I had to smile and giggle when you were talking about checking your emails while waiting for contact.....I didn't want to leave our computer's side....for fear that if I wasn't RIGHT THERE to get it it would somehow vanish....!!?? And then when it finally did come - the one with your actual contact information ~ I hollered, jumped up and down, paced back and forth, laughed, cried and was utterly amazed that you were so close!! What are the odds.
I wanted to immediately pick up the phone and call, but in my heart knew that would be too hard right at first....how do/would I introduce myself....what would we say. My next thought was because your birthday was the day before (and oh how I hoped and prayed to contact you ON your birthday!), I would send you an ecard....but they were all really sappy or too funny. Nothing was appropriate for our situation. So I wrote the email that you received....hoping and praying that it was enough. Enough joy, enough love, enough hope, enough respect....because like you - i had gone through every possible combination of possible scenarios I could think of and wanted to say just the right thing. Then push the send button......NOW the waiting REALLY began.....what if it went to spam or junk mail and you didn't get it????? So I decided that if I hadn't heard anything in 24 hours, I would snail mail you a card - "just in case of spam".
I had just served up dinner, but of course couldn't eat anything.....I didn't know what to do...Jim and I played some cards. I don't even remember what game or who won...just NEEDED something to do....one hour went by.....I called Brin - she was ecstatic to know and to hear that you were so close...one of the first things she said is "I want to meet him don't forget!!!!!!". I called my sister even though I am pretty sure I woke her up...she was in shock with me - Corvallis!! Corvallis??!! I called my brother....he was happy too although the more "cautious" one..."be careful and make sure he's really him!!" And of course all through out this time I am hitting the refresh button about every 30 seconds or so....Jim finally had to convince me that it could be a while before you even got our email. You worked and being that it was at a college - you might have night classes or something. He kept telling not to worry....we've waited this long if it's another 24 - 48 hours we can handle it....like HELL, I kept thinking.... I want to know NOW!!!
Then, there you were in the in-box Andrew....I couldn't click on it fast enough - and of course Yahoo took that moment in time to hiccup or pause or whatever they do! And you had FaceBooK......I don't think I fully read or at least comprehended your email...I wanted to see you....and there you were my first look EVER of you - my son. I don't know if you feel I have the right to say "my son" - and please know that I mean NO disrespect to your parents.....I owe them the world for raising you and loving you. But in my heart you will always be my son. I'm just so blessed to have found you and be able to talk to you and pray that we can become good friends.
I have tried to interact with just the right amount of enthusiasm....and I hope I haven't either come on too strong or not strong enough. I know how hard this must be for you - even though you knew you were adopted - I KNOW that you love your Mom and Dad and never want to betray them in anyway. That is GOOD! That is the way it is suppose to be. Like I said I don't want to take anything away from them. I believe that love is meant to multiply .... not divide.
It warmed my heart to know that you had made an attempt to find me....I often wondered if you had/would. I hope we didn't cause to much of a stir for the lady in Florida!! I had, through out all the years sent my contact information to ISS Japan whenever I moved. Even when you were 2 - "just in case"...... but it wasn't until I got a computer in about 2004 that I begun searching in ernest......my letters to ISS Japan never seemed to pan out into anything...so I began on the internet....but every time I tried to find out about international adoptions, it assumed that I wanted to adopt a baby from China or someplace. No matter how I tried I couldn't ask the computer in such a way that it understood my question. I then wrote to the State Department. They are suppose to keep track of any US citizens born outside of the United States...well they cashed my check and I STILL haven't heard from them....guess one should know by know that the government is not quick about ANYTHING! One thing that the computer gave me was an adoption weekly e-newsletter that I got to my yahoo a couple times a week. I read it for about a year while doing all my other research (and waiting on the State Dept). On 9/16/08 I remember thinking - I'll write in my story...no one has been able to help me yet, so what have I got to loose? So I wrote "our" story....on 9/21 I got a email from a lady named Teddy who lives in Japan. A friend of hers in England read my story and forwarded it on to her because Teddy works with pregnant teens in Japan and all the various adoption agencies there.
I emailed her right back explaining that I'd been trying to contact ISS Japan etc and Teddy told me that the address I had was way old "they moved from there YEARS ago" - no wonder my inquires didn't pan out!!! So she gave me the name of a lady who she had worked with on other occasions...and told me to email her. I did right away. Ms Oba emailed me back on 9/30 to tell me that she had found my file and yes she could help me but "no offense, by email, you could be anyone......." she needed a notarized copy of my signature and photo I.D. then she could proceed....due to the time difference between here and Japan I had to WAIT ~ SOME MORE ~ til the following morning to have it done which I did and got in the mail that day. on 10/14 I received her email verifying that she got my letter and would start. Sigh, more waiting....you would think I was pretty good at it my now.....after the first of the year we still hadn't heard anything so I acted like the polite Japanese I know they are and emailed her a "Happy New Year" please don't forget about me....email. She responded right away saying not to worry - "these things take time"......sigh that word again....time.
