Connecting. Part 1

I met Donna shortly after I searched for my birth mother. I was forty years old, engaged to be married, getting ready to start a family. I’d lost my adopted father three years prior, and my widowed mom was declining. So the timing felt rather less complicated than it had. I hired a private detective who specialized in closed adoptions, and within two weeks, bam, my birth mother was found. Address, phone #, work history, family members. I’d been wondering about her for years, and seemingly overnight, here she was. Alive and well and living in Florida.

Now it was game time. I had to phone her.

“Why can’t I write her a letter?” I asked the detective.

“You could. But you'd lose control of the process. This is the quickest way to learn if she’s amenable to you contacting her. Don’t worry, I’ll script you.”

“Great. What do I say?” “Well, you have to ease her into the notion that it’s you, and keep asking her permission before proceeding further. Women from that era did not disclose to many that they gave up a child for adoption. You have to ascertain she’s not among family members, or sitting there playing canasta with the parish priest.”

“Ohhhh, that makes sense.” I shook off another feeling of foreboding.

“After confirming that it’s her on the phone, tell her your name, date of birth, and that you’re calling from California about a personal matter. Then, ask her if it’s okay to continue. Are you still with me?"

"Yep."

"Telling her you’re in California is important. It assures her you’re not waiting down the street with Oprah and a camera crew.”

Thank you, colorful detective. But, importantly, she was showing sensitivity to the delicate situation coming for this unsuspecting woman. I’d read enough about adoptee and bio-mom “reunions” to know that not all of them went smoothly. I was grateful for her guidance.

Before we hung up I expressed my surprise at how quickly her search went.

“It went quickly because you had your original, pre-adoption birth certificate. We knew there was a good chance your name was the same as your birth mother’s. It was the only thing she could give you.”