by White, Gwynn
Get your birth certificate from the state where you were born. I had no idea where I was born. Damn.
Go to your local adoption agency and see if they can help. I guess I could do that.
Then I found something that looked promising: Adoption Search Angels. I had no idea such a thing existed. Reading further, I discovered they work for free. Free is good, considering my limited finances. They’re volunteers who are emotionally invested in uniting adopted children with their birth parents, often because they went through the same thing at one time.
I got up and paced around the house. I watched a couple of TV shows. I made myself a club sandwich for lunch, which took quite a bit of time. I ate it watching a couple more shows. I had a bowl of ice cream for dessert. Finally, taking a can of Diet Coke back to my desk, I Googled “adoption search angels list.” Wow, it turned out there were a lot of them!
My eyes filled with tears. Curling up in a fetal position on the bed, I started sobbing. I missed my mom so badly, it ached.
I had to do this. I needed answers about myself.
Wiping the tears from my face with a sleeve, I got back on the computer.
There were all kinds of Search Angel sites. One had glittery animated angels flapping their wings along the top of the page that had links to the volunteers. Another had pictures of angels watching over babies in baskets. There were also plain pages and lots of forums.
I decided to start out gradually by asking questions anonymously in one of the forums. I picked a forum to join and signed up with the username BallerinaGirl. I chose that as a pledge of loyalty to my mom who raised me, a username based on the tiny dancing girl in her jewelry box. I found an image of a ballerina online that was free to use and made that my avatar.
Then I took the plunge.
I entered the main forum and posted this: I just found out about adoption search angels. How do I go about finding one? I’m adopted and want to find my birth mom. I titled the post: In Need of an Adoption Search Angel.
I fought the urge to delete it. I hopped on Netflix and watched an hour-long show to try to forget what I’d done. I didn’t expect an answer, but I felt naked after sending that request out into the world. It was ridiculous because no one knew who BallerinaGirl was or where she was from. I hadn’t posted any identifying information. Truth be told, BallerinaGirl was actually a little metal girl with a pink tutu glued onto her forever and ever. She lived in a box and whenever anyone lifted the lid, she was forced to twirl round and round. Ugh. That sounded terrible. It made my real life seem pretty spectacular.
When the show was over, I went back out into the kitchen to throw my soda can into the recycle bin. Noticing the dishes in the sink, I decided to empty the dishwasher and load it up