I love Laura. She’s awesome. And she references me in a roundabout way. My mother legitimately did not want to parent. She’s one of “those mothers” that we don’t want to talk about. But they exist.
My natural mother got her gift on Saturday. It made it there on time, even though it went to New Hampshire first. I seriously don’t understand the Postal Service sometimes. Fun times. Anyway, I had delivery confirmation on it (and there was tracking too but I wasn’t suppose to have it) so I could know when my package was delivered. I kept checking, only to realize that I shouldn’t until Saturday night. Around four I fired up my iPad to see that it had been delivered at 1:30. At first, all I felt was relief that it had gotten there on time (I was really nervous after the New Hampshire incident). Then I got worried.
I heard nothing Saturday night. I refused to text my sister or natural father to ask. This was between me and her. I actually didn’t text either of them because I didn’t trust myself not to ask. Then Sunday hit. Nothing Sunday morning. So I sent her an email. The note I sent was brief (too brief), so I sat down and sent her a short email update about my life. And then off I went to see my mom and grandmothers. Saw my mom and had a nice visit. No acknowledgement Went to my first grandmother’s house. Saw a bunch of my aunts, laughed with my cousins, and ate good food. No response. Went to my third stop, my other grandmother’s. That was more laid back but eventually my cousins came in and things were like a whirlwind. That’s when I heard back.
It was a simple thank you. Work’s busy. She hopes things are going well for me. Thanks for the gift.
Rudy read it last night after everything had settled down. He agreed with me. It was nice, but I guess I was hoping for more. Story of my life with my natural parents. I need to stop getting my hopes up!
Now I have to worry about Father’s Day. Her gift was easy because it’s the same thing that I did for all my aunts and grandmothers. His is going to be a lot harder. But because I sent something to her, I now have to send something to him. Sigh. And I have my sister’s birthday. I need to get planning. What a can of words I opened!
I hate mailing stuff. Seriously. I hate it. I find it annoying to go to the Post Office. I don’t like standing in line holding something awkwardly. I can’t stand being behind the woman who has ten packages to ship and can’t figure out which one’s which. I hate being asked what’s in my package with a million people behind me wishing I’d just hurry up already. And it means that I have to interact with people who are mostly angry. Have you ever met a happy Postal Worker?
I also hate the hours. The Post Office is never open when I’m not at work. I can either go on my lunch break and miss lunch (I’m not a fan), or I can be late for work (or leave early). Not a good situation. I was excited to find a Postal Center four minutes from work yesterday. I was able to mail my package with no line after work. I think I’ll be going there from now on.
I did it. I mailed my first mother her package. It should get there any time between tomorrow and Monday. I figured if it shows up Monday, it’s unfortunate, but hopefully it will get there either tomorrow or Saturday. I have delivery confirmation, so I’ll know when it gets delivered. It’s not going super far, so there’s that.
I really don’t know how she’s going to react. Her reactions have thrown me for a loop since day one. Sometimes she’s really excited to hear from me. Other times she’s not. It’s hard to figure out when she’s happy and when she isn’t, because the reaction changes so much. You’d think I’d have given up by now. I guess I’m too stubborn. Anyway, I’ll either get a “Thanks!” acknowledgement a “My parent’s could have seen! You’re horrible!” reaction, or none. My sister will fill me in. She’s awesome like that.
Now I guess I just wait. This is another reason why I hate snail mail. Ugh.
I have to find my mom a card. And get gift bags for the other mothers in my life. Joy.
I finished my natural mother’s Mother’s Day gift last night. I’m working on writing a letter and tomorrow I’m going to put everything in the mail. I’m nervous because I’m honestly not sure how things are going to go. On one hand, I think she might really like getting something from me. It’s homemade, practical, and it’s not over the top. She doesn’t have to say it’s from me, and I think it’s just a nice touch. I love that I can send her something now that I know who she is.
Then again, I’m nervous that she’s not going to like it. I’m worried that she might get a package and someone may ask questions. I’m putting my last name on the return address so she’ll know not to open it in front of anyone she may not want to see it, but it still makes me nervous that I’m overstepping.
I’ve decided to go through with it anyway. If she doesn’t like it, she’ll let me know. I’m tired of walking around on eggshells and second guessing myself. I worked hard on her gift and I really do think that if she can get over that it’s coming from me, she’ll really like it. Or I could be totally wrong and it could be a lame gift.
Enough second guessing. I’m sending it. Lately my second guessing has been for nothing so we’ll see how this one goes.
