Happy Birthday to Me

On February 1, 1969, a single, 20 year old woman gave birth to me in a hospital in Ada, Oklahoma, a town 769 miles from her home. Presumably, after my birth, I was placed in her arms. What a moment that must have been. She stared into the eyes of a child she’d conceived in uncertain circumstances within a culture of social revolution and the shame associated with being unwed. After a brief embrace that would have to last a lifetime, I was taken from her, delivered to a foster family, and 5 weeks later adopted by a loving, childless couple from Stillwater, Oklahoma.

I have had a wonderful life. My parents spoiled me. They protected me fiercely. All of my needs were met. I have gotten an education, acquired a faith, enjoyed extended family, married a wonderful man, and am raising children of my own.

All of my life, I’ve been grateful to the woman in that Ada hospital.  I didn’t know her name, but I knew she gave me life. And I knew that she endured an unexpected pregnancy and felt that her only choice was to walk out of the hospital without her child. After giving birth to my own children, my gratitude and compassion for her deepened ten fold.  Unimaginable.

Throughout my life, I’ve always tried to imagine the narrative. Who was the father? Were they in love? What was their story? How did she tell him? Did they cry together? Did they fight? How did she tell her parents? How did they react? What choices did she have? What led her to the path she chose? Did she have a best friend? What was her support system? Who did she live with during her pregnancy? Were they nice to her? What did she do during those long weeks? Did she stay in touch with the father? What were his thoughts? And then there were my birthdays… Did she remember my birthdays? Did my father know the day I was born? Did they ever talk again? Did they fall in love with new people? Did their later loves know the story? Did they count me among their children (if even just in their heads and not spoken aloud)? Did their other children know about me? Did she keep track of how old I was? Did she ever think about reaching out?

All of these wonderings played and replayed throughout the years.  Not because I was dissatisfied with the life I had, but because there was a locked door inside of me I wasn’t allowed to open. Adoptions through the Oklahoma Adoption Agency were closed. Upon turning 18, I was able to request basic information about my birth parents – physical characteristics – but no identifying information was allowed. I could ask to be placed on a reunion list. If the other party/ies inquired about my whereabouts and my name was on this list, they could be connected with me. I was added to the list in 1987. I updated my information with every address change, and I waited.

Beyond this reunion list, I did not search actively. It crossed my mind often, but I never acted. I was always curious, but I didn’t want to interrupt someone’s life without their consent. I was grateful for the life they’d given me. That was enough, sort of. In recent years, I’d heard about DNA registries, but going down that path felt somehow forced.  After all, if they’d wanted to find me, the reunion list was available. Why be pushy?

On April 26, 2018, while scrolling through Twitter, an ad caught my eye.  Ancestry.com was having a sale. For $59.99, I could learn about my biological connections – geographical and maybe familial connections.  I say maybe, because I honestly didn’t know. It just sounded intriguing. I did not a stitch of research on what I’d find. I didn’t compare this DNA service with others. I just impulsively clicked the link and purchased a kit. After it arrived at my house in a small white package, it sat for several days. What had I gotten myself into? What door/s would this open? Was I ready to go down this road? In a brief, courageous, reckless-feeling moment, I spit in the little clear tube and placed the kit in a mailbox.

A few weeks later, an email arrived notifying me that my results were available for viewing. I was busy at work. School was winding down, summer trainings were starting, I was about to leave for a college-visit road trip with my daughter, and I didn’t have time for an emotional interruption.

On the evening of June 1st, as my youngest daughter and I were settling into a hotel in Atlanta, Georgia in preparation for a fun, summer road trip to visit southeast colleges, I opened the email from Ancestry.com. The homepage seemed casual enough. I could click further to see an “ethnicity estimate”, “DNA circles”, or “DNA matches.” I hesitantly clicked on the DNA matches link. At the top of the page was a wide bar that said Parent/Child.  Beneath that I read:

Jan (her last name was visible, but I’ll conceal it here)

Possible range: parent/child, immediate family member

Confidence: extremely high

Relationship: Jan (last name) is your mother

Deep breathing, feeling the heat rising in my chest, tears welling in my eyes, glancing to see if my daughter is noticing what is happening in the bed next to her. Heart pounding, I scrolled on. Many links to other DNA family members – “close relationship” “1st cousins” “2nd cousins” and on and on down a long, scrolling list of unfamiliar names. Beside some names were photos. Beside some were links to family trees. Various levels of “confidence” and various numerical values seeming to indicate parts of DNA code that until this evening I’d never known existed.

As any 21st century suburban mom would do next, I entered her name into my Facebook search bar. Three names appeared. After reviewing them and comparing them to the basic information I’d been given in 1987, I narrowed the field to the one logical match and began digging through her page. Small children, grandkids? Pictures of flowers! Kittens, cats! Bitmojis (this lady is hip!)! Young adult photos – children?! A man in a judge’s robe – a swearing in ceremony? Smiling proudly. An evident sense of humor in her posts and comments! Lots of resemblance to me, my children… And then…

an obituary. Dated March 22, 2018. Clicked the link. Not breathing. Head spinning. This is not real. Jan, wife of Dave, mother of Katie, Betsy, and Joe, grandmother of Hudson, Finn, Emma, Maggie, Annie, and Joseph, passed away ten…. weeks… ago.

Tears. A grief that I began to feel in my arms, legs, fingertips, stomach, neck. This could not be. For 49 years I’ve hoped to be able to open this locked door.  Moments after I find the key, I find that the person standing behind the door was no longer a person I could touch, hold, thank, see.

Fast forward.

In the months following the long, long night of June 1st, much has happened. The results of that Ancestry email have opened doors to Jan’s family, the knowledge of my birth father (which is a story for another day, but it has led me to a new half-brother as well), new relationships, and so many answers that I never thought I’d have.  I’m learning about Jan through her children and her sweet husband of 43 years. I am making much more sense to myself now. I know where I get certain traits. I have seen people who look like me. I have a health history for the first time in my life. I have new relatives in Indiana and New Jersey and Texas and Colorado and Georgia and Wyoming and Florida. I’m piecing it all together.  

February 1, 2019 is my 50th birthday. Even without the events of the past 8 months, the day would be significant.  But today it’s different. I have answers. With those answers come a confidence and clarity I’ve never known. Some days, the answers hurt; some days, the answers fill me with joy. The answers fill me with even greater empathy for Jan and the weeks she spent prior to my birth. They fill me with greater gratitude for my amazing adoptive parents who raised me with a confidence and the knowledge of my special story. And more than anything, they affirm to me that there are no accidents in this life. The winding path that is my life from a difficult beginning to a widening circle of love and the strange gift of timing, have only given me a deeper gratitude, awe of the divine, and appreciation for the rich array of people in my life.

None of us know the number of days we will have.  In the 18,250 I’ve had so far, I’ve seen much, learned much, failed much, grown much, and loved much. As I look toward 18,251 and what may be the second half of this life on earth, I’m excited. I’ve heard that the physical aspects of this next half may be harder, but I enter it with a stronger sense of who I am, what I’m put here to do, and love for those in my current circle and those who my circle will grow to include. Happy Birthday to me.