The Most Selfless Act

When I was growing up, I always knew that I was adopted. Every year I had a birthday, and then I had my “special” day, which was the day that my mom and dad received me. Granted, I was only three days old when they got me, but it was a day we always celebrated. I believe that’s how my birthday began its expansion into my birth-month. In other words, I get to use my birthday as an excuse for a month long celebration every year.

Anyway, back to the adoption portion of the program. My mom was 40 and my dad just a couple years younger when they got married in 1965. After a few years of marriage they decided that adoption was their best option as far as having a child. In 1968, 40+ year old women were not encouraged to have children. Their family doctor knew that they had decided to  adopt. So when another of his patient’s told him that their niece was going to be staying with them when she graduated from high school, because she was having a baby to be placed for adoption, he made the connection. Of course, it was all done legally and through the Virginia Department of Social Services. And even though Virginia was a closed adoption state, my parents did know some information about my biological mother. They knew she was Italian. They knew she was a senior in high school and that she was quite smart. And that she was going on to college after I was born. These were the few details that my mom could offer up to me whenever I asked about my biological mother. But that came later.

Like I said, I always knew that I was adopted. However, I didn’t really understand what that meant exactly until one day when I was still quite young, maybe four or five years old. I was watching an episode of one of my favorite t.v. show, “A Family Affair.” For those of you too young to know what that was let me give you a brief explanation. This was a sitcom about a wealthy bachelor who takes in his nieces and nephew after they are orphaned. Buffy and Jody are fraternal twins and Sissy is their teenaged sister. In this particularly emotional episode, their uncle is going to adopt them. And it was like the light bulb went on, the puzzle pieces started fitting together…”Hey! Wait a minute! That’s what ‘adoption’ means?!?” All of a sudden the reality sunk in and my mom was pelted by a barrage of questions. Through the years, she always answered my questions patiently and honestly. But the one point she was always sure to make clear was that giving up a child for adoption is the most selfless act and decision anyone can make. So I never held any resentment or disappointment towards my biological mother. My mom always expressed how thankful she was that that girl had given her the most precious gift anyone can  give.

That being said, I never felt a longing to search for my biological family. Of course, I was always curious about what my mother looked like, etc. But never the yearning you hear about with some adoptees. It wasn’t until I had four children of my own and their father was diagnosed with several serious health issues that I decided I needed to find out what my medical history was. In order to do this I had to go to social services in Fairfax County. They would have to search to find out if there was any medical history or information in my adoption records. This was a long process. First my social worker had to request, through the courts, that my adoption records be opened in order to look for medical information. That took at least 18 months, just to have the adoption records released. Then, once a judge authorized those records released, the social worker had to go through those files and remove any identifying information on the part of my biological family and any financial information on the part of my mom and dad. So I literally received dozens and dozens of papers with slivers cut out of them, but in 1968 no one was thinking of asking for medical history. Then the only option I had left was for the social worker to contact my biological mother and get permission from her in order for me to contact her. This was a difficult decision that I wrestled with for several months before making the decision to move forward. I discussed it with my husband at the time and of course, I discussed it with my mom. She assured me that she would stand behind my decision, no matter what it was and, being a nurse, she understood why I’d want to find out more about my biological family. Of course, there was always the chance that she’d be contacted and that she would deny my request, but I decided to move forward and find out. I informed my social worker that I’d like for her to look for my birth mother.

This process took almost another year. Then one day while I was visiting family near Cleveland, I got a call from the social worker. She had found her. She had spoken to her. And my birth mother had requested a few days in order to tell her two sons about me, as they didn’t know they had a big sister. I was a nervous wreck, like a kid running for class president right before the school elections. Finally after a few days the social worker called me back and gave me the green light to contact her. Her name is Kathi. She lives in Ohio. She’s married and has two sons. And I could contact her. I could contact her?! Yikes! What would I say to her? How do you start that conversation? What if she didn’t like me? What if I didn’t like her? That afternoon I called her home phone, knowing that she wouldn’t be home from work yet, so I could listen to her answering machine message (yes, people were still using answering machines then). I don’t know what I thought I could glean from listening to her voice on an answering machine, but I probably called four times and didn’t leave a message. I finally worked up the courage to call and talk to her later that evening and the rest, as they say, is history. Kathi and I immediately clicked. We sent each other letters with photos of our families. Then several months later my husband, kids, and I went to visit her for a long weekend when her family was having their annual July birthday party (there are a lot of July birthdays). Then she, her husband, her two sons, daughter in law, and grandson came to Virginia for Thanksgiving. Her family accepted me and my family with open arms. My family, including my mom, accepted her and her family just as warmly. That was almost 16years ago and now I can’t imagine Kathi not in my life.

When I remarried 11 years ago, Kathi and my mom were both there as “mothers of the bride.” Kathi’s husband, Mike, walked me down the aisle. Her youngest son, Tony, moved to Virginia to help with the sale of our family’s motel and stayed for several years. My mom suffered from dementia during the last years of her life. She was in assisted living close to my home. And every time Kathi came to visit me she went to visit my mom. Mom passed away a year and a half ago in December. Kathi and I wept together that night. And when my daughter Roxanne died in October, my youngest son, Jacob, was going to college in Ohio just 20 minutes away from Kathi. She drove him home to Virginia the next day and stayed with me during the darkest days I’ve ever experienced.

Kathi has had a pretty amazing life, full of adventures and heartaches, but her story is not mine to tell. But I know that in 1968 when a baby was being adopted, the parents that were adopting the baby could not take the child directly from the hospital. The birth mother had to take the baby from the hospital. Kathi was in the hospital with me for three days. Then she had to carry me out of that hospital and she and a social worker met my mother at a shopping center down the street. She then had to hand her baby over to another woman. I have had four children and I cannot fathom the fortitude it would take to be able to give one of my babies to someone else. To actually have to physically hand your child over to someone else’s care would take more character than I believe I have, especially at 18 years old. I was far too selfish at that age. I admire her strength and her courage so much. I want Kathi to know and truly understand the amazing gift that she gave to me and my mom. No one could have been more loved than I was, that much is certain. And that’s all thanks to Kathi and her most selfless act. Thank you, Mama K! I love you to the moon and back.