Welcome to my journey

Insinuations

Insinuations

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I still shake my head in disbelief. When I was searching for my birth father, a woman called me collect in regards to an inquiry I sent out. She described herself as having been so-called friends with my late birth mother. Supposedly, my birth mother was a very private woman. She was able to somehow keep her pregnancy a secret from almost everyone in a small mining town. When I met my half-siblings, the two oldest said they didn’t even know back when they were teenagers that our average-built mother was expecting me. No, she didn’t go away for nine months either, but rather continued to raise her three children alongside her husband. Going on with our brief phone conversation, the lady said that my birth mother had borrowed money from her. She followed it by saying half-laughingly, “Now, I know what it was used for!” These days $75 doesn’t…

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Self-respect

Self-respect

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It’s just a matter of time until we hear the word “sue” if someone feels they have been wronged. For much of my childhood, I grew up in a medical doctor’s family. The numerous lawsuits my stepfather and my adoptive mother were involved in over the years, as either the plaintiff or the defendant, seemed to be one way to handle life’s problems by always feeling the need to be right. Can anyone possibly imagine how intimidated and powerless I then felt as an adult when my parents wouldn’t tell me the truth to why my birth certificate was mysteriously “lost”? Searching on my own for the answers had snowballed into an insurmountable mountain of more lies and secrets. Feeling alone, I had no one to turn to ask for help when they refused to answer any of my baffling questions in such a cruel game with a number of…

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The Silent Voices

The Silent Voices

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Sitting proudly on the seat of my first bicycle, a “refurbished junk yard special,” I yelled back excitedly to the silhouette standing in the driveway. “Look Daddy, watch me, I can ride my two-wheeler all by myself!” As I rode off feeling confident, with a 6-year old-toothless grin, I wonder if I knew this would be the last memory of my father. A short time later, my parents divorced and I never saw him again. Recently, one of my brothers and I talked candidly about our father. For years, I thought I felt nothing for this “long-ago daddy.” We spoke, openly, unafraid of hurting anyone with our true feelings. Tears trickled down my cheeks as my brother tried to reassure me that our father had once loved me, his little girl. In my mind, I wanted to run through the overgrown weeds of sadness to his grave, crying freely for…

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Adoption