dying to know

Before I started this whole journey, I used to get asked alot whether or not I wanted to find my biological mother. The answer was always and emphatic YES. YES I DO. But aren't you afraid of what you might find?, they would ask. No, No I'm not.

I knew the day Mom told me I was adopted that I wanted to know who had given birth to me. It had nothing to do with a sense of loss, betrayal, or abandonment. It was just simple curiosity. Well, maybe complex curiosity.

I've already went into the whole "divided personality" perspective. That was part of my inspiration to know, but it went deeper than just wondering why I liked to read books all the time. There is something so fundamental about knowing who you are biologically.

As a child, I occasionally had wild fantasies about who my mother might be. Was she wealthy? Beautiful? Was I the sole heir to an island in Greece? Mostly, though, I just wanted to know her story. Why was I given up? I also wanted her to know my story. I wanted her to see just how happy I was and what I good life I had, and that I was really really grateful to her for the hard decision she made. I used to write her letters. Long letters full of the purple prose that only 10 and 11 year old girls are capable of. These letters detailed my life, my angst and curiosity towards her, how brave and strong I thought she must be. I wrote them over and over and over again, and they all went in the trash. Occasionally I would do something creepy and ceremonial with them, like placing them in the burn pile, or ripping them up into tiny pieces and letting the wind blow them out into road. It was my note in a bottle.

As I got older, I started to realize how difficult the journey was likely to be emotionally. I always said I would start the search when I turned 18. However, when I turned 18 I was in the middle of planning to go to college in Florida (which never happened) and my life was too emotionally stressful to take on anything else. So I started college and just forgot about it for a while. The next year I met my husband in a political science class. Two years later, I was planning a wedding. Suddenly, I was an adult embarking on a great big future. I didn't feel like I could properly face that future without first having a grip on the past.

If you were adopted through Catholic Charities, you can pay them legal fees of about $375, get both your adoptive parents notarized signatures, and they will do a 3rd party search. Even though I was a flat broke college student, the money was the easy part. Even though they had always known about my desire to find my Biological Mother, and even though they had always been very supportive, I was terrified of asking my parents for those signatures. The form sat in my bedroom for over a month. What if it hurt their feelings? Worse, what if they said no? What if they felt like I didn't love them or they weren't good enough for me? Hurting them was my worst night mare. Somehow in September of 2005, I got up the courage to ask. Mom and Dad didn't even flinch. They signed the form, I signed the check, and proceeding to wait.

Catholic Charities has one lady that does the 3rd party search and her name is Laura. She would email me with updates every so often, that there was no news yet and that it often takes several months to track people down.

One day in November, I went to the library with the rest of Dr. Browning's religion class to start research on a paper. The first thing I do when I sit in front of a computer is check my email, and that day was no different. I noticed an update from Laura, so I opened it. This, however, was not like the others -- they had found her. The email said we've found her, she lives in Columbia and you have a half brother. In front of 30 people in a crowded computer lab, I began to cry hysterically. I still remember the look on Dr Browning's face when I grabbed him by the arm and blubbered "I really have to go, I don't have a good excuse, but I really need to leave right now." He walked out into the hallway with me and I quickly explained - I'm adopted, they've been search for a couple of months, I just got the notice that they found my birth mother. I remember telling him that there were alot of phone calls I needed to make and some thoughts I needed to commit to paper immediately.

I remember walking to my car. I was parked on the street between Drury and Central High School out behind Burnham Hall and the first person I called was Ryan, then my Dad, then my Mom. I don't remember much other than saying over and over -- "They found her! They found her!" After nearly 20 years of wondering, I had found her. She didn't have a name yet, but she was real for the first time in my life.

nature, nurture, and everything in between

I have, obviously, always been fascinated by the nature vs nurture argument. In college, I was always first in the class to suggest that it isn't really a 'versus' relationship at all. No one aspect of your personality, appearance, or even voice inflection is determined by just one or the other. That is something I have given alot of thought to lately. I mean there are some things that are obviously nature:

That's my Grandma Frances (biological mother's mom). We look alike. That's pretty obvious. If the photo was closer up, you could see exactly where I get the crazy freckles.

Then there is obviously nurture:




I know this picture is borderline inappropriate, but I really love it and it represents my relationship with my mom quite well. We are just really uninhibited. If you've ever spent time around the two of us, we act quite a bit alike. I worked at the same restaurant as Mom for 6 years, and I was known as Glenda Jr.

