Adoption Week e-Magazine Article
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Reunited
K.R.
It was October 2, 1988; I was one month shy of 15 when I gave birth to my first baby - a girl. I went through a private adoption and opted for an open adoption at first but changed my mind 3 months later. I left a permanent address where the adoptive parents could always reach me just in case there might be some questions about health issues later in my daughter’s life. I never mentioned who the father was even though I knew his name, where he lived, and what his heritage was. Imagine my surprise when in 2003 I went to visit my grandmother in PA (my permanent address) and she told me I had a few pieces of mail waiting on the china stand. I figured I had gotten a few of those nasty bills that tend to sneak up on you. I opened the certified letter first, not noticing the return address from a lawyer in MN.
I started to read it and almost fell face first onto the coffee table. My 15-year- old daughter was wanting some information on her heritage and who her birth father was. I called the number on the letterhead and the lawyer said that if I wanted to, I could contact the adoptive mother and speak with her directly, so I did just that.
I found out my daughter is diabetic and needs her birth father’s information. I informed them that her birth dad never knew she was born and I lost track of him about 5 years ago but I could find him easy enough and that I would tell him he had a daughter. That was the hardest thing I had to do since giving up my baby.
He was happy at first, then mad. He wanted to know why he was excluded from her and all the important decisions that I made regarding OUR child. I told him about the phone call I made to his house looking to see if they wanted to keep the baby I was having and what his mother said to me. He had NO idea I even called him. I told him that I did what I thought was best for all of us and I found her a great home and that she was looking for him and had lots of questions to ask, if he was willing to talk to her. He had a question of paternity, and I told him that there was no mistake. He is Tlingit Indian, and I am white so I sent him our daughter’s birth picture - my little Indian baby with the jet-black hair. He agreed there was no doubt, and on June 6, 2003 he met with her via e-mail.
Things have been going great for them. I have backed out of the picture, because I think she blames me for everything. I just take it all in stride. She will learn the whole truth in time, and I will be there with open arms whenever she is ready to forgive.
