Topic: A Risk

The biggest risk I have ever taken was the day that I sent away to the State for my original birth certificate. I always knew that I was adopted. There was never a time when it wasn't a part of me. Over the years I thought about my birth mother. I wondered if I looked like her. Did I have other siblings out there somewhere? Did she tell anyone about me? Did she wonder about me?  I was curious about her, but I had a great mom and dad, so it wasn't like I was propelled into action to find her.

After I became a single mother at 19, I thought about her often. More than anything, I realized how difficult it must have been for her to give a child up for adoption. I couldn't do it. I had gone through counseling and had planned to place my son, but at the last minute, I just couldn't go through with it. It made me appreciate what my birth mother had done for me even more. It was at that point that I knew someday I wanted to find her to let her know that I had had a good life and that she had done the right thing. I went about my life thinking of this elusive birth mother, but not doing anything to find her.

About a year after my mom passed away, I got online and registered with one of those organizations that match adoptees with their birth moms. A few days later, they contacted me and I backed out. What if she doesn't want to be found? What if I find her and she is some drug addict and only wants to get money or something else from me? What if she doesn't want me? 

So it was years later before I started exploring the internet again in search of her. Occasionally I would google my date of birth to see if it had significance to someone out there. Nothing important came up in the searches. 

It wasn't until my children were older that my desire to find her grew and pushed me into action. Working for an attorney, I decided to ask him for help. I knew that my birth parents had been actors. Catholic Charities had given my parents some information. Later I found out that some of the information was correct and some of it was far from the reality. Since the University of Cincinnati has a phenomenal theater program, he suggested that I start by looking at old yearbooks. I narrowed it down to a few years. Surprisingly, there was a woman in several of the photographs who looked a lot like my daughter, so I was convinced that this must be the woman who had given birth to me. Again I went to my boss and asked him if he could help me. He got on his laptop, looked into it, and discovered that after 50 years, the law in Ohio was changing and that in six months my original birth certificate would no longer be sealed. Well, I had already waited 50 years, so what was six more months?

When the date came, I waited a week to get the paperwork that I needed to fill out and send away. I'm not sure why I was worried about it, but I didn't want to seem too anxious. Finally, I filled out the paperwork and got copies of the required identification, mailed it off to the State of Ohio.and promptly forgot about it.

A month later, I got up one morning and looked at the mail on the counter. I had been out the previous day and hadn't seen it then. There was a thick envelope from the State. My heart raced. After all of this time, I was finally going to have a name.

Now I had the information in my hand. I figured that once I had the birth certificate, I would have to do more investigating. I was certain that she had gotten married at some point and therefore would have a different name than when she had me. Reading this document was just going to be the beginning. I would have as much time as I needed to get used to this, to find her, to decide how to contact her, and to prepare myself for rejection. I always told myself that I just wanted to let her know that I was okay, but if I was honest, I wanted to have a relationship with her. Despite this, I had to be ready because she might not want anything to do with me. 

As I opened the brown envelope, I wasn't sure that this was worth the risk. I could get hurt, but I kept going. There were several papers inside with various information. She had named me! That must mean something. I was important enough to her that she gave me a name. Not all birth mothers did that. Next I saw her name. Well, I didn't know her. I always wondered if I would-if she was some random person who had been in my life and we just didn't know that we were related. Then I saw another form that she had filled out. It included her married name, address, phone number, and email address. I knew where she lived. In fact, I was about to go somewhere that was near it. The last item in the envelope was still another packet of papers. On these she had information regarding her medical history. In addition to that, there were the names of her three children. I had three siblings, a sister and two brothers. Somehow I had always felt that I had siblings out there somewhere and now it was verified. There was also a checked box stating that she wanted to be contacted. 

Relief came over me. She wanted me to contact her! I had the information to do it. I had taken a huge risk, not just by sending away for my birth certificate, that was really the easy part, but by opening myself up and taking a chance. All along I feared that I would be hurt in the end. There was no way that I could have known how worthwhile taking this risk would be. There was also no way to know how exciting the adventure that was waiting for me would be when I made the bold move and called her on the phone two days later.