Lately I’ve been all about the wedding planning. Good news is that most of the big stuff is done. Bad news is that now it’s all the little details that seem to increase everyday. Lovely. It’s made me think a lot though about how sometimes it’s the big stuff that’s easy and the little stuff that’s the hardest.
I found my natural parents and eventually sisters. Big stuff, done! Learning how to navigate the waters afterward, now that’s the hardest stuff. It’s the little things that seem to trip us up. To friend or not to friend on Facebook? Not a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but it feels like the biggest deal in the world. To call or not to call? Not a huge thing, but when you are in the middle of trying to come off interested without being overly enthusiastic, it’s a tricky balance to maintain. It’s easy to decide to meet up somewhere. The hard part is figuring out where three people at three different ages are all going to have fun that’s in an appropriate geographical location.
I made the decision to do DNA testing and spit in a vial. Twice. Big stuff done! Now I’m navigating two different DNA sites trying to get the most information out of it, wondering the whole time if the whole thing will blow up in my face. I’ve decided that I’m not keeping myself a secret anymore, but I’m sure my natural mother probably wouldn’t like it very much if her relatives started matching up to me DNA wise and then she had explaining to do. It’s my DNA and I’ll do what I want with it. But there’s still some drama that could potentially come out of it, and it’s the little things, the “what if”s that make it a lot harder to deal with.
Big decisions are easy. Sometimes it’s really hard to make those decisions, and you can’t really take away from that. However, I’m finding that it’s the little things that seem to catch me up these days. It’s just little stuff right? No big deal! I’ll get there…
Apparently DNA testing is all the rage. Remember how often I write about something and then BOOM things change the same day I wrote about it? Yeah, that thing. Anyway, I just finished writing about how I haven’t had any really close matches that could help me out with my quest for identity in the whole DNA sphere. It’s not that big of a deal. I have my grandparents names and birthdays, and I can trace my paternal side all the way back to France in the 1400′s. Pretty neat. My maternal side is like the Sahara Desert. There’s pretty much nothing there because apparently my people don’t like to keep good records and oh yeah, they all name their kids the same thing so there’s like 10 people in the same neighborhood with the same name. Lovely.
I’m not sure torn up about the whole thing though because at this point, it’s just a hobby. I’ve reunited with my parents. I have two kick ass sisters I get to hang out with pretty much whenever I want (well, one of them anyway). So this is just for my own enjoyment now. I knew my father’s name about two minutes after I learned my mother’s thanks to the two of them being married and a free online database of birthdays. I’m not an adoptee who needs DNA to figure out who their father is. But there are still a lot of secrets in my family so I figured if I can clear some of those up, I’m all for it. I want my children to have accurate family trees someday, and this is a huge part of it.
I’m on Ancestry.comDNA, and 23andMe. Ancestry because I have a massive tree there (and I’ve gotten a lot of information from it), and 23andMe because I’m pretty desperate to figure out this whole medical issue I have going on. 23andMe offered no clues into that particular issue, but that’s OK. It did break down my ancestry a lot better for me DNA wise (much better than Ancestry.com did) and I matched up with a bunch of people, most who just ignore me when I send requests. Until this week. Because, you know, I blogged about it.
I was contacted by a new match the day after I wrote about how we need larger sample sizes. I believe we’re cousins somehow through my maternal side. And she seems to be really interested in genealogy I wrote her back this morning and I hoping that she’s able to help me figure out my grandmother’s tree. It would be amazing if I could flesh out three grandparents’ trees instead of just two. Wish me luck!
DNA testing has come a long way over the past few years. The biggest thing now is having more people participate. The more people who give their samples, the larger the database becomes, and the more luck people will have. It’s simple math. With every person who gives a DNA sample, the odds of finding someone you are related to goes up just a little bit higher. It’s gives adoptees more hope when everything else seems to be a dead end.
It doesn’t always happen right away. I have yet to be matched with anyone close. If I wasn’t already in reunion, then I’d be stuck right now. Seriously stuck. However, my DNA is out there. Others who come along later could be matched to me. Three years from now I could get an email from a cousin asking who I am because we matched as cousins. It’s a very real possibility. I have relatives (who don’t know about me) who are into genealogy. Because of them I can prove now (through DNA) that I’m my father’s daughter. Thanks relatives who don’t know I exist!
Eventually I’m going to have to seriously go through my results. I never really sat down with all my matches to compare names and try to figure things out. I should because I paid a lot of money for this service and I haven’t taken full advantage, but I’ll get there eventually. Hopefully after the wedding. I’ve been thinking about it more and more lately. I have so many things that I want to do with all this stuff, and I don’t have the time to do it. It can be frustrating.
