Adoption

When I was growing up, I would tell friends that I was adopted. I was the only one in my family with blonde hair and I just stood out from the rest. Everyone seemed to believe me and then we'd laugh when I'd admit that I was joking. I have had one friend tell me several years later, that I never did tell her that I wasn't joking and she thought that I was indeed adopted. Oops...

In addition, I believed for quite awhile that I was actually adopted after my brother convinced me that I was. When I continued to act out of sorts, my mother confronted me with my behavior choices of late and I told her that I was upset because she treated me differently because I was adopted. She couldn't believe what my brother had told me and that I'd believed him, and that my attitude was a result of such a lie.

Why would adoption be a joke? Why would it be an insult? Maybe it was a joke because I heard people joking about it. Maybe it was an insult because my brother said Mom and Dad weren't my real parents. "Real parents" is a term used lightly among children and I wonder what makes a "real" parent these days...but that could be a topic for another post. The point is: Adoption isn't a joke and it shouldn't be an insult either. Adoption is an option, a choice, a Godsend, a tricky thing to wrap your head around for all parties involved. Adoption as we all know, has changed so much in the last 50 years and this is just one story.

Some of you from my earlier years (pre-2003) may not know anything about what I'm going to write here today. Some of you have been brought up to speed during various conversations, most likely in 2003 or 2004. Those of you that met me after 2003 may not know the full story either, but I'm going to clear everything up right here so you don't think I'm crazy!

My Sophomore Year of high school (at age 16), my mother shared news with me and a close friend who was considering an abortion. The news was that she had delivered a baby just before her Junior Year of college and had given that baby up for adoption. She decided that it was the right time to tell me because she wanted to offer my friend insight into an option outside of abortion. My friend did not choose life. But in the midst of this, I learned about another life in the world that was closer to mine than I had ever known.

Most of my followers are peers and I think we take for granted how open most people are these days to birth outside of wedlock and other forms of relationships. Living together before marriage, same-sex relationships, single-parenting, siblings with different mothers or different fathers, adoptions within and outside our borders, cross-cultural marriages, bi-racial marriages, etcetera. We also have to admit that the support offered to single parents is quite different these days than it was for a single mother in 1968. Yes, she was 20. Yes, she gave him up. Yes, times were different for a single mother. Yes, she is probably the only person in this world that really, truly knows her set of circumstances and reasons behind her decision.

The dynamics of family have changed so much in our short lifetimes and in order to understand this story, you have to put yourself back to a time that existed before us. A time where shame was brought to an entire family for choices made by one member. Even if that member was in college and out of the family home. A time where appearances were more important than truth in many cases. A time that was much less global and in this case, a small town atmosphere. A time where you did what was "right," by way of social pressure, regardless of whether or not you truly felt it was "right." A time we don't, for the most part, live in today. Although there are some families and cultures in America that still live in the time I'm referring to, I hope you understand the setting of my mother's story. And, I hope my mother understands why I am sharing this story.

I think it's a story of love and courage. I think it's a story of heartbreak and sorrow. I think it's a story that is not only her story, but is shared with so many others, across so many decades. There are several takes from many different angles across 5 generations. I am going to share it from my perspective...What I gathered from her through conversations that followed the initial "confession."

So she shared briefly that she had a baby and gave him up for adoption. She shared this in my friend's company to talk to her about adoption being an option. Once we were home, I asked more questions and she just said that she was sent away to have her baby and there were very few people that knew about his existence. She wasn't even sure if her younger (by 8 years) sisters knew. She had made a promise to him and herself that she wouldn't interfere with his life once she gave him up. (This if very different from some open adoptions of today.) The information was received by my sister and brother in different ways and to me, it was huge, but at the same time, something I didn't share with many people. The news was not anything I dwelled on.

Fast forward to my first year of teaching (at age 22). I was living back at home with my parents. I had expected a year of transition into life with Jesse. I was also there to help my parents take care of my grandma, who was fighting pancreatic cancer. She had just moved back to South Dakota. I remember this day clearly. It was the weekend and my mom and I were on the floor in their formal living room, working on something and the phone rang. I got up and answered as I always had:

"Hello?"
"Yes, is Jackie there please?"
"Yes she is; May I ask who is calling?"
"Yes this is ____ from Lutheran Social Services."

"Mom...It's someone from Lutheran Social Services..."

Taking the phone from me, Mom: "This is Jackie."

At this point I went and did something else and it seemed like Mom was on the phone forever. I felt like she had gotten caught in some sales pitch or survey. After a long while, she came to me, holding the phone...