On 2/3 received the email "we are happy to inform you that the search for your son was successful. He is pleased and wishes to be in contact with you" but ....more formalities and please be patient "just a little bit longer. So sorry for the inconvenience"...sigh....but at the same time I couldn't stop crying....you were alive.....you were happy to hear from me! All I could hope for was this "just a little bit longer" was just that - not long.....your birthday was coming...oh what a joy that would be.... but we both know that your birthday came and went as it had done so many other years.....little did I know what Wed would bring!
Something that I found curious...in your blog you mentioned that your birth certificate gave you the name John Allen Fiske......that is not the name I gave you or was on the certificate that went with you at birth. I named to Jonathan Micheal Fiske....just curious....
I am so thankful that you have had a good life. And I know that you will find what you are looking for. Thank you for letting me finally be at least a part of it.
I love you, I ALWAYS have.
Laur
Monday, February 16, 2009
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Surreal life becomes reality (Family Part 3)
Life has a way of sneaking up on you...
Three weeks ago Wednesday I gave my contact information to a social worker from ISS who's tone voiced a stress from a caseload obviously greater than her level of organization allowed. I was told that my info would be forwarded along to my birth mother and a two week time frame should be expected because, even in this day of immediate gratification and instant messaging, some organizations still love to use snail mail. Makes sense, right? I mean, why rush things...
Two weeks is a long time to wait, especially when everyday can bring a call, a letter or an e-mail. Making the cold walk out to the mailbox every day takes on a little more meaning, the hope of a letter from an unknown address giving way to the reality of a stack of daily junk and bills. Checking my e-mail became an almost hourly obsession, my mind an expanse of thoughts I seemingly no longer had control over.
The Wednesday that marked two weeks came and went, feeling more like a hump day than ever before. Week three brought with it my birthday, that Tuesday coming and going, the storybook wish of a Happy Birthday from a couple I only knew from forgotten memories and infant eyes never coming. It had been on my mind every day, the thoughts of who they were, what they were doing and how their lives had been constantly nagging at my brain.
The following day marked three weeks, a time frame short in reality and in comparison to a lifetime, yet painfully lengthened from the constant analysis of info and data I did not have but that my brain was more than willing to create. My thoughts wore at me, causing me to walk through life, not quite a zombie but similar in gait and mental capacity. Work, the fun and simple task of organizing soccer games and playing, was no longer easy, the simplicity replaced by a focus not on the world around me, rather on the one raging in my head.
Every Wednesday I stop off in the office to check e-mails and to flirt with our secretary, Natalie, a cute little Polish blond who is as charming in her wit as she is efficient in her organizational skills (maybe I should recommend her to the ISS...). My office is more of a cubby, a shared space with five other instructors that houses a couple of desks and one decrepit computer. The computer allows me access into my Hotmail account but seldom into my messages. It becomes almost comical, me hitting refresh so often in the hope that I could confuse the computer long enough for it to forget its antiquity and allow me access to my coveted messages.
This Wednesday was like every other, the battle raging on between man and machine, not quite a sci-fi channel worthy tale, but a struggle nonetheless. Upon logging in I immediately noticed that this Wednesday was to be different as my inbox contained an e-mail from a Candice Johnson, the same case worker who three weeks ago had promised competence. Of course machine again won and, with a mind flush with thoughts so vast and numerous that my train of thought felt like it had been boarded and robbed, I shuffled over to Natalie to ask if I could borrow hers for a minute. Looking at me a bit quizzically (I guess my blank stare was different from the one she was accustomed to) she reminded me of my old workstation, the office computer tucked away in the corner.
Quickly I logged in again and opened the e-mail, a small victory for humanity. I half expected a letter of apology, an e-mail explaining that my parents had died in some freak car accident, unbelievably, the e-mail contained no explanation, instead Candice was asking me again for my okay to pass along my contact information. Did we not have this conversation three weeks ago wherein I verbally gave her the okay, even told her it was preferred? It seems her lack of organizational skills had affected her capacity for simple tasks or the recollection of conversations of importance (though I do realize that my level of importance and hers probably varies a little)...
I wrote a hasty response, struggling against my anger to make sure I refrained from any salty language that may have further held up my case and expected to hear back some days later.
