The Papers

When I arrived home from work, it was there... the letter I was waiting for.

For so many years before I knew where my son was I waited and held my breath as the mail truck drove past my house. Each time it did just that, drove past. This time the letter was in my mailbox. As I stood in the kitchen I hesitated for a long time. This was the moment I had waited for. Carefully I cut open the envelope, lifted out the letter. I don't think I saw anything but my name and the name of my baby, the one I gave him. I turned the page to see the copy of the adoption order. I knew what it would say and there were no surprises. The next paper, the revised statement of birth was the one that was the paper that broke me. There in black and white was the evidence of legal injustice. (There were three forms, copied from originals. There was the "Statement of Birth" that I in part completed (I have more to say about that another time), there was the "Adoption Order", okay we all know what that is about and there was the revised "Statement of Birth" which would be the copy kept by Vital Statistics as a birth certificate. Much of the later form was blacked out where the information was not about me or my son but of the adopting parents. Interestingly the doctor's name in the revised paper was blackened out. I wonder why... he was my doctor!)

I cannot begin to explain the surge of emotions, all trying to rise to the surface at one time. All I could do was cry. Standing in the kitchen two years almost to the day from when I mailed off my original request to have a copy of papers that changed my life, I cried. Thirty nine years, 5 months and eleven days after I gave birth to my beautiful son there I stood, a young girl in an old woman's body, and all I could do was cry.

I had expected there would be emotion. How could there be anything but emotion to see a reminder of the reality I had lived with all these years. But I did not expect to feel what boiled inside of me. I have struggled with this post. I have tried to find the words to describe the feelings that enveloped me when I received the papers in the mail.

Looking at the papers I was transported back to my hospital room in 1970. I was hunched over the small over-the-bed table carefully filling out the papers before me, a statement of the birth, a witness for all time that I had given birth to this beautiful baby. It was an important paper. I was 16 years old and I had to make sure that I did it all correctly, like an important exam in school I wanted to pass this important next step. Using my best printing I tried through my tears to ensure the information was all correct. I didn't want to cause any more "trouble". I wanted to make sure it was recorded forever that I was his mother. My tears likely stained the original but of course I wouldn't be able to tell. They had only sent me copies. That flash back was superimposed on top of the image of my son today. Superimposed like the name someone wrote across the name I gave him with the name he has today. I wanted to scream "no, no, no... this is my form, this is my baby, leave it/us alone!".

When I was first reunited with my son the things I was dealing deep inside me were about him, my love for him and the lost years. This was about what society and my parents did to him and to me. There was a difference.

When I calmed myself I wanted, needed, to talk to my son. I needed to hear his voice again to ground me in the reality of today. I picked up the phone and called him, just to hear his voice. I think he was curious to know about the papers when I told him they had arrived. We don't talk much about adoption but in that moment he knew I needed to. I tried to make light and teased that he was stuck with me. I think he sounded pleased about that and if it would be possible to feel a hug through the phone, in that conversation I felt hugged. The papers didn't bring the healing I had hoped for. It was my son that brought the healing. I still feel the hug as I write this.

I have more to say about the papers, how I feel they were altered and how I believe adoption in that baby-scope era was about secrets and lies. I have much to say about our rights and rights of our children to know their truth. When I feel stronger I will write more. For now I am exhausted and will take a day or two to rest in my hug, feel what I feel and put in perspective this latest tidal wave that has just washed over me. This journey of adoption reunion is hard work!