Only 19 days after I was born, I was adopted on the same day my dad celebrated his birthday. Growing up, I never thought much about being adopted until one moment when I did.
When I was five, a kid once said to me, ‘Your real parents didn’t want you, that’s why they gave you away.’ Those words hit me like a blow to the chest. Until then, it had never spanned my mind to see my adoption in that kind of bright.
I ran to my parents and shared what had been said. They comforted me gently, saying, “You were desired. You were also selected. That is what makes you so special.” That sense of being truly wanted stayed with me and formed the way I saw my life. From that moment forward, I truly involved being their daughter and memorable where I fit.
My childhood was full of love and support. Both of my parents worked in education, so I spent a lot of time at their school. My dad worked as the manager, and my mom started out teaching first grade before she became the school librarian. Long before I ever sat in a classroom, the teachers already knew who I was. They welcomed me with kind-heartedness, and I always felt safe, supported, and deeply connected to the public around me.
We lived in a small Texas town, and our routine included church every Sunday and Wednesday. My father taught me to turn to prayer whenever I felt unclear or lost, and throughout my life, I felt deeply thankful for the solid love and leadership both of my parents gave me.
Still, I couldn’t stop thinking about my adoption. My parents cheered me to meet my birth family, but I worried about upsetting lives. Yet, I wondered constantly about them, what they looked like, who they were, whether I look like anyone. I would study strangers, celebrities, and women I met, searching for a clue of connection. As a young girl, I was convinced Raquel Welch must be my birth mother. My husband later reminded me, “She gets older, you know.” In my mind, my birth mother stayed forever 30.
In 2006, I finally decided to take a step. “I reached out to Hope Cottage in Dallas to obtain my adoption records. Although most of the file had been blacked out, I did uncover a few important details. I discovered that the name I was given at birth was Greta, and that my birth mother had been just 25 years old when she had me. Her own mother, my maternal grandmother was already raising six children, and my birth father had no role in the picture whatsoever. As I absorbed these details, a weight pressed down on me, filling my chest with a deep and unfamiliar sorrow. It left me feeling rejected, and for a long time, I shut down emotionally, loath to even consider the possibility of meeting her someday.
Despite that, I thought of her every birthday. Social media gave me a new way to reach out. Each year, I posted messages in faiths she might see them. Encouraged by friends, I also took an Ancestry DNA test and began the process of unsealing my adoption records. This gave me more insight into my family history, and I even found a potential first cousin. Using that lead, I searched through obituaries, Facebook, and public records. At one point, I thought I had hit a dead end, but my husband stood beside me, urging me not to give up.
Then I noticed something I had missed: a woman in an obituary had lost a child. The number of children matched exactly what I had been told before. Soon, I had the information I had longed for my birth mother’s contact details. I reached out and waited uneasily.
Finally, she called. Her first words changed everything: “I am so glad you found me.”
We arranged to meet at a cemetery I had visited many times. From the moment we saw each other, it felt normal. We laughed the same way, spoke in similar ways, and connected instantly. She said to me, “I never shared your existence with my family. I wanted to connect with you, but I didn’t know how to find you.
After all of those years, I finally discovered the part of my life that had always felt absent, as if a missing piece had been gently put back where it belonged. I discovered the love and connection I had longed for. When I returned home, my adoptive mother looked at me and said, “You seem glowing and at peace.” And I truly was. I will treasure that feeling forever.