Remember that adage about life and sneaking....
My Wednesdays end at four, the last bowling class shuffling off to the remainder of their day, leaving me to exhale and enjoy the reprieve 16 hours of freedom allows. Normally I stop off in town for an early dinner, opting usually for a tasty sandwich from my favorite shop but this Wednesday I headed straight home, the daily obsession of checking my e-mail tugging at my thoughts. I turned on my computer and logged into Hotmail, expecting the normal box full of junk and daily questions about club soccer that usually flood my account. I was wrong.
The first e-mail in my inbox was from a Laura Fiske. Simple as that. Opening it was a surreal experience to be sure, I found out quickly that no matter how much intellectual understanding I possessed, the simple task of reading an e-mail suddenly lost all simplicity. The message was short and sweet, "I don't know where to start... really wanted to call first but thought this better...." Then I noticed the area code on the phone number included...
They live in Portland, OR. Actually in Tigard... Little town no more than an hour north of where I live....
Three weeks ago Wednesday I gave my contact information to a social worker from ISS who's tone voiced a stress from a caseload obviously greater than her level of organization allowed. I was told that my info would be forwarded along to my birth mother and a two week time frame should be expected because, even in this day of immediate gratification and instant messaging, some organizations still love to use snail mail. Makes sense, right? I mean, why rush things...
Two weeks is a long time to wait, especially when everyday can bring a call, a letter or an e-mail. Making the cold walk out to the mailbox every day takes on a little more meaning, the hope of a letter from an unknown address giving way to the reality of a stack of daily junk and bills. Checking my e-mail became an almost hourly obsession, my mind an expanse of thoughts I seemingly no longer had control over.
The Wednesday that marked two weeks came and went, feeling more like a hump day than ever before. Week three brought with it my birthday, that Tuesday coming and going, the storybook wish of a Happy Birthday from a couple I only knew from forgotten memories and infant eyes never coming. It had been on my mind every day, the thoughts of who they were, what they were doing and how their lives had been constantly nagging at my brain.
The following day marked three weeks, a time frame short in reality and in comparison to a lifetime, yet painfully lengthened from the constant analysis of info and data I did not have but that my brain was more than willing to create. My thoughts wore at me, causing me to walk through life, not quite a zombie but similar in gait and mental capacity. Work, the fun and simple task of organizing soccer games and playing, was no longer easy, the simplicity replaced by a focus not on the world around me, rather on the one raging in my head.
Every Wednesday I stop off in the office to check e-mails and to flirt with our secretary, Natalie, a cute little Polish blond who is as charming in her wit as she is efficient in her organizational skills (maybe I should recommend her to the ISS...). My office is more of a cubby, a shared space with five other instructors that houses a couple of desks and one decrepit computer. The computer allows me access into my Hotmail account but seldom into my messages. It becomes almost comical, me hitting refresh so often in the hope that I could confuse the computer long enough for it to forget its antiquity and allow me access to my coveted messages.
This Wednesday was like every other, the battle raging on between man and machine, not quite a sci-fi channel worthy tale, but a struggle nonetheless. Upon logging in I immediately noticed that this Wednesday was to be different as my inbox contained an e-mail from a Candice Johnson, the same case worker who three weeks ago had promised competence. Of course machine again won and, with a mind flush with thoughts so vast and numerous that my train of thought felt like it had been boarded and robbed, I shuffled over to Natalie to ask if I could borrow hers for a minute. Looking at me a bit quizzically (I guess my blank stare was different from the one she was accustomed to) she reminded me of my old workstation, the office computer tucked away in the corner.
Quickly I logged in again and opened the e-mail, a small victory for humanity. I half expected a letter of apology, an e-mail explaining that my parents had died in some freak car accident, unbelievably, the e-mail contained no explanation, instead Candice was asking me again for my okay to pass along my contact information. Did we not have this conversation three weeks ago wherein I verbally gave her the okay, even told her it was preferred? It seems her lack of organizational skills had affected her capacity for simple tasks or the recollection of conversations of importance (though I do realize that my level of importance and hers probably varies a little)...
I wrote a hasty response, struggling against my anger to make sure I refrained from any salty language that may have further held up my case and expected to hear back some days later.
Remember that adage about life and sneaking....
My Wednesdays end at four, the last bowling class shuffling off to the remainder of their day, leaving me to exhale and enjoy the reprieve 16 hours of freedom allows. Normally I stop off in town for an early dinner, opting usually for a tasty sandwich from my favorite shop but this Wednesday I headed straight home, the daily obsession of checking my e-mail tugging at my thoughts. I turned on my computer and logged into Hotmail, expecting the normal box full of junk and daily questions about club soccer that usually flood my account. I was wrong.