"Who was that?" I asked.
"It was someone contacting me...My son, the baby I gave up for adoption...wants to reconnect with me and he's been searching for me."

To this, I didn't know how to respond. I simply asked her how she felt and she said she would love to meet him. I could tell she was a little nervous and trying to keep her emotions in check. As news spread within our immediate family, everyone seemed to handle it in a different way. To me, I felt that this was something personal to my Mom. It was her son and her situation and would be her journey. I had always been called the "newspaper" in the family, but I didn't think this was my news to spread, so I had told very few people at all.

I didn't want to get too far ahead of ourselves because you never know how these reunions may go. I like to think the best of people and hoped that he had good intentions. In addition, I felt like they had to meet before any of us should meet him. It should be their reunion first and foremost.

Later, my mom pondered what might have been if Grandma was still living at our house and had answered the phone. Would she have heard the person on the line? Would she have relayed the message clearly, if at all? Later, Jon shared with Mom that he was happy at first because she was alive. Something she hadn't considered. He could have searched for her to find he was too late. On top of these thoughts, they were both faced only with meeting each other. His family knew about her. Her family knew about him. They didn't have to share the news on top of scheduling a meeting.

Over the next couple of months, things continued to unfold. There were certain steps that had to take place before we would actually be in direct contact with my mother's son, my half-brother. He had written her a letter and had to send it to her through the agency. Then, she had to send one back through the agency to him. I'm not sure if more paperwork was ever done. I remember in his letter that he and his wife asked about red hair because Jon and his boys had strawberry blonde hair. They also wanted to know if my mom had held Jon in her arms before giving him up. I don't remember much else and I have no idea what my mom wrote in her letter.

Shortly after the correspondence through the agency, I answered the phone one night. I remember Jesse was over and my sister was in town for the holidays and we were watching Lord of the Rings. When I answered the phone, I remember my half-brother, whom I now knew as Jon, introducing himself, but I was busy trying to get my sister to mute the television and sat up, preparing myself for an awkward introduction.

"Uh...Yes...Hi. I'm Anna. Jackie's youngest."(Why? Out of all the things I could manage...why would I bring up her children??? It felt insulting in a strange way.) Which makes you her oldest!?!" (What?! What!? This isn't getting any better...)

I questioned my words as they slipped through my lips. Jesse and Amy weren't too encouraging as Amy giggled and Jesse clapped his hand over his face and shook his head, a common reaction to my thought processes at times.

I took a message...an extremely important one...and went back to watching the movie with Amy and Jesse, as the clock slowly ticked by until Mom and Dad came home from church.

"Ummm....Your oldest son called."

After a split second, the words registered and a smile crossed her face, "Oh! He did!?" as she tried to control her excitement. As soon as she could she disappeared into a corner of the house with the phone in hand and after so many years of holding him secretly in her heart, she was now able to savor his voice over the phone.

Fast forward to MLK weekend of 2003. Jesse was leaving for GTMO. I was the youth leader at church and had a snow day up in Flagstaff to attend. And, Jon was flying in from Colorado to meet Mom. I kept him at a distance that weekend. Just small talk and politeness. I had a lot on my mind with Jesse leaving and again, I hesitated to make any wrong moves for my mom's sake.

I have no idea what thoughts went through both of their minds as they met each other face to face. My mom says he looks like his father. I think his face and smile are just like her's. I know it had to be awkward. I mean, my mom birthed this stranger. Did they hug? Did they shake hands? What was the protocol? I think they hugged. I know they talked. And talked. And talked. How surreal for my mom to be in the presence of that tiny being now all grown up? Did she feel relief? Remorse? Did she feel that she had to justify her decision? Did she feel complete? Did he? Did she, his "real mom," live up to what he had imagined all these years? Did he feel he had another person's expectations to live up to? All of these things have never been addressed with either of them by me. I don't know what they thought or how they felt. I think they were equally content and inquisitive, guarded, yet open, sensitive and overwhelmed with anxiety.

And, that was that...My mom had four children. My sister wasn't the oldest anymore. My brother wasn't the only boy. My dad finally met the son that my mom had always said he would have accepted without question from the very beginning, had my mom chosen to raise Jon on her own. Jon had sisters and another brother. He had another dad. He had more family.

President's Day Weekend landed us all (Mom, Dad, Amy, Aaron, and I) in Denver for my best friend's wedding...which was planned prior to scheduling this reunion with Jon. He couldn't wait until then, which was why he flew out the month before. While Mom probably had a million butterflies in her stomach, I was concentrating on Kat's big day and having fun. I'd concentrate on the new family after the wedding.

