my history, via my lack of history

I'm not shy about discussing the fact that I'm adopted. I understand that it's part of who I am and it's interesting to people. But lately it's come up more often, I'm not sure why. Maybe because I'm reading The Girls Who Went Away so it's been on my own mind lately. The book is full of heartbreaking stories about young women, most sheltered and uneducated about sex, who found themselves pregnant and sent away by their parents. Some of the parents were supportive but had to do what was done at the time, others were monstrous and made their daughters out to be evil.

A few weeks ago, my cousin and I were talking about the circumstances around my adoption. Well, what little circumstances I actually know. I know my mom was 26 and a college graduate and that my dad was tall and moved to Colorado before I was born. It just sounds like a shit situation and I've always been afraid to seek more details. Records show she had little prenatal care and I went into foster care instantly. Denial ain't just a river in Egypt, ya know? But this cousin of mine, she points out that I have a college education, am nearing 26 years old, and am not in a serious relationship and asks the question: what would you do if you got pregnant right now?

I'd live. It'd suck and not be ideal, but it wouldn't devastate my life. My parents support me through every ridiculous thing I do and would nowhere near dessert me (especially with my mom's baby fever). I have an incredible group of friends. I have a giant web of cousins, cousin's cousins, and cousin-in-laws. None of those people are incredibly conservative, and none would disown me for being an unwed mom. Quite the opposite. Lots of people don't get that lucky with their adoptive family. And maybe she wasn't that lucky with her family. Though 1983 is well out of the era of the girls who went away, her parents may have still been in that frame of mind. Or maybe she didn't even tell them. Or maybe she didn't have parents. Maybe she just didn't have the means to raise a child on her own and couldn't ask for help. I'm the undisputed queen of foolish pride, could it be hereditary?

The first time I ever put in any real thought about her was on my brother's birthday, probably 5 or so years ago. A product of an open adoption, he got a birthday card from his birth mom and pictures of his young half-brother. It came addressed from the adoption agency and to my parents' name. And though I'd not consciously been thinking of her, my first thought was that my mom was trying to contact me. I fervently opened the card and started crying, I mean sobbing, when I saw what it was. I cried first because I'd invaded my brother's privacy, and then because I was jealous that he knew so much, and then because of course it wasn't her. I told my mom I wanted to find my birth mom. That afternoon I spent hours on the phone with my caseworker, the same caseworker who did my brother's adoption and remembered me showing off my halloween costume on a home visit. I got all the info, contacted all the sources, obtained all the paper work and did not go through with it. Wasn't there, wasn't ready.

In the past couple years, I've started to think of her with empathy. It took almost 25 years, but empathy is not easy. I've written a lot about her. "Someone Else" is about her. "The History of Your Life, Page One" tongue-in-cheek as it is, is about her and my father. I used to think about what if she doesn't want to meet me or what if she doesn't like me. Those are possibilities, but I don't think of her in terms of what our relationship would be like. I don't need that.

I have a knack for noticing shared family features. I laugh to myself when people say I look like my parents or brother. At a cousin's wedding last summer, a friend pointed out how alike the girls in my family look when you see us all standing together. I've always wondered who I look like, always noticed women who'd be around her age who vaguely resembled me. At the same time, I'll be okay if I only ever look like myself.