But mostly, there is alot of gray area. When I was growing up, there were alot of aspects of my personality my parents didn't get. For one thing, I was incredibly shy when I was small, and got my feelings hurt easily. I also loved playing hooky and looked for excuses to stay home from school, even though school was never a source of stress for me. My parents are farm people, and if you cut off your hand, you put a glove on it and go back to work. I am so bookish! From the moment I learned how to read, I had a book in my hand. How many parents have to tell their child to STOP reading because they are possibly doing it too much? They weren't like that. There weren't a whole lot of books in our house. My parents are hands on people, they were busy from sun up to sun down and didn't spend alot of it sitting still. As I was growing up, I'm sure they found some of my interests very mysterious.

The first day I met Barb, alot of these things made sense. As I meet more and more of my biological family, these things REALLY make sense. This family is full of bookish folks with tons of PhDs. They love to talk about books and philosophy and academic stuff. However, I am the only one among them that really likes to garden and spend alot of time outside. I really feel like a blend of both worlds. And isn't that what we all are? For most people, you never have the chance to see it separated out for you that clearly. I have always felt a little conflicted inside, as if alot of what I wanted out of life was contradictory. I have always harbored crazy desired to run off to a big city and do something impressive with my life, but at the same time, I love the farm and part of me would love 20 acres and some goats. I feel the pull both ways and I always have. My mother has lived in Weaubleau her entire life. Her grandmother lived in Weaubleau her entire life. They find a place they love, and they stay put. The Rothwells are everywhere. They really seem to be people that set out in the world to seek their fortunes and never look back. I have both in me, equally strong. I haven't figured out how to resolve these conflicts, and maybe I never will, but I am glad to be able to identify the source.

Finding out

I remember so well the day my Mom told me I was adopted. It was the summer of 1989 and I was about to start Kindergarten. I was 5. This was around the same time she dropped the bomb of "today we'll be going to the Dr for 50 shots" so I was a little concerned when she said she had something to tell me. We lived in a little house in town at that point, and Mom and Dad's bedroom was on the far East side of the house. It must have been in the morning, because I remember it was very sunny in there and it hurt my eyes a little bit. Mom came in with a present for me and she told me to open it. It was the cutest Cabbage Patch doll ever made -- She has blonde pigtails, a gray sweatsuit with a little kitty embroidered on the shirt, and white tennis shoes with pink stripes. Mom gave me my new dolly and explained that she was very special. This wasn't just any doll -- she came with a birth certificate. If I filled out the certificate with my name and address, and gave the doll a name, I could send the certificate off and she would be all mine forever.

I thought that was pretty cool. She went on to say that I was alot like that little doll. I remember her asking me if I remembered where babies came from -- their mommies' tummies. She explained that another lady had kept me in her tummy and that Mom and Dad had selected me to be their baby because she couldn't keep me, although she loved me very much. She said that, just like that doll, she and Daddy had gone to a place to pick me up and had to fill out some papers to make me officially theirs. I remember being worried that someone would take me away from them. She assured me that no, I couldn't go anywhere no matter what. I don't remember it, but Mom says I cried. She asked me if I wanted to talk about it, or if I wanted to be alone -- I chose to take some time to myself to think about it. I still remember being 5 years old and being in that room by myself for a while. I remember singing a song to myself (that's how alot of 5 year olds deal, apparently) and really thinking over everything she said. My understanding of the birds and bees was sophisticated enough at that point that I understood what had happened. Most of all I just couldn't believe they weren't really my biological parents. They had to have had me, because they loved me so much. And I loved them so much. And our family was so good and I was so happy -- they had to be my parents. And at that moment, I decided that they were always meant to be my parents no matter who had given birth to me. That's an opinion I've kept into adult hood.

I don't remember all the details of that day, but I do vividly remember giving my Mom a hug and realizing that our family was very special. From Day 1 I realized that my being adopted made me special and that it had to be the best thing that had ever happened. The most prominent feeling I've ever had about it is -- Thank GOD I got my parents out of all the people on that list. I won the lottery.
Some people respond to that story with disbelief that my Mother could spring that on me so early in life -- they think I was too young. That is a decision that is going to be unique to every situation and every child. In this situation, my Mom had remarkable judgment to do this when she did. She recalls that she was completely terrified. There is certainly no rule book on how to do this kind of thing, and this was the 80s -- she didn't even have the internet or self help books to turn to. I was getting ready to start Kindergarten in a very small town (I graduated HS with 23 people, most of whom had grandparents who went to school with my grandparents). Remember, my Dad ran the MFA and in a small farm town, that is practically celebrity. Everyone knew I was adopted, and if she didn't tell me, some little kid at school would. Can you imagine being on the playground and hearing "My Mommy says you were adopted! What's that mean?" That would not have been cool. I have always admired her courage for telling me so young. Not once (that I remember) did it ever scare or frighten me. It just made me feel really good that I had landed in such a safe, nurturing place. It made me thankful, and it made me feel so much more appreciative of my parents. I was definitely one of the lucky ones.