The Trade Has Been Made

The confirmation of who my birth mother was is moments away from coming through my fax machine.

Last week I contacted the adoption agency.  In my conversation with the director I explained I had found out who my birth mother was and had also learned she died six years ago.  I explained that I had obtained my birth mother’s death certificate and it was my understanding that with the death certificate I could get my birth mother’s part of my adoption records.  The director confirmed that I was correct but that I would have to wait while they requested my file from an off site location.  The turn around time is typically five days so I would have to wait again.  In the mean time, I faxed over a copy of the death certificate to save time and requested they fax back my information to me as soon as possible.  The director was in agreement.

After eight days and no call my patience was sick of waiting.  I called the agency today and was told my file had been delivered.  I emotions wanted to scream, “well, then how come no one called me.”

Experience knows to ignore the desires of my emotions in situations like this one.  The director has total control over when and how I get this information and it doesn’t serve me to upset her.  Experience knows I am powerless in this struggle.

I ask what the next step in the process is and I am told they just need to get a copy of the death certificate.

“The one faxed eight days ago right after I got off the phone with you?”  Again my emotions are screaming.  Again I ignore them.

“Can I have that fax number again.” I wisely reply.

I re-fax over the death certificate and on the cover letter I request they call me back as soon as they get the fax.

Thirty minutes evaporates and no one calls.  Patience is in the corner and is now violently ill.  I call the agency back and they advise they have received my fax and will compile all my birth mother’s information from my file and put it in the mail no later than tomorrow.

In the back of my head, I hear yelling again.

“Can you fax it to me?”  I ask.

They will fax it over once they black out my birth father’s information.

I sit two feet from my fax machine waiting for the first noise that something is coming through.

Nothing yet.

What I am waiting for them to confirm has already been confirmed.  The woman who I think is my birth mother is my birth mother.  If I got it wrong and the name on the death certificate didn’t match the name in my file they would have told me by now.  I found the right woman.

To see that in writing is what my eyes crave.  After 21 years of searching off and on for my birth mother, I want to see proof, on the agency’s letterhead, of what I already know.

As I write I am anxious, excited, nervous, and leary about what my next step is post fax.

Once the fax is received I will sit in front of my computer again and write a letter to the four siblings that probably don’t know I exist.  I will graciously write a letter that shows them a mother they probably didn’t know.  In this letter I will request information about a mother they know and I don’t and I will again wait.  The waiting will begin again as they decide what to do, how to respond, or if they will respond.  Again the struggle is out of my hands.

Although this is my information that I have a right to; I have no control over how or if I get it.  The hope is at least one of the four siblings will look beyond their feelings and understand that I had nothing to do with how I was created.  From that understanding will spring compassion.  The hope is this compassion will cause them to see my side and share their mother, share my birth mother, with me.

My fax machine is still quiet and my emotions are still screaming.

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