I fully intended to blog last week. Really and truly I did. And then the Boston Marathon Bombings happened. I wrote a post on Lost Daughters. And I couldn’t really write after that. My home was under attack. I had family and friends who saw things they shouldn’t have seen. It was terrifying.
I did see some amazing things. I was checked in on, something I didn’t expect. It was nice to feel cared about. I watched people come together, and a group of people who we often avoid be treated as the heros they are. My uncle is a Boston cop, and I’ve never been prouder of him.
I’m still processing. It’s going to take a while after everything that happened. But I’m here, I’m going to be blogging, and I’m happy to see where the future takes us. Hope you’re all well!
I took a week off from blogging. It was a busy week. This week is going to be busy too. Sometimes it’s really nice to be busy. Being busy keeps my mind focused on other things and lifts me up. There’s been a lot going on lately and I’m honestly about ready for a break.
I’m convinced that I suffer from seasonal affective disorder at this point. I get down in the dumps every winter now. No matter what I do, I can’t seem to shake it until the weather starts to turn around and BOOM I’m back to normal. It happened last year too. And now that I think of it, the year before that. I’m just glad I’m back to feeling somewhat normal at this point.
I’ve been working on my Mother’s Day projects. I have a bunch of stuff completed, including my natural mother’s set. I may switch her colors though because they didn’t come out exactly the same and I sort of want her to get the best because she’s more likely to judge me than my grandmothers are. I’m working on it. My mom saw all the finished products the other day and couldn’t get over how many of them there are and how pretty they are. I still have a ton to do though (not even half done!) so I have a lot of work to do.
In other news, I’m baking a lot lately. Maybe I’ll find some pictures to post sometime later this week!
I mentioned in my last post that I would never want my sisters to have to chose between my natural mother and me. I mean it when I say that. I’ve found that when it comes to adoption there are many many walls and sides to pick and chose from. Often it’s an “either or”, something that I truly hate. It shouldn’t be one side or the other. But that’s for many things in life. Life isn’t always black and white. There’s lots of gray.
I hate it when people want me to pick between my two families, because I do have two very real families. I have the adoptive family that raised me. I have the natural family that I come from. Both are very real and I count them ALL as family. Nobody will ever convince me otherwise because I believe that to my very core. It’s a part of who I am.
Asking me to pick between my two families is like telling me that I have to chop off one of my hands. I can pick which one, but I’m going to lose a hand. No matter which one I pick, I’m going to mourn the loss of the other one. Everyday, I’m going to miss having my hand. When I get dressed in the morning first thing, I’m going to miss my hand while pulling on my pants. When I’m at work and typing with just one hand, I’m going to really miss having two. When I’m cooking dinner at home, I’m going to wish I didn’t have to make that choice. When I can’t crochet anymore, I’m going to mourn the loss of a part of me. That being said, if I have to make the choice, I understand which one is more logical. I’d make a “smart” choice, not because I want to, but because I have to. It’s a reality that is hard to accept.
Asking my sisters to choose between me and my natural mother is like asking me to chose which hand to chop off. And I know which hand would win. It would suck for me. Royally. And I would hurt. And I’d miss them. And it would be sad. But I would never blame them. I’d never be angry with them. I’d be angry at the person who asked them to make the choice. Because it would really suck to lose a hand. It would alter you forever. And I would be ticked off that someone forced them to lose a part of themselves for their own selfish reasons. I won’t be asking them to pick. I couldn’t do that to them and I pray that nobody else would either.
A friend recently asked me if I was scared they are going to cut me off. This friend didn’t understand how my sisters could have a relationship with me while I do not have an active relationship with my natural mother. I had to explain about the line verses the wall. And I also had to explain that I know if my sisters for forced to choose, I know it wouldn’t be easy for them. I know they wouldn’t want to make that choice. And they wouldn’t want to walk away. If they ever did, it would be one of the hardest choices they’d have to make. I understand this because I would feel the same way if someone forced me to chose.
I have a secret in my back pocket too. If my sisters were forced to chose tomorrow, I know which hand they would pick. I wouldn’t blame them one bit. They are young. They need their parents. Heck, even I need my parents at 25. So I wouldn’t blame them at all. However, someday they are going to grow up more. And their parents won’t have as much of an influence. And then we’d have another shot. We’d have another chance later. It’s a marathon, not a sprint. So I’d just go back to living my life. And eventually things would change. Things would be good. And then we’d start over again. Knowing that makes it easier. It takes away a lot of the fear. It will all work out in the end. Of this I am sure.