The first e-mail in my inbox was from a Laura Fiske. Simple as that. Opening it was a surreal experience to be sure, I found out quickly that no matter how much intellectual understanding I possessed, the simple task of reading an e-mail suddenly lost all simplicity. The message was short and sweet, "I don't know where to start... really wanted to call first but thought this better...." Then I noticed the area code on the phone number included...
They live in Portland, OR. Actually in Tigard... Little town no more than an hour north of where I live....
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
An open letter of hope to Volkswagen (Trip Part 1)
My name is Andrew Donaldson and I am about to embark on an experience that will be, for me, as challenging as I expect it to be rewarding. I am writing to you at Volkswagen to ask for any assistance you can offer in exchange for the exposure and advertising granted from a three month trip into the diversity of this great country.
I have been a Volkswagen loyalist for years, my first memories surround both a baby blue VW Rabbit and a bright yellow VW Vanagon (though, going farther back, I can recall daily attempts at toilet training involving Cheerios, a kid's toilet and M & M's in the back of a dark green VW Microbus). The trend continues, as my daily ride is an '03 Passat, a much loved and comfortable drive for a daily commute.
My plan is this: in Late March I am taking off from my home and job in Corvallis, OR for a three month sabbatical from all things stressful. I plan to hit all of the lower 48, seeing the country for it's beauty and diversity as I think through life, find my next permanent destination and talk with innumerable people along the way about life and living.
The plan includes a van to serve as my home away from home. Right now I am looking into a '91 VW Vanagon Carat and, while I know it will be a great vehicle for the trip, as the current owner has outlined his vast road trip travels through all sorts of terrain and weather with nary a problem, I am curious as to whether you at Volkswagen would have any interest in sponsoring the trip? My ideal would be a the donation of a VW Eurovan camper of any make and model, as their comfort, storage and kitchen would maximize comfort and convenience to go along with a smooth rode and trustworthy mechanics. Of course, this being a tight economy, I would be placated by a large VW sticker for the back window of my van.
I know that assistance, especially in a time and economy that makes car sales in need of a defibrillator, is difficult to come by, but I hope that I can convince you this trip would be as beneficial for VW's Eurovan product line as it is sure to be for my psyche. My payment would be my advertising and exposure. My advertising would be near daily ("near" due to a forseen lack of Wi-Fi) inclusion of pictures and writings about the van and it's role in my daily life, the exposure would come from the daily journeys the van and I take along the roads and highways and the chats with the individuals as curious about our journey as they are about our comfort. (sample writing: ad-travelsoflife.blogspot.com).
I thank you for taking the time to read this and look forward to hearing from you. I can be reached at aminos12@hotmail.com or by phone (541)908-0897.
Thanks,
ad
I have been a Volkswagen loyalist for years, my first memories surround both a baby blue VW Rabbit and a bright yellow VW Vanagon (though, going farther back, I can recall daily attempts at toilet training involving Cheerios, a kid's toilet and M & M's in the back of a dark green VW Microbus). The trend continues, as my daily ride is an '03 Passat, a much loved and comfortable drive for a daily commute.
My plan is this: in Late March I am taking off from my home and job in Corvallis, OR for a three month sabbatical from all things stressful. I plan to hit all of the lower 48, seeing the country for it's beauty and diversity as I think through life, find my next permanent destination and talk with innumerable people along the way about life and living.
The plan includes a van to serve as my home away from home. Right now I am looking into a '91 VW Vanagon Carat and, while I know it will be a great vehicle for the trip, as the current owner has outlined his vast road trip travels through all sorts of terrain and weather with nary a problem, I am curious as to whether you at Volkswagen would have any interest in sponsoring the trip? My ideal would be a the donation of a VW Eurovan camper of any make and model, as their comfort, storage and kitchen would maximize comfort and convenience to go along with a smooth rode and trustworthy mechanics. Of course, this being a tight economy, I would be placated by a large VW sticker for the back window of my van.
I know that assistance, especially in a time and economy that makes car sales in need of a defibrillator, is difficult to come by, but I hope that I can convince you this trip would be as beneficial for VW's Eurovan product line as it is sure to be for my psyche. My payment would be my advertising and exposure. My advertising would be near daily ("near" due to a forseen lack of Wi-Fi) inclusion of pictures and writings about the van and it's role in my daily life, the exposure would come from the daily journeys the van and I take along the roads and highways and the chats with the individuals as curious about our journey as they are about our comfort. (sample writing: ad-travelsoflife.blogspot.com).
