“Can I look for my birthmother too?” was the next logical question. In this moment nothing I had ever been told about about how to handle this question felt of any use at all. I was stunned into the realization that yes, she could search for and possibly find her birthmother quite easily. Would I join her and how was the question. How should I answer it thinking on my feet in this same state of bewilderment. “Yes, I can help you do that,” I managed to get out in barely audible tones.
Over the last two years I questioned and struggled silently and not-so-silently, but privately. What would this mean now as my daughter was on the cusp of her teen years. How would introducing a third person, a second mother, impact the pushes and pulls between my about-to-be adolescent and me? I feared the worst. I hoped for the best. Mostly I wanted to help her and if this would help, I would do it.
Her birthmother was not on Facebook, but the internet does not stop there as we know! First a picture from a driver’s license materialized, then an address. I sent a letter. The wait was excruciating. I feared what would happen if we did not hear.
The e-mail arrived one Sunday morning three weeks later. “Thank You” was the subject heading. There was gratitude, fear, caution. I breathed relief, but also fear. A rupture could be mended, but so much work to do!
The e-mails flew back and forth woman-to-woman, mother-to-mother, then child to birthmother. “I’ve changed a lot since I was born,” started the first e-mail from my daughter.
A year and half later, as we prepare to go to see her, emotions run high. I have trusted my bond with my daughter through this process. Now I fear losing her. Now a fourteen-year-old, she told me not to come because “you are weak and will cry.” Her birthmother is equally nervous and emotional. My daughter has no idea of how hard the two of us have worked together to make this happen.
As I weather this storm of emotion I imagine the sky will clear as we travel through this journey. It is an act of profound faith to release a child you have adopted and mothered to discover another mother. For now, I’m whipping in the wind of uncertainty and unknowns.