My Heart Has Two Homes

It isn’t easy to write from the depths of the soul, but to do so is beautiful. My heart is wide open, and if it helps someone else, the vulnerability is worth it.

I was given up for adoption in July 1973. I went into foster care for 3 months while the adoption went through. My foster parents wrote a letter to my adoptive parents, and apparently I was “an adorable little girl. A very happy engaging little doll who loves to be held and talked to but doesn’t like loud voices.” I haven’t changed much in 46 years.

In 2009 the Ontario government announced that adoption records would be opened unless a disclosure veto was filed. I knew I might one day want to find my biological parents, but I at that time I had a brand new baby, a 4 and 6 year old, and did not want to be contacted. I sent in my disclosure veto to protect my family’s privacy.

As the years went by I started to feel ready to search for my biological parents. I was 42 and I knew they were getting older. I was finally emotionally prepared and mature enough to deal with any eventuality. If I wanted to find them, the time was now.In September 2014, I sent away to Service Ontario for my Adoption Order and Statement of Live Birth which I received several weeks later. I saw my mother’s beautiful handwriting on the original document. I searched her name and was sad to see that she had died in 2006. I was prepared for this eventuality. Through her obituary, I found my biological Aunt on FaceBook and stalked every photo to make sure she was semi-normal before reaching out. I was duped! (Just kidding Auntie.)

I sent this FaceBook message and waited:

Hello,
The wonders of modern technology. I am quite certain that your sister was my birth mother. After all these years, I finally had the courage to find out who she was. Sadly, it appears that she died in 2006. I am so sorry that you lost your sister and I will never get to meet her. I realize this correspondence may come as a shock to you, and for that I apologize. I will certainly understand if you would rather not be contacted, and I will respect your privacy implicitly. You likely wonder what on earth I hope to achieve by writing to you. I’m not certain of the answer to this, other than to perhaps understand what she was like, and to express how grateful I am that she chose to give birth to me. I do hope to hear back from you, but I completely understand if you prefer to leave the past in the past.
With love,
Lesley

I literally refreshed the browser every few seconds. Checked morning, noon and night for a response. As time went on, I came to the conclusion that my Aunt didn’t want to be contacted. I respected that and went on about my business, working and being a mom of three.

Then 8 months later I received this reply:

“Oh my GOODNESS!!!!! Lesley. I am bawling my eyes out. Oh my gosh it’s you!!!!! You look exactly like both your biological Mom and Dad. We looked and looked for you to no avail. I didn’t see this message until right this second. I didn’t even know there was a second mailbox for non-FaceBook friends. Lesley, I’ve waited 42 years for this moment. I’ve got all the time in the world for you.”

We’ve been soul-sisters ever since.

My Aunt led me to my father who I met in October of 2015. I summoned every ounce of courage that day we met. He was upstairs at a restaurant of his choosing, my only request was to go somewhere with a decent wine list. I did not know then that my father is a wine connoisseur.

I could feel the blood pulsating through my body as I climbed each step. We locked eyes, and I began the long walk across the room. I can remember the darkness of the wide-plank wooden floors, the way the sunlight shone and reflected off the white vaulted ceiling. It was a funky place. I approved. We hugged. During that lunch we talked for 4 hours, drank as many bottles of wine, laughed and connected. Over the past few years, we have grown extremely close, and I treasure the opportunity to know my father.

My life has been enriched by my beautiful Aunt, my father, his wonderful fiancee and my two half-brothers. I am so very blessed. I am fortunate that I got to meet my maternal Grandfather before his passing last summer, and my maternal Grandmother who is a wonderful lady and talented artist.

Finding my biological family means that I have peace of mind about my medical history. It means that I know what my heritage is. I can see my features reflected in another’s face. It has solidified my sense of identity. I am allowed to take up space. It has improved my confidence immensely. Growing up I had low self-esteem. I always felt less worthy than my friends. I was relinquished. Unwanted. I didn’t belong. I felt shame. I felt a lack of control. Understanding the circumstances of my birth has helped my healing. Knowing my story and owning it has empowered me. Talking about it has dissolved the shame.

My adoptive parents gave me everything. I love them to bits, and I adore my adoptive brother. I am so grateful for the life they gave me. I was good at school, but God knows I gave my parents a tough go. I tested, challenged and pushed them to the limit. They thought I was rebellious, but I was suffering from grief. I had unresolved trauma.

At age 15, I didn’t think life was worth living. I needed love and affirmation.They didn’t know how to help me. If they’d had the tools to help me, I know they would have used them because they love me and want the best for me.

I suffered from the grief and unresolved trauma until the end of last year when during my awakening I realized that I cannot expect people to be the way I need or want them to be.

People just are. Everything happens for our soul’s highest purpose. Everyone has their own pain, their own trauma. I can see now how to stand back and give space, to pass no judgement, and send love. I can say thank you.

Thank you.

Being adopted doesn’t mean no one loves me. It means that the ones who gave me life love me, and the ones who raised me love me. Acceptance means that I have found peace. It means that my heart has two homes.