Over a year ago, my son was interested in searching for his birth mother.  He decided not to do anything until our next visit in person, which was September of 2008.  I brought with me a letter that his birth mother had written to him when he was ten years old.  Now 24 years old, he had never seen or read it till that day.  

I was more emotional than he was.  He seemed to find it interesting but I really couldn’t read how he was feeling about it.   He just seemed very calm and thought it would be fun to meet his birth mother and sisters some day.  He wanted them to meet his wife and son and to know that he was successful and being a  responsible adult. 

During that visit,  I gave him paperwork to contact the DHS of that state and left it in his hands.  To my knowledge, he has not done anything yet.  He is busy with his career, being a husband, and now a daddy.  He has an 8 month old son at this writing.  I am a grandma!

I am sure there will be more to this story someday… but at the moment, there is no time for searching the past.  

more about finding his birth mother

dr pers

Every adopted parent wonders if the time will come when your adopted child will want to search and/or find his/her birth mother and father.   My time has finally come.

My son announced in December that he and his wife are expecting.  Baby check ups have led to my son wondering more about his hereditary health issues.  A phone conversation with him this month, led to a discussion about his birth mother. 

I have known a few things about her.  She was 14 years old at the time, a big factor in her decision.  Her parents had just had twins, so they felt they couldn’t afford another child at the time.   When my son would occasionally ask about his birth mother when growing up, I tried to answer as honestly and positively as I could. 

In this conversation, I told him that I had some pictures of her and other children.  Through the adoption agency, she sent a letter and pictures.  He has two sisters and a fourth child was on its way in 1994.   He was 10 years old and I thought too young to be given these pictures. He is now 24 and finding out for the first time that I’ve had this info.

He indicated that he would like to pursue locating her.  I took a package of adoption records and info to the post office today, the pictures too.  I feel most sad that I am not able to be with him and share in those moments when he views those pictures.   He lives too far away and I will not see him till late August.  He thought he would have more time now to start the process before the baby arrives.  And so it goes.       

This is just another step in the journey.  I have mixed emotions of course, and will write more about that in another post.

© 2008 drpers

Ever wondered what it would be like to walk a mile in someone else’s shoes? When I was a child, I enjoyed trying to walk in my father’s worn, leather work boots. Even with tightening the long, leather laces, it took great effort to keep my toes curled and at the same time, lift those heavy boots and walk. Sometimes I fell on my face and sometimes I fell on my bum, and sometimes I just stood tall.

Ever wondered what it would be like to walk in someone else’s shoes? Ever wondered what it would be like to be the only white person in a shopping mall?  Ever wondered what it would be like to be the only black child in town? Ever wondered what it would be like to watch a clerk come out from behind the counter to watch your African American son pick out his favorite pack of gum? Of course there are already several children in the isle doing the same thing but their color is pale. Ever wondered what it’s like to be the only one not understanding the conversation, the laughter, either because you can’t hear or because you speak another language? Ever wondered what it would be like to go to school in a wheelchair? Ever wondered what it would be like to be different enough, that every time you enter a small town restaurant everyone pauses to stare?

Frankly, I wouldn’t want to trade life shoes with anyone else, mine are difficult enough. I still fall on my face, bounce on my bum and struggle to regain my composure. It makes sense to make friends with our walking shoes, change what we can, accept what we cannot, and be kind to those whose walk is different. Those who manage this simple philosophy, can stand tall in whatever size boot he or she wears. Size 8 anybody?    © 2007

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