Filling in the forms

I was surprised with my reaction today. I was surprised that the first thought before my feet hit the floor when I awoke was about the forms that were to be made available. Ontario Adoption Disclosure law was now in effect and I was going to be allowed to request information on papers that should have rightfully been given to me years ago. I had given birth but had no proof but what I carried in my heart for 37 years.

I went straight to the computer and searched...waited...and looked. At first I couldn't find the forms but when I did I cried. I am not sure why. Tears for a time so long ago. Perhaps those tears were really to wash away the stigma I have felt for so many years. The stigma of shame placed on me and the feelings of just not being good enough, not being good enough to be a mother, not being good enough for anyone to love.

I filled the forms out. That too was emotional and difficult. It took me back to a time when the government once asked me to fill in a form, as child, making a decision that I had not decided for myself. I was not even good enough to make that choice alone. I am sure there were tears on the original forms and there were tears on these new ones. How would I ever be able to see through my tears to drive to the post office?

The postal clerk answered my questions as if this letter was just another letter going through the mail. I wanted to yell and tell her that this letter was different. This letter was validating me as a person and it was the piece of the puzzle that was left unanswered and today that was changing. Registered mail or xpresspost, those were my choices. I wanted to add that I could drive to the office of the Registrar General 450 miles away but the application information had already told my that they would not accept walk in applicants. I went with registered mail. I could track it, I could virtually watch as it left the post office and arrived in Thunder Bay, signed, sealed and delivered.

Thunder Bay, how ironic that is the place that I was sending my application for the original birth certificate and notice of adoption. Thunder Bay was the place it all started. I remember well McKellar Hospital and the Salvation Army Florence Booth Home for Unwed Mother on Lillie Street. Memory doesn't dim some things. Now 37 years, 5 months and 14 days later I am sending off a registered letter to that same city, but who is counting?

"Registered mail", I told the clerk and then the tears came again. I told her it was a special letter when she saw them. Then I told her my story. After she congratulated me as if I had won a lottery. So did the people standing in the line behind me as they too listened to my story. No lottery could feel this good. Another weight had been lifted off of me. That is the way it has been since the reunion journey began. Maybe it is better described as layers of guilt, shame and worthlessness being peeled off of me with each step.

Tonight I will sleep better. Now comes the wait. Waiting is something I have done well and for a long time.