I am getting so frustrated with searching for my birth family. It is an emotionally draining experience – that may not become of anything. Ever.
I was adopted when I as almost one year old from Chattanooga, Tennessee. I began this search as soon as the legal world said it was okay (18 years old). I began searching out of sheer curiosity. I have had a wonderful life and I love my parents to death, but I do have this intense longing to meet someone who looks like me. I am curious about why my birthmom got pregnant with me, after giving up three other kids for adoption. It was obvious that she was not financially able to provide for anyone other than herself. But, what is the rest of the story? Who is my birthfather? What’s his story? I wonder if my birthmother shares my interests. I wonder if she is athletic or musical like I am. I just wonder, wonder, wonder…and often feel jealous when others can know this priveleged information so easily.
The law allows for you to begin searching when you turn 18. So, for my 18th birthday I was on the internet, SEARCHING. I searched for weeks/months to no avail. Finally I learned that I could get access to my OFFICIAL birth certificate which should have my birth parents FULL names printed on the certificate. I waited anxiously for days, when one afternoon I went to the mailbox one day and saw it. The envelope’s return address said “State of Tennessee,” I ran up the stairs to my room and ripped open the envelope only to find that my birth certificate listed my adoptive parents as my birth parents, and my adopted last name as my birth name. Why? I have no idea. Anyways, roadblocks seem to be the norm. Uggh, SO frustrating.
I’ve watched the movie Antwone Fisher, and longed to personally recreate the scene where adoptee Antwone is flipping through the phone book with his girlfriend in a hotel…his girlfriend calls a number and voila…the next day they are at his birth mom’s house. I wish it worked like that!
Anyways, maybe someday soon I will be on a plane to Chattanooga Tennessee with an address and phone number in hand. Or maybe I am never supposed to know.
In all of us there is a hunger, marrow deep, to know our heritage – to know who we are and where we came from.
Without this enriching knowledge, there is a hollow yearning. No matter what our attainments in life, there is still a vacuum, an emptiness, and the most disquieting loneliness.”