Dallas, what a trip

WARNING: This is a long one and you might need a Kleenex.

I just returned from a solo trip to Dallas. I grew up there, have been back home a million times since moving to VA. This particular trip was one of a kind and highly anticipated. Something happened in Texas this week that I really have barely ever mentioned on my blog. Let me start with a little history.

Sixty-eight days after turning 18 years old, I gave birth at 42 weeks to a 5 pound baby boy. I was not in a place in my life where I was totally ready to be a parent. Believe me, I wanted to be a parent, but at 18 with no support and a long-term relationship that was beginning to crumble, I felt forced to choose adoption. I had always thought I would have an abortion if I ever got pregnant, but when it became a reality, abortion was not an option. Secretly, I was hoping that sometime during the span of February 1990 to October 1990 some way, some how I would be able to find a way, surely someone would come around and help make it possible for me to keep my baby. That never happened.

It was terribly painful to live with the reality that someone else would be raising my child. I went to my regular doctor visits, I visited with my social worker from the adoption agency in Ft. Worth on a regular basis and really tried to be okay but I wasn't. I cried enough tears to fill the Gulf of Mexico by the time all was said and done. I was left empty and sad, changed forever. This was a major turning point in my life. It was when I realized that I needed to be someone who could support herself and become a person who never let lack of money or resources prevent wishes and desires from becoming a reality. At the time, I had no plans for college, was a recent high school grad who was just living day-to-day, no goals and no life plan. On one hand, I was broken and devastated to the point of feeling I would never be happy again. On the other hand, my choice, although it felt forced at the time, expanded my self-awareness. It was a wake up call of the highest magnitude. Best of all and lucky for me, my baby was matched up with incredible people who were (obviously) ready and aching to be parents and who would prove over time that they loved and appreciated me for making that difficult choice.

My son's adoption was closed, meaning we did not know where each other lived, names or anything. They knew what my boyfriend and I looked like, what we said on the information packets we filled out and other various things relayed by the social worker in charge of my case. I knew only basic information about them and that they were beyond thrilled to be new parents. I knew they were showering my child with love. They were having the experience that I wanted. It killed me. I wanted to be them. I wanted my baby back, all the while knowing my choice was forever and that I would have to learn to accept the situation if I was ever going to feel okay again.

As the years have passed and perspective set in (thank you, therapy), there is one thing that has touched me to the core. My son's parents have, without fail, written me annually (with pictures) with no obligation to do so. The agency acted as a middleman, screening our letters in order to maintain the boundary of privacy. It was painful in a way, but it gave me peace to read the words and see my baby's beautiful, happy face. I believed everything they said and I believed they were perfect. Over time, I did share my first name and they shared the first name they had given "our" son, which was nice and made the letter writing easier. I always wrote them back.

This October will mark 20 years since the birth of my very first baby. Never in a million years would I ever allow myself to believe that he would want to meet me when he turned 18. I hoped he would, but I always assumed he would be married, maybe his wife would suggest he find me or spark some curiosity in him which would eventually lead to us meeting or talking or something. Never did I think that at age 18 he would jump through all of the required hoops that the State of Texas lays out in order for birth parents and their adopted children to open their sealed records, but he did. Once we both jumped through all of the hoops, we learned full names, addresses, phone numbers. This corresponded with my 37th birthday - the best gift ever, though the timing was purely a coincidence.

I thought that finally knowing his full name and where he grew up was awesome, and to be able to email him was super cool. Our weekly phone conversations stepped things up a notch, hearing his voice was incredible. We talked about meeting in person but the timing did not seem right at first. Things changed this spring, and the ball started rolling at that point and did not stop. As wonderful as these new developments were, it was hard at times. This is not only about me and about him. I have two young children and a partner. He is a young adult with his own life and family. There is a lot to consider, a lot of emotions that were stuffed for so many years, expectations, boundaries and a little hesitation, however, things always have a way of working themselves out. In my mind, the risk of things not turning out well was worth taking. This was an opportunity that I could never turn away from, not after all I had been through over the years trying to come to terms what I always looked at as the greatest loss of my life.

I saw my first born for the first time in 19.5 years on Tuesday of this week. I spent an entire afternoon with him. It was easy being together. We had lunch, went to the big aquarium downtown and walked around, exploring and people watching. I could hardly take my eyes off of him. We laughed and talked just like we do on the phone, but this time I got to see his face. I wondered several times if it was all a dream. His mom even flew into town, and I got to meet her the following day. She is just as amazing as I had always pictured her to be. She kept in contact with me as much as she could through all of the last 19 years so that if he wanted to eventually find me one day he could do that. Now that I am a mom, I can really appreciate what an selfless act that was. If I had been in her shoes, I really do not know if I could have done the same thing. The simple act of writing me an annual letter played a such a role in my comfort level with the whole adoption, and I am forever grateful to she and her husband for that.

Now that the one dream, the one wish that I have always wanted to come true has come true, I'm a little numb. I'm sad. I'm happy. I am excited. I feel like shouting from the rooftops. I feel like bawling my eyes out. Things have come full circle, and it is probably going to take a while to put it all in perspective. I do not know where all of this will lead or if we will have any kind of relationship in the future, and I am okay with that. All I know is that the people who loved and nurtured my baby and raised him to be the person he is today are exceptional people who have raised an exceptional young man who loves me. That is all I ever wanted. I never thought I'd see the day or hear those words. I'm at peace.