I thank you for taking the time to read this and look forward to hearing from you. I can be reached at aminos12@hotmail.com or by phone (541)908-0897.
Thanks,
ad
Friday, January 30, 2009
Waiting is a game of patience, a game I often lose... (Family Part 2)
And so I sit and wait... for a note, a letter, an e-mail or a phone call, though I really hope that it is not through the phone that my biological parents first look to contact me as it leaves far too little wiggle room. I cannot really fathom the conversation. I mean on one hand it is simple, ask and answer, but what happens if they are as blunt and intrusive as I.... Guess that could explain a lot.
I have, more than once, gone over how the conversation may go. Worst case they are living together in a double wide and are hoping that I have made a name for myself and would be willing to trade cash for the knowledge that without them there would be no me, or, perhaps worse, one needs a kidney (I hear they are valued around $15000 these days). Lord knows I could be guilted into giving one up.
Best case they are professionals in fields they not only enjoy but also excel at, happy with life and wondering if the child they begrudgingly gave up at 15 has experienced a life that was not only happy and rewarding but full of questions that they may provide answers to.
To recognize that I have biological parents (a fact that, though so basic in nature as to never be questioned, still eludes me from time to time) is to recognize that I may have a half brother or sister, or maybe even a slew of them roaming this earth. I have never had a biological connection to anyone before. This is the strangest thing to me. Everyone I seem to mention to that I am curious as to what it would be like to experience a biological basis for connection seems puzzled. I think that most people forget that what they take for granted is often the most puzzling for some.
And yet, through it all, it is odd to me that I really don't feel much right now, no real anxiety, trepidation, excitement or happiness. Perhaps this is due to the surreal nature of the whole experience, or for that matter, my entire life as I see it right now. I lost connect with the world a few years ago, the passing of dad loosening the tethers even further.
Nothing I experience feels real and that is a scary place to be. It is easy to recognize the turning of the world around me, my role in it with all of my responsibilities and my choices but, more often than not I don't really ever FEEL, just see. And that is the oddest thing, I know how it is supposed to feel, I know the emotions that one would expect to experience, but, seldom do the expectations match the reality.
In some way I hope that this experience will serve as a reconnect, on the other I am scared to death it will just add to the lack of feeling. Either way, I am have a chance to meet the people for whom I was based... Cannot be a bad thing, can it.....?
I have, more than once, gone over how the conversation may go. Worst case they are living together in a double wide and are hoping that I have made a name for myself and would be willing to trade cash for the knowledge that without them there would be no me, or, perhaps worse, one needs a kidney (I hear they are valued around $15000 these days). Lord knows I could be guilted into giving one up.
Best case they are professionals in fields they not only enjoy but also excel at, happy with life and wondering if the child they begrudgingly gave up at 15 has experienced a life that was not only happy and rewarding but full of questions that they may provide answers to.
To recognize that I have biological parents (a fact that, though so basic in nature as to never be questioned, still eludes me from time to time) is to recognize that I may have a half brother or sister, or maybe even a slew of them roaming this earth. I have never had a biological connection to anyone before. This is the strangest thing to me. Everyone I seem to mention to that I am curious as to what it would be like to experience a biological basis for connection seems puzzled. I think that most people forget that what they take for granted is often the most puzzling for some.
And yet, through it all, it is odd to me that I really don't feel much right now, no real anxiety, trepidation, excitement or happiness. Perhaps this is due to the surreal nature of the whole experience, or for that matter, my entire life as I see it right now. I lost connect with the world a few years ago, the passing of dad loosening the tethers even further.
Nothing I experience feels real and that is a scary place to be. It is easy to recognize the turning of the world around me, my role in it with all of my responsibilities and my choices but, more often than not I don't really ever FEEL, just see. And that is the oddest thing, I know how it is supposed to feel, I know the emotions that one would expect to experience, but, seldom do the expectations match the reality.
In some way I hope that this experience will serve as a reconnect, on the other I am scared to death it will just add to the lack of feeling. Either way, I am have a chance to meet the people for whom I was based... Cannot be a bad thing, can it.....?
Monday, January 26, 2009
surreal life (Family Part 1)
I am adopted, a fact that became evident at the age I was capable of surmising that the difference in skin tone and hair color between my half japanese brother and myself was not some coincidental quirk of gene mutation. I have, as I would assume any child who's biological origins are unknown, wondered about my parents, which quirks of my personality were due to certain gene characteristics and which to the characters on the television programs etched into my personality during my formative years.
