my first 27 hours

I was born just after 2am on February 19th, 1979 in a house somewhere Birmingham, Michigan. The address I am unaware of and the name of the woman that gave me life is unknown as well. Curiously, I was not checked into Beaumont hospital until approximately 5am on the 20th; 27 hours later.

My parents lived in Michigan but were originally from England and my father took a job back in London which ultimately separated them. They have not spoke since then yet sometime shortly after his departure, she witnessed her first signs of my life. To this very day, my father has no idea that I even exist. I do not possess the words to describe what that means to me.

In the past five years I have sought, my adoption agency has found and my biological mother is now aware that I am looking for her. She admitted that the telephone conversation she had with my adoption agency was the first where she spoke of me since she dropped me off for adoption when I was less than a week old. I envy her profound ability to keep a secret.

She returned to England shortly after my birth. I am her only child so her parents, now in their 80s, have no idea that they are actually grandparents. She has yet to tell the man she has lived with for the past twenty-five-plus years that she is a mother, as she has carried no other children.

I have read the report and know I share a physical likeness to her. Some aspect of me will always be empty without meeting her yet somehow I am supposed to accept the fact that 35 years ago, the woman who held me, cared for me and nursed me decided after 27 hours together to give me away? Do not speak to me of selfless decisions. She stared at a child who has the same pale complexion, dark auburn hair and same dark blue eyes that she has and then gave me away? I apologize but there is more than an explanation due. 

I know the date I was adopted, the date my son was born and the birth dates of my immediate family members; these dates remind me of something great. Those dates matter to me but as I grow older, my birthday only reminds me of a conflict and I have begun to hate it.

In terms of meeting her one day, she is the one that must go back in the past and open old wounds. She will have to answer to the charges of larceny for decades for fatherhood and grand-parenting as well as the now almost 3 decades of concealing me to the man she trusts.

In the wake of all of that, I remain hopeful. In a certain light, I need her. I wish her the humility that I have learned from her not being there, I wish her the strength that I have developed from facing the adversity of being adopted and I wish her the same fearlessness displayed by the grandson she is not yet aware exists.

Here is to her one day soon making that voyage; I will be here waiting.