Do you ever get bored of telling a story over and over again? It’s like listening to a song so many times that when it comes on the radio you want to change it but can’t help but leave it where it’s at and sing along.
That’s what happens when people ask me about being adopted: what happened? Why did it happen? When did it happen?But being adopted doesn’t ever change no matter how many times I tell the story. Always hear how jealous other people are of my life; “I get stuff handed to me”, “I don’t work for my things”, “I’m spoiled”, and whatever else has been passed around, but what they don’t e is the envy I look at everyone with when see them with their parents or when I see a 5 year old is crying because they lost their mom is the store, when mine left me at the neighbor’s house. When I was younger I used to be teased for being adopted; the fact that my parents are white and my brother and I are brown, how I wasn’t wanted, and eventually I became okay with it.Although now I am okay with being adopted that doesn’t mean I’m not curious about what happened. I have always searched for them on Google, Namespace, twitter, Backbone and would always come up with some bullwhip errors just pretending to be someone, and although they saw it as some funny game but it was a nasty joke to me that would tare up my hope every year. So when my mom’s (my real mom’s) personal investigator found the names of my brother and my birth mom the first thing I did was search for them on Backbone, I found my brother and I messaged him three times on October 29, 2013 and received nothing.Finally when I had given up on everything he replied back asking if it was a joke, and 1 0 minutes later we were on the phone. I couldn’t do anything but cry.
That day was the same day alike to my biological mom for the first time, my brother asked if I was ready but as soon as she got on the phone froze. Not like it matter what did all she could do was cry into the phone, tell me how much she loved my brother and l, how much she missed us, and never forgot us no matter what was going on in their lives.After about 10 minutes she told me she would call me back later that night so we could talk about everything and that she loved me very much, but I was still stuck trying to figure out what to call this woman and she was already planning the next conversation. Good thing that was 10 months ago, she’s given me plenty of time to decide what to say if she ever actually calls. My biological dad on the other hand at least told me that he didn’t want to talk to me anymore.The very first time I talked to him through Backbone I didn’t call him dad, instead called him by his name and he argued that it was “dad” – I respectfully apologized and told him that I had a father and it wasn’t him. At that moment I didn’t know if I was more frustrated or confused by the fact that he wanted me to call him dad or that he thought I loud; in my eyes he left that privilege behind when he didn’t show up for court. Our conversation ended with “from the bottom of my heart take care”.
What hurts the most what that the effort he put forth after 18 years through a Backbone conversation confirmed for myself that I didn’t miss out on much with those two. I guess some things never change. I’ve become a Backbone stalker when it comes to them, always wanting to know who’s who and what’s happening where; but it’s all for the bigger aspect of wanting to piece my own story together. No one knows what it is like to feel unwanted, as if there was something wrong with you.I openly invited them into my world and maybe even I got my hopes up too high too soon thinking they would have as many questions about me as I do them, but that wasn’t the case. Sometimes I wonder if I should regret ever opening those doors for them but if I hadn’t I wouldn’t be able to realize that it wasn’t me all of the years, it was them. I think the thing that broke my heart the most was that I was so positive that maybe after 10 more kids, after my oldest brother and sister, my brother, our ingest brother and myself were all taken away that they would have changed.I have talked to so many people who are related to me in some way but all anyone can tell me is that the only person who can answer my questions is the one person who doesn’t want to talk to me and if my biological mom really did love and miss me like she said she wouldn’t have me waiting for her call.
We were adopted July of 1 996 from Flagstaff, AZ. I was almost 2 years old and my brother was 3. Within the past year before that we had lived in 8 different foster homes together, not including the couples of souses I was left at.
Now 18 years later sit back and think about how my mom is home every night when I get off of work to hug me goodnight 18 years later, my dad is there every time I need help answering a math problem 1 8 years later, my boyfriend is there every time I am lost or confused after only being apart of my world for a short period of time, and the rest of my family is there to pick up the pieces I drop along my way. Was born into the most remarkable eccentric family any one could ever hope, wish or pray for.I wouldn’t trade being adopted for anything in the world; the opportunities, the experiences, the love, the friendships, even all the heartbreaks and the tears lost.
My parents are the most supportive, creative, hardworking loving people anyone could ever ask or wish to know, yet alone have as parents. If were to be able to have the choice of what parents that wanted to raise me, they would be who I would choose 11 out of 11 times.No matter what day it is or what heartbreak I am going through wouldn’t trade my life of curiosity or a life of unanswered questions for anything. What hurts the most what that the effort he put forth after 1 8 years through a meeting wrong with you. Openly invited them into my world and maybe even got my hopes up too high too soon thinking they would have as many questions about me as do them, but that wasn’t the case. Sometimes I wonder if I should regret ever opening those doors for them but if hadn’t I changed. Eve talked to so many people who are related to me in some way me waiting for her call. We were adopted July of 1996 from Flagstaff, AZ.
I was houses I was left at. Now 18 years later I sit back and think about how my mom is home every night when get off of work to hug me goodnight 18 ears later, my dad is there every time need help answering a math problem 18 years later, my boyfriend is there every time I am lost or confused after family is there to pick up the pieces I drop along my way.