I started a search a while back, or at least took the coward's way out and had a kindly friend start one for me. To no avail. She was gung-ho, even going so far as to call a poor, unsuspecting woman in Florida who, unfortunately, shared an age, name and military background with my biological mom. I had given up on it, or at least pushed it to the recesses of my thoughts, opting to focus on my life at hand rather than the life that is and the path that helped lead it to be so.
Things change.
A week ago I received my bi-weekly call from my mom (adoptive in this case, but no less than mom). It started out as they always do, we chatted about life currently, the days at hand and common small talk of our happenings and daily offerings. It quickly took an interesting and thoroughly unexpected turn when my mom told me that she had received a letter from the adoption agency that spoke of a "personal and family matter" that I needed to contact them about.
So many thoughts rush through one's mind at this moment, not all of which I would care to think about again. She left me the phone number and a request that I keep her included in the journey, a subtle favor that carries with it a lifetime of hope, fear and love.
Let me tell you, after hearing the same voice message "the person you are trying to reach is currently unavailable, please try back later" followed by a phone hanging up on you rather than leaving you an opportunity to leave a message, I can see why people become frustrated with the systems that are in place. Utilizing some resourcefulness I finally found an actual voice mail and left a message with the case worker in charge of my case, a Candice Johnson, a lady I knew nothing about save for her East Coast residence, but in whom 33 years of questions rested solely.
I first initiated the phone calls on a Friday, by Wednesday I had a actual conversation. The timing of the call, as would be expected, was less than ideal as I was in between classes but then time didn't really seem to register right then.
I had prepared myself for the call, rehearsing all of the scenarios and possible highs and lows. The call went much like I had expected it to up until Candice, in her Maryland accent, told me of my parents today.
When dealing with the possibility of reconnecting, the thought naturally (for most I would assume) turns to the mom. I mean, she is the one through whom you were given life, the one who carried and cared for you. And so I expected that that would be who I would be hearing about but, quickly, I found out that not only was my father looking for me as well but that my biological mom and dad had reconnected a few years ago and have been married since 2007. How odd and unexpected is that?
A message from my biological mom accompanied their request for my contact information "We hope this finds him well and blessed in his life. We do not want to interrupt or interfere in any way with his current life but would like to get in contact with him if this is something he would be willing to do. If not, we completely understand, but would like a picture if possible."
It didn't take me long to say that I would not mind at all getting in touch with them, I mean how many opportunities would I have to learn more about what makes me tick, not to mention the chance to get a full medical and family history. The case worker then told me that she would, through her organization, serve as the intermediary receiving any information and forwarding it on to me making sure that no contact info was included. I suppose this protects unwanting individuals from having to become more involved with a past they may have interest in, but would rather not be forced to come face to face with. She seemed startled when I asked her if I could just give her my info to pass along.
So here I am, my phone number, address and e-mail info is traveling slowly somewhere between here and the people who created me. I have been told that it would probably be two weeks of so before they it reached their doorstep. Amazingly, it seems the organization does not utilize e-mail and prefers to keep the post office in business...
So I sit and wait, afraid to answer any phone call with an area code I do not recognize. I am hoping that they write first, a call could be too much...
I started a search a while back, or at least took the coward's way out and had a kindly friend start one for me. To no avail. She was gung-ho, even going so far as to call a poor, unsuspecting woman in Florida who, unfortunately, shared an age, name and military background with my biological mom. I had given up on it, or at least pushed it to the recesses of my thoughts, opting to focus on my life at hand rather than the life that is and the path that helped lead it to be so.
Things change.
A week ago I received my bi-weekly call from my mom (adoptive in this case, but no less than mom). It started out as they always do, we chatted about life currently, the days at hand and common small talk of our happenings and daily offerings. It quickly took an interesting and thoroughly unexpected turn when my mom told me that she had received a letter from the adoption agency that spoke of a "personal and family matter" that I needed to contact them about.
So many thoughts rush through one's mind at this moment, not all of which I would care to think about again. She left me the phone number and a request that I keep her included in the journey, a subtle favor that carries with it a lifetime of hope, fear and love.
Let me tell you, after hearing the same voice message "the person you are trying to reach is currently unavailable, please try back later" followed by a phone hanging up on you rather than leaving you an opportunity to leave a message, I can see why people become frustrated with the systems that are in place. Utilizing some resourcefulness I finally found an actual voice mail and left a message with the case worker in charge of my case, a Candice Johnson, a lady I knew nothing about save for her East Coast residence, but in whom 33 years of questions rested solely.
I first initiated the phone calls on a Friday, by Wednesday I had a actual conversation. The timing of the call, as would be expected, was less than ideal as I was in between classes but then time didn't really seem to register right then.
