but I thanked her and located the number for the next step. Angel #2.
I was so very afraid. I just knew people would look down on me as my little country school peers had, regarding adoption as something inferior to the human race. I talked, however, to a woman there who was the epitome of kindness. She was eager to help and told me she would go look immediately. She called me, deflated, about twenty minutes later...There was no information, no file, no nothing. She asked a few questions and as it turned out, I had either not mentioned, or she had not understood that I was not actually adopted there. Relieved, she asked me where my hometown was. When I told her, she told me that they would have the information I sought. I call her Angel #3.
I finally went to a place that had been under my nose my entire life, my hometown's Vital Statistics Department. Now, I was really sweating. It was a small town and people in the office might have known me or my family...Could possibly be an old school mate, or even one who had teased me about being adopted. Or, what if they were reluctant to give me the information? I gathered my courage and was pleasantly surprised to talk to another woman that was more kind than I could ever have imagined. She explained I had to ask for the information in writing. She also told me where to direct it, and that she would work on it herself. Bear in mind, I only revealed that I wanted non-identifying information. We lived close enough that once I put my letter in the mail, it only took a day to get to its destination.
I had expected to get the information in the mail. I had been told by both clerks that the vault may contain as little as a few stapled pages or as much as a baby hairbrush or comb left by a member of the birth family. I looked forward with no little anxiety about what I would get. Soon I received an unexpected call from my hometown office.
Mrs. Hancock?Ӕ
Yes?Ӕ
This is Sandra at Taylor City Vital Statistics. You spoke with me a few days ago about your non-identifying information.Ӕ
Oh, yes! How are you?Ӕ
I'm fine, every thing's fine, but I wanted to let you know I have mailed your packet. I didn't send you copies, I sent you the original paperwork. Usually, we send copies, but I sent the originals. You have a good sized packet coming, so be watching for it. I took care of it all myself, you'll find the original documents. You should have it all in a day or two.Ӕ
Well, thank you so much for letting me know and thank you for all your help. This is much faster than I expected. I really do appreciate your assistance, Sandra.Ӕ
I was happy to do it, Mrs. Hancock. I hope you find what you're looking for.Ӕ
Even before we hung up, I was repeating the conversation in my mind and though excited, I knew there was something a little strange about it. Recollecting our talk, I realized the oddness of it was in the repetition of the words 'original paperwork'. I wondered if perhaps the clerk had been nervous or excited when she called, causing her to repeat the phrase as she did. I decided to consider her words once the documents arrived. I'll tell you right now, this was angel #4.
Two days later, I checked the mailbox at the driveway as I returned home from work. Within was a thick manila envelope. Stomach churning, I parked the car and scurried into the house, packet tight against my chest. For the first time in a very long time, no one else was home upon my arrival. I am certain this was God-arranged. I stood at the dining room table, mentally tearing open the packet, but physically frozen. Did I really want do this? I prayed the question silently and immediately, the response came, It is time.Ӕ
I have heard God's voice in nearly audible tones only a few times in my life. This was one of those times. I steadied myself and opened the envelope to find paper upon paper of social workers' reports...two year's worth. For even after my adoption was final, they had made periodic visits. I discovered plans my parents had discussed with them, some that never came to fruition. I read how involved my older sisters, my parents' natural daughters, were regarding my care. I absorbed the love displayed within those pages and had I never found another thing, this morsel would have changed my mind about my worth. I saw in those pages that I was more than a duty. More than a rich couple's warm and fuzzy, sacrificial payback for their good fortune. Somehow, this negative belief had taken root in my mentality and without my awareness, had tainted a portion of my life, my joy and even my relationships with man and God. With this new knowledge and the attending warmth of my family's love, this mentality fell away like old dry leaves on a windy day. But there was more.
Included in this paperwork was scores of information about my biological heritage. I discovered I had several uncles and an aunt. Blond hair and hazel eye coloring of my biological mother were reported, as well as height, weight and how she fared in her pregnancy. There was information about her father and what he did for work. There was even information about my biological father. There was so much information that with some time, I could have found both parents, but additional information I found led me to find connect with my biological mother that very evening.
