Finding my birth parents – part 3

In 1985, I was pregnant with my daughter, Sarah. I was very excited, as all parents are, but I was especially excited about having someone in my life that actually LOOKED like me. All of us that are adopted know what I’m talking about. I kept thinking about my baby and what sort of traits she would have and, of course, I really started to think more and more  about my birth parents. As she was growing inside me and I was experiencing motherhood, I wondered what my birth mother  must have been thinking while she was going through this with me.

Sarah  was born with a severe birth defect called microcephaly. After her delivery, many doctors were in my room asking me a million questions about my medical and family history. I couldn’t answer them. I didn’t care what one of them had to say…. I just wanted to bond with my daughter and I did. It was both the happiest and saddest day of my life, and all I could think about was my mother who gave birth to me. She was helping me through one of the most difficult times of my life, and she didn’t even know it. I kept thinking that even though the circumstances were different, that she understood the pain I was going through right now.

A few days later, a very lovely man came to my room and said he knew this was a difficult time for me, but that only one in eight hundred thousand children were born with this disability and he wanted to know my family history. I knew nothing. So I called my father and I asked him if he could shed any light on this.

My father was devastated for me and knew this was an important piece of medical information . He said he would make a few phone calls and would call me back. Well, he called me back in 15 minutes, telling me there was nothing in my family history that could be linked to Sarah’s disability. Fifteen minutes! I knew right then and there that he knew much more about my birth parents than he was willing to admit. I knew it, and I was heartbroken, but I understood it. What could I say? You knew it all these years and didn’t tell me??? It was clear that it was something he and my mother always knew but had decided they would never share with me. But I was pissed.  I don’t know how else to describe it. I was pissed. I loved him and I could accept it, but I was pissed.