I had prepared myself for the call, rehearsing all of the scenarios and possible highs and lows. The call went much like I had expected it to up until Candice, in her Maryland accent, told me of my parents today.
When dealing with the possibility of reconnecting, the thought naturally (for most I would assume) turns to the mom. I mean, she is the one through whom you were given life, the one who carried and cared for you. And so I expected that that would be who I would be hearing about but, quickly, I found out that not only was my father looking for me as well but that my biological mom and dad had reconnected a few years ago and have been married since 2007. How odd and unexpected is that?
A message from my biological mom accompanied their request for my contact information "We hope this finds him well and blessed in his life. We do not want to interrupt or interfere in any way with his current life but would like to get in contact with him if this is something he would be willing to do. If not, we completely understand, but would like a picture if possible."
It didn't take me long to say that I would not mind at all getting in touch with them, I mean how many opportunities would I have to learn more about what makes me tick, not to mention the chance to get a full medical and family history. The case worker then told me that she would, through her organization, serve as the intermediary receiving any information and forwarding it on to me making sure that no contact info was included. I suppose this protects unwanting individuals from having to become more involved with a past they may have interest in, but would rather not be forced to come face to face with. She seemed startled when I asked her if I could just give her my info to pass along.
So here I am, my phone number, address and e-mail info is traveling slowly somewhere between here and the people who created me. I have been told that it would probably be two weeks of so before they it reached their doorstep. Amazingly, it seems the organization does not utilize e-mail and prefers to keep the post office in business...
So I sit and wait, afraid to answer any phone call with an area code I do not recognize. I am hoping that they write first, a call could be too much...
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Life (part 2)
All of my life I have struggled with memories, be they as long ago as the recollections of childhood games, days in school or dinner conversations or even as simple as what I fed my face for lunch yesterday. Nothing seems to come as readily as I would like it to.
It is difficult to know who you are when you cannot recall the things that guided you on your journey. I believe I have chosen to repress them all out of fear, convincing myself that they are not worth the thought, but every so often a moment in time is dredged up from the repressed depths of my subconscious by a laugh, a story, a flicker of remembrance. It is in these moments that I am able to catch a glimpse into the path that led me to the place I am today, a place of self-doubt, confusion, anger, frustration and a little bit of hope.
Life is a difficult journey for most, the most difficult part being that many are not able to see past their own experiences, both the rights and wrongs and thus lose sight of their relation to and part in the larger world around them. Empathy, the ability to not only put oneself in another's shoes but to also understand all of the feelings that wearing those shoes evokes is, seemingly, a difficult character trait to come by these days. Too many people get caught up in what shoes to wear that they lose sight of those who don't even have the choice. It is in these empathetic moments that hope arises in me.
It is extremely sad, I realize, that the thoughts of all of the wrongs done around this world: the kids who no longer have parents, lost to some angry mob or taken away at gunpoint by some unjust government; the families that cannot walk through their neighborhood without having to be constantly cautious of gunfire; the soldier who lost both legs in a pointless, endless war on a soil not their own who has been abandoned by their own government, forced to work through the mental anguish and physical pain alone or with minimal help, are the things that bring me hope.
It is not the thoughts of all the suffering, rather the realization of how my own pain stacks up. I have come to understand life is in constant flux and can always be changed, for better or worse. This realization has been long in the making and is nowhere near fully actualized, but I have come to understand that no matter where I am in or what I feel I am stuck doing can always be changed, it just takes work on my part.
It is this work that is the hardest part of life. Can we convince ourselves that the doubts we have are justified and see the change needed to alleviate these doubts and then can we actually grow enough, believe enough, be strong enough to start the wheels in motion to take that risk and chance knowing full well that it may not go as hoped, that we may have to work harder, that we may still fail.
Most memories are fleeting, some stick, some are lost before the event that spurs them is even finished. The biggest question in life, at least for me, is, can I create memories that I want to keep? Can I find a path and a direction that I believe in, that makes me happy, that makes me feel like, as idealistically as it may sound, I am actually making a difference, not only in my own life, but also in those around me?
It is difficult to know who you are when you cannot recall the things that guided you on your journey. I believe I have chosen to repress them all out of fear, convincing myself that they are not worth the thought, but every so often a moment in time is dredged up from the repressed depths of my subconscious by a laugh, a story, a flicker of remembrance. It is in these moments that I am able to catch a glimpse into the path that led me to the place I am today, a place of self-doubt, confusion, anger, frustration and a little bit of hope.