On the paperwork where identifiable information was included, a name a location, etc, was covered over in black marker. The proper way for this to take place was to cover first in black marker and then go over with White Out . Whomever took care of this paperwork, over forty years ago, didn't handle it in this way. Instead, it had first been covered in the White Out, and then with black marker. This may seem acceptable, but the white could easily be scratched off with a small edge, deeming the black useless. In one place, my mother's last name had been overlooked and never covered at all. I suddenly knew my original name, and realized I knew a lot of people with the same last name.
Don't begin to tell me I should have stuffed it back into the envelope....Dream on, Sunshine Girl...Needless to say, I did not do that. Thanking God for every 'circumstance' that had led to this point, I found a paper clip, held my breath and started scratching. Within moments, my mother's full name, the hospital and county of my birth were all revealed, as well as my father's full name and the fact that he, (or his family), had paid the hospital bill. Although in accord with his wishes, I never met him, I discovered later that he lived only fifteen minutes outside my adoptive hometown.
Having a last name, county and city, I reasoned that my mother most likely didn't live there anymore and probably wouldn't still have the same last name, if she were even alive. The paperwork revealed brothers, however, and men don't change last names. Using the Internet, I found White Page listings for the area where she had lived and printed out all the Saunders of that area. This in hand, I then relocated sites about how to talk to people when looking for biological family. I re-read and printed this out for my husband, James. I was like jell and knew the telephoning job would have to be his.
James is an easy-going, wonderful conversationalist. He can also be quite sensitive. If I had made these calls, I believe my nervousness would have overshadowed my ability to be wise in conversation. But it was easy for me to coach him along from the side.
That evening, we finished dinner and went straight to work. James had read and understood the reasoning behind the proper way to address the people on the other end of the line. It's of utmost importance to be prepared for rejection. Many birth parents do not want to be found. They have made a life in which their birth child is no more than a bad memory and that's they way they want to keep it.
No matter how we feel about that, adoptees need to respect this choice. I strongly recommend that if this isn't something you believe you can overcome, do not locate your biological family. Faith had prepared my heart. I strongly believed my birth mother was at a place in her life where she needed to know she had done the right thing. I trusted God wouldn't lead me this way unless it was something she could and needed to deal with...His timing, after all is perfect . I knew I was exposing myself to a measure of emotional danger, but I had strong family and spiritual arms to land in if needed. I had determined that for me, the risk would be worthwhile.
We started with the men on the list. The basic conversation would go something like this: Hello, I'm James Hancock and I'm helping my wife find some missing members of her family tree. We were hoping you might be able to help us...we are looking for Rhonda Louise Saunders, have you ever heard of her, or could you direct us to someone who might be able to help? We know she had five brothers and a sister and her family was from that area. Her father worked in lumber.Ӕ
If a person didn't know, or refused to give information, James knew to leave our phone number in case someone changed their mind, or suddenly remembered something that could be of some help. There was always the possibility that someone may know her well, but would be more inclined to give her our phone number rather than get in the middle of it. Several we called were not at home. Everyone we did find was kind and tried to be helpful, but no one seemed to know anything. We hit one dead end after another, and at last, we truly came to the end of our list. There were no men left on the list and we weren't sure what to do next.
We decided to give the women a try. Scanning the list, I stopped at the name of a woman named Hazel. Her name caught my eye because my birth mother's eyes had been described as being hazel.
I told my husband, on a whim, Call this one.Ӕ He did.
An elderly lady with a shaky voice answered. Though she said she couldn't help, James felt she was lonely and just needed someone to talk to. He also told me, he felt compelled to keep her on the phone. So he talked and listened to her small talk. Seemingly out of nowhere, she suddenly told him that she had once been married to a Saunders, many years ago, but he had died in a car accident. The year she gave was the year I was born. She had a number of a brother of his and maybe that would help in our search?
Moments later, my husband conversed with one of my uncles, a man who sounded like he was six foot six and not at all happy about a stranger knowing so much about his sister without actually knowing her. My dear James was at this point, at a loss...we knew what to do when unsuccessful, but what on earth do you do when successful? James mouthed the question to me and I said, Tell him the whole truth,Ӕ which he did.
The gruff man immediately turned into a sweet and sensitive kitten. He had been in the Navy and deployed during and after Rhonda's pregnancy. He said he'd all but forgotten it ever took place and fluctuated back and forth between, Yes, I know she'd love to hear from her,Ӕ to Oh, I don't know, maybe I'd better call her.Ӕ This, I was ready for, and James explained my readiness. The kind uncle told us he would give the number to his sister and if she didn't want contact, he would let us know.
James felt we should thank the old lady he'd spoken with and he quickly called her back. He explained who he was and continued by telling her we'd connected with my uncle, thanks to her. She sounded befuddled and claimed she had no idea who he was or what it was he was talking about. After hanging up and relating their conversation to me, we checked and rechecked the phone number. He was also certain he had talked to the same person both times and she had answered, both times, to the name of Hazel. Alzheimer's? Maybe. But maybe she was angel #5...the most divine of them all.
Forty-five minutes later, a tearful, extremely soft-spoken woman called. It was Rhonda. We were both overcome with joy and sudden shyness. I could hardly understand a word she said because she spoke so weakly and tearfully. Our conversation went something like this:
Rachel, we can talk another time if you'd prefer and it would be easier for you.Ӕ
No! I want to know everything about you.Ӕ
Well, I just thought you might want to know that I don't hold my adoption against you...Ӕ she cried at this and I had to wait a while to continue, ...I thought you might want to know that I went to a nice home with good people who took good care of me, and that I've had a good life. I have a wonderful husband and I have...you have...three fantastic grandchildren.Ӕ
Keep talking, I love your voice, just tell me everything about you...I want to know everything...Ӕ
Well, I have two golden-retrievers...Ӕ my voice cracked and I couldn't for the life of me think of another thing to say.
This first conversation continued haltingly, as we yearned to reach through the phone in embrace but were unable. We decided that night to keep in touch and began talking weekly. Rhonda told me about other family members and the town where she lived. She told me my great grandmother was right off the reservation.Ӕ She asked me to send pictures of myself, which I did, but she didn't send pictures of herself...fear perhaps. She talked more southern than I did, and although I now knew she owned and operated her own business, I kept the vision of Aunt Bea in my head. Before long, she was asking me to visit and I felt ready.
I was choir director for my church and we were preparing for a large production involving over a hundred people. Rehearsals three nights a week and Sunday 'previews' required my presence. I could not leave. It was also a very busy time of year for Rhonda's business and she had family responsibilities as well, so she couldn't leave. She was a little impatient, but stayed true to her soft nature. I was excited about meeting her, but knew God's timing was perfect. If I didn't know that by now, I may as well hang it up.
We settled on the week-end following Easter. I was not yet comfortable enough to be a guest in her home, so James and I looked for a place to stay. Her town was so tiny that all it afforded was a small and somewhat expensive B&B. We decided to bite the bullet and go with that rather than a motel thirty minutes away. We made the reservations, told Rhonda, and I turned my attention to the production. Following the final night's performance, the pastor and choir surprised me with a check to cover expenses for the trip. What a wonderful group of angels they were!
When at last the day came, I was so nervous I could hardly think. We had decided to meet at her place of business, just a block or so away from the Bed and Breakfast. She had closed for the day, so when we got there, only her car was parked in the lot...a maroon Mustang with a Harley-Davidson decal stretching from side to side of the back window. The Aunt Bea dream began to fade.
I got out of the car and sitting in a rocker on the little porch was a petite lady, rising to meet me. She was wrapped in colored hair, warm skin tones, a linen pantsuit of heathered tan, pleasantly painted lips and nails and pretty sandals revealing toes that matched her fingers. My momma was a classy little hottie. And as I would later discover, she had a bit of sass mixed in to boot. I also discovered she had the true heart of a mother.
A year later, I learned the gulf between my adoptive and biological families was no more than across the river from my country home. I could have stood on the shore, leaned way to the right, and seen homes of aunts, uncles and couseins on the left.
No more than a hairdresser away...The woman who styled my adoptive mother's hair for years turned out to be an aunt. She is a beautiful woman I had always admired for her cheerfulness and kindness. She would drive all the way out to my home when my mother was bedridden to wash and style her hair and cheer her up.
No more than a nurse away...my OB-GYN father's right-hand delivery nurse who assisted him in the delivery of babies turned out to be an aunt. Rhonda and I both suspected she had something to do with my landing where I did three months after my birth. Perhaps she kept an eye on me and saw I was still available for adoption...It will be forever a mystery, as both she and my father have passed on.
The name they all shared was spread all over the county where I was raised as well as several surrounding counties. My older sisters unknowingly attended school with people from my family, and it is quite likely that I did, too. This world, under a certain glass, appears very, very small.
My life hasn't changed that much, outside of having a bit more of it. I delight in a brother who calls every three or four months and talks to me until midnight, only hanging up when I insist. I adore a younger sister who oozes caring every time I see her. I enjoy correspondence with a cousin who is a solid woman of God and an uncle who is diligent to keep me on his e-mail list. None of this changes who I am, it just changes how I look at who I am.
My birth-mom had victoriously endured a tumultuous life. Our reunion brought her undeniable evidence that God cares and answers prayer at a time when she really needed that reassurance. She rededicated her life to him shortly after our reunion. We had only a few years before she was taken but in that time, I discovered a woman of strong grit and gigantic gentleness. As she sings beside heavenly hosts today, I know that she knows I'm glad I found what I found...No offense to Aunt Bea.
How many angels does that make? Well, in my counting, it comes to a sister, three clerks and Hazel. Then, there was the whole choir and cast of the Easter Production at my church ... And the aunt who was my father's right-hand nurse. And let's throw in my protective, sweetheart uncle who called Rhonda to let her know I was wanting to meet her...and my husband., of course. Now, that makes about 107, and I'm sure I'm missing somebody...but who's counting anyway?
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CLHailey
2009 All Rights Reserved.[/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT]
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Hello, Wishful Thinker,
Don't give up! Have you obtained your 'non-identifiable' information yet? If not, go to the town where you were raised...the place on your 'fake' birth certificate. (That's something that's always bugged me...(How can people make false birth certificates pretend it's the truth??? Isn't that, technically, falsification of documents and why is it LEGAL???) Anyway, call the Dept. of Vital Statistics and ask what you need to do to get that information. Even in 'closed adoptions', you should be allowed that information. You never know where it may lead. Thank you, also, for your very kind comments...I have already seen some technical errors since posting it, but it does get the story across and that's what I was shooting for here. :)
Hi, There, Black Sheep,
What a great name...isn't it true that a lot of us have felt that way before? Actually, I am sort of glad to be a little bit different than other sheep in the pasture...It generates thinking 'out of the box'! I see by your post that you must have a great story yourself...Do you have it posted elsewhere?
Have a lovely, lovely day!
rachaelsbaby
Hi, There, Black Sheep,
What a great name...isn't it true that a lot of us have felt that way before? Actually, I am sort of glad to be a little bit different than other sheep in the pasture...It generates thinking 'out of the box'! I see by your post that you must have a great story yourself...Do you have it posted elsewhere?
Have a lovely, lovely day!
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Thank you for sharing your beautiful story. I'm sitting her with goose bumps. I heard the EXACT same words from God less than a year ago when I was trying to decide whether or not to search for my biological mother. "It is time"! Wow! Our stories are so very similar! I feel so blessed that it was God's timing not mine! Thanks again...
What a beautiful story!! I usually don't read long posts but this one had me gripping in my chair. I was very intriqued in the whole story.
As for "God's Timing," I must say, during my husband's search for his Birth Family in the Summer 2007, after a seven month search and only needing two more important clues, his birth name and his birth mother's name, we hit a brick wall. But one day, I woke up and this little voice kept telling me, "it was time" and therefore I made all the arrangements for a Paid Searcher to finish his Search. Within a fourteen hour period, we received the email, "His Search Was Completed!" WOW. Perfect timing it was, as his Adoptive Mom was dying and therefore he met his Birth Mom and Four Days Later his Adoptive Mom died.
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I am glad you had the time to read it. I, too, wish it could go as well for all. If I had pushed my way through this prior to KNOWING the time was right, I don't believe it would have ended so well.
The only reason I attempted at all to contact my father was at the bequest of one of my daughters. His response was one of 'not recalling'...so I was not welcomed into his world. But then, again, he wasn't the one on my heart to find, either. Because of where my trust was, in God alone, the 'death' dart of his rejection had no sting. (Oh, Death, where is thy sting?)
I really appreciate you sharing your story. I been wanted to locate my birth mom. However I wasn't quit sure where to start. I didn't want to hurt my moms feelings. On Sunday I share my feeling with my mom and she was so supportive even gave me a name of her old caseworker. So after reading your story, I believe it was confirmation to really start my search. I asked that you pray that closed doors shall be opened. Thank you.
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