The day after the wedding, Dad and Jon picked me up from Kat's parent's house and we drove to Boulder, where I met Virginia, Aaron, Joshua, and Avery. The whole time was filled with many conversations and playing with the kids. Things seemed to be going really well. Poof! I was Aunt Anna now instead of simply Anna. Same for Amy. Aaron was magically an uncle. Mom and Dad were now grandparents. Everything changed, and yet it stayed the same.

There is not some grand conclusion to this story. There's no happily ever after. There are just several people still living their lives, it's just that we are now connected. People are always interested when I tell them the summary of what has happened. The reunion could have gone horribly, but it didn't. The connection could have been lost by now, but it hasn't. I don't think everyone agrees on some things from the past or current family ties as our family gets larger, but I think that's the case for families that haven't even gone through something like this before.

I often wonder what the other outcomes could have been. If she married the guy...I'd never know my dad, one of the most beautiful people in the world. In fact, I wouldn't exist and you wouldn't be reading this. They could have been happy. They could have made it work. They could have divorced and have other split families by now. Jon's adoptive parents wouldn't have had the joy that only comes from a child. Jon probably wouldn't have met his wife or had their children. He may have not chosen adoption for his family either...a girl, named Jackie, from Korea. So many things change with one choice. I'm glad Mom chose adoption. I'm glad Jon chose to search for her. I'm glad they have decided, for better or worse, to accept one another and work on a relationship with one another.

Since being reunited, I have asked my mom more details about her past and the circumstances surrounding the decision. He was her high school sweetheart and over Thanksgiving weekend, back home from college, she was left with a son growing inside her. She said that he was made out of love. Between then and Valentine's Day, family meetings were held to figure out what they could possibly do to address this situation. Several scenarios were presented. There was talk of a wedding, but it never happened. Regardless of the love they had for each other, the relationship ended and yet my mom's body went through pregnancy. So she mended her broken heart as she took care of her special cargo. That summer, she had to hide it at a family reunion and then she was taken out of state to go through the delivery. I don't even know if my grandparents were there. I don't know who was. I have no idea about any sort of support she may have had, but I don't think it was much at all.

My eyes are swelling with tears right now as I think of her, going through all of the emotions of pregnancy and childbirth on her own. Of trying to keep it all in check because nobody is supposed to know what is going on. I cannot relate to it at all, because I have had such a different experience with the birth of my first child. I remember crying in the hospital after Fletcher was born because I couldn't imagine the strength that my mom must have had to give Jon away. She insisted that the nurses let her hold him. They fought her, but she won. She held her son, felt his weight, looked at his tiny, healthy body, caressed his head, counted his fingers and his toes, kissed him, smelled him, heard him cry, felt his warmth, and then...gave him away, never to hold his tiny hands in her's again.

I could never imagine going through everything a woman goes through postpartum and not have a baby there to make it all worthwhile. Not having the cuddles, closeness, kisses, and yes, cries. The pain and recovery, the shift of hormones, the experience that can't even be voiced or shared. This huge secret moving out of her body and into her mind and heart for eternity. The thought of him mixed with the thoughts of other possible outcomes and finding a way to move forward and continue...

And yet, she did and she has. And she is so happy with how Jon turned out. She is so happy that he was placed in a loving home that took care of his basic needs and provided a secure environment for him during the years she thought of him every single day. I can't imagine that one day went by when she did not think of him, tucked away in a special corner of her heart. And since meeting his adoptive parents, she and my dad are happy to see where he came from and who has helped shape him into the man he has become.

That man. A man with questions weighing on his heart and in his mind since he can remember. Lots of Why's? Who's? What's? How's? I can't imagine his point of view either. Going through life wondering who your birth parents really are, what they do, where they live, where they were when you were born, what your original name was, why they would give you away, and the list goes on and on. I don't know how many questions of his have been answered on this journey, but I hope he knows how much he is loved...by so many people in his life in so many different ways...I hope he just knows that he is loved.

And now, my dear readers...if you've read this far...you know who I am talking about when I mention my half-brother, brother Jon, or my adopted brother, or when I talk about the Anderson's or my brother's family in Colorado. This is not an imaginary family I created in the middle of our friendship. They existed all along, but were reunited united with us in 2003. So, sometimes you'll hear me say "the three of us" referring to Amy, Aaron, and myself. Sometimes you'll hear me refer to Amy as the "oldest," because she was in our house. But then you'll hear me say my mom had four children or went through four pregnancies. You'll hear me say "my oldest brother." I don't think it all matters too much, but I wanted to clear the air for some of you that may not know who I am referring to when I mention Jon or The Anderson's. They are my oldest brother, my sister-in-law, my nephews, and my niece.