My parents desperately wanted children. After a long battle with infertility, they had a child who was stillborn. Then, they were blessed with my sister, who has Down syndrome. Feeling like they needed to pursue adoption, they then adopted me as a 6-month-old. My parents treasured my sister and I. They were always open with me about my adoption and raised me in a Christ-centered home full of love and comfort.
Searching for My Birth Family
With all of that love and acceptance, they supported me in my search to find my birth family, which began when I was 18 years old.
The truth is that there was nothing deficient in my adoptive parents. I don’t even think of them as “adoptive parents”. They’re just my parents. I’ve always treasured them as gifts from God. I know that they see me as a gift from Him as well. The desire to meet my birth family wasn’t really to have a relationship with them. I just wanted to meet them, get closure, and find some answers to my many questions.
Treasured Answers Arrive
After a few weeks, I received my long-awaited envelope in the mail. All I could think about were their names. I can’t begin to explain how excited I was to see a name on a piece of paper inside that envelope. Finally, I’d know my biological mom’s name, and possibly even my biological dad’s name. I kept thinking that later I would probably say their names over and over while staring at the piece of paper.
I opened the envelope and read through the information. There was no name. Confusion started to fill my mind when I couldn’t find the names of my biological mom or dad anywhere in the envelope.
I immediately called the Office of Adoption and talked to a lady who pulled my records out of their file. She read through it with me over the phone. I explained my problem to her, and she was able to quickly point out the reason for my confusion.
She said, “Didn’t you read this page?”
I told her that I glanced through it, but that I really just focused on the page that was supposed to have my biological parents’ names. So she read the part on the other page that explained why there weren’t any names. I was a foundling. I was found at an Alabama post office.
For a moment, I felt like a foundling, an abandoned bundle, an unwanted infant.
But then the truth poured over me that I had known all along: I am a treasured son of my adoptive parents. I have been since the moment they saw me.
