Today I made the phone call (it is late Friday night as I write). For the past two weeks I have been gathering information on a woman who shared the same birthday, the first and middle name, and similar description as my birth mom. This woman had lived in New York, Minnesota, Texas several times, and then back to Minnesota. I found her last address yesterday using a different people search program than I had used before. I called my cousin, hoping that she would make the call. Linda wasn't ready, so I decided to call today.
It is a very strange feeling to think about calling your birth mother who you haven't seen in over 40 years. What would I say? Would she respond to me or just hang up. What if it wasn't her. I was becoming more convinced with each piece of information I collected that it was her. Her last address was even in a city called Hutchinson, which was my last name before I was adopted. What irony!
So I made the call. No one answered, except the answering machine. I called it again to listen to her voice. It sounded like my youngest sister with a northern accent, I thought. The next call I decide to leave a message, assuming she had caller ID, why someone was calling her from Texas. "I am searching for a relative from Texas that matches your birth date and your first and middle name."
An hour later, I decided to call one more time. A sweet sounding voice answered the phone. My heart was pounding. As calm as I could I told her I was searching for a lost relative with the same birthday and first two names. I told her the woman I was searching for was born in San Antonio and her maiden name was Jenkins. Beverly Jane from Hutchinson, Minnesota responded, I was born in New York, and my maiden name was Bruce. It wasn't her. I could tell by the sound of her voice that she was telling the truth. I said something about her living in Texas, and then said goodbye. My emotional response to her not being my birth mother completely caught me off guard -- I was very sad.
For years I lived with the thought that she was probably dead. It just didn't make sense that she would not have tried to find us after all these years if she were alive. My adopted parents did a search before they adopted my little sister, and they did not find her then, and the trail was fairly warm. I really believe she ended up as a Jane Doe in some Texas county's morgue.
Although this is sad, I am glad the search is over. More than likely, I am not going to search any more. It takes too much emotional energy and I lose focus on what I need to be doing. In a way, a burden has been lifted.
Why was I surprised to be sad? I think it is because I projected my own desires on this woman. I also thought it would "validate" my story. It is a sad tale, but more than like Beverly Jane is dead. Life goes on.
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Saturday Morning - October 1
This morning I woke up with a deep sense of sadness. Sadness which oozes out of the acceptance of a significant loss. So much of my life has been lived in denial of my feelings towards my birth mother. For several years and especially the past few months I have been searching for my birth mother. I thought I was searching for Beverly for the sake of my cousin, it turns out that my search was to find a part of myself.
Making the call was tremendously painful. What if she answered and hung up? What if she answered and angrily denied that it was even her? The prospect of rejection filled my soul. When she answered the phone, for a few seconds, I really thought it was her. She had a very sweet voice. When I realized it wasn't her, my heart sank. In that moment I realized that all these years I really loved my mom, and I was the object of her love. If she could have been my mother for life, she would have. It also has occurred to me that she is really dead. From all the research my cousin Linda and I have done the past few months and weeks, there would have been a trace. I called the only Beverly Jane in America with the same birthday with a remote possibility of being my birth mother, and it wasn't her.
Before my parents adopted my little sister, they hired an investigator to search for Beverly. The trail was still warm, and she was not found. Linda says that as "crazy" as she was for us, she would have tried to find us if she were alive.
Beverly experienced so much pain in her life. My middle name is a reminder of some of her pain suffered from loss. A few years ago my cousin told me about her sister Michael who died as a child. Beverly loved her niece very much. My middle name is a reminder of her love, and her loss.
One story that I learned about Beverly a few years ago from the foster care agency was very enlightening. Upon one of her visits to Terry and I when we were with a foster family, Terry informed her some way that the family we were living with were racist. Beverly was outraged and immediately contacted the case worker. We were put into another home. This was in the early 60's.
Several years ago I read the book
Fatherloss by Neil Chethick. The feelings that welled up in me for my father while reading his book, are the same ones I now have for my mother. I feel a great sense of loss, but I also feel an enormous love.
With this sadness that I feel this morning, I also have a sense of peace. There is something inside of me that is no longer struggling. I know I will never have that conversation regarding my father's death and the struggle my mom faced.
Acceptance is painful. Acceptance is also the doorway to peace -- which leads to the path of "closure."