Life is a difficult journey for most, the most difficult part being that many are not able to see past their own experiences, both the rights and wrongs and thus lose sight of their relation to and part in the larger world around them. Empathy, the ability to not only put oneself in another's shoes but to also understand all of the feelings that wearing those shoes evokes is, seemingly, a difficult character trait to come by these days. Too many people get caught up in what shoes to wear that they lose sight of those who don't even have the choice. It is in these empathetic moments that hope arises in me.
It is extremely sad, I realize, that the thoughts of all of the wrongs done around this world: the kids who no longer have parents, lost to some angry mob or taken away at gunpoint by some unjust government; the families that cannot walk through their neighborhood without having to be constantly cautious of gunfire; the soldier who lost both legs in a pointless, endless war on a soil not their own who has been abandoned by their own government, forced to work through the mental anguish and physical pain alone or with minimal help, are the things that bring me hope.
It is not the thoughts of all the suffering, rather the realization of how my own pain stacks up. I have come to understand life is in constant flux and can always be changed, for better or worse. This realization has been long in the making and is nowhere near fully actualized, but I have come to understand that no matter where I am in or what I feel I am stuck doing can always be changed, it just takes work on my part.
It is this work that is the hardest part of life. Can we convince ourselves that the doubts we have are justified and see the change needed to alleviate these doubts and then can we actually grow enough, believe enough, be strong enough to start the wheels in motion to take that risk and chance knowing full well that it may not go as hoped, that we may have to work harder, that we may still fail.
Most memories are fleeting, some stick, some are lost before the event that spurs them is even finished. The biggest question in life, at least for me, is, can I create memories that I want to keep? Can I find a path and a direction that I believe in, that makes me happy, that makes me feel like, as idealistically as it may sound, I am actually making a difference, not only in my own life, but also in those around me?
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Life (part 1)
Life is but a collection of memories; pictures, feelings and emotions from individual moments in the calendar that is our lives. Some are immediate and crystal clear as the emotion of the time etches into our soul those moments of passion, joy, pain or hurt. Some are buried deep, left to interact with our minds and lives on a level that guides but is seldom understood.
It is enlightening to reflect back upon the experiences of one's life and see what chose to stick. What makes an individual unique but their memories and the path those experiences led them to follow? That first kiss, leaving us speechless but floating; the death of a loved one, pain coursing through our cores in waves as we struggle to say good-bye, as the realization that they are gone, never again to hug or comfort us, to give advice or just lend an ear hits with a suddenness; the recollection of the moment in our life we shined, that all eyes were upon us for something we did well; of childhood fears, being up on stage at a spelling bee, sweating as we struggle to recall the spelling of a word we would never again use.
2008 has brought with it the hope of change, the new year brings with it the opportunity. Looking back upon the past year one cannot help but look within and feel the true path of their life and the effects that life has on the world around them. It is in this introspection that one is allowed the honesty of life, a brief moment of respite from no critic but the one that resides within.
The question is, what is that critic saying? Change is, for most, a scary thing, for some, more debilitating than watching the impending impact of collision from behind the steering wheel. The challenge is to not only have the strength to understand what needs change and actually work towards its end but to also understand what we can do to help those around us solve their own puzzles.
Here is wishing everyone, be you Republican or Democrat, inner city or corporate, loved or hated the wishes of a New Year filled with hope, that we all will honestly ask ourselves what we would do differently and possess the strength to see it through to it's change.
It is enlightening to reflect back upon the experiences of one's life and see what chose to stick. What makes an individual unique but their memories and the path those experiences led them to follow? That first kiss, leaving us speechless but floating; the death of a loved one, pain coursing through our cores in waves as we struggle to say good-bye, as the realization that they are gone, never again to hug or comfort us, to give advice or just lend an ear hits with a suddenness; the recollection of the moment in our life we shined, that all eyes were upon us for something we did well; of childhood fears, being up on stage at a spelling bee, sweating as we struggle to recall the spelling of a word we would never again use.
2008 has brought with it the hope of change, the new year brings with it the opportunity. Looking back upon the past year one cannot help but look within and feel the true path of their life and the effects that life has on the world around them. It is in this introspection that one is allowed the honesty of life, a brief moment of respite from no critic but the one that resides within.
The question is, what is that critic saying? Change is, for most, a scary thing, for some, more debilitating than watching the impending impact of collision from behind the steering wheel. The challenge is to not only have the strength to understand what needs change and actually work towards its end but to also understand what we can do to help those around us solve their own puzzles.
Here is wishing everyone, be you Republican or Democrat, inner city or corporate, loved or hated the wishes of a New Year filled with hope, that we all will honestly ask ourselves what we would do differently and possess the strength to see it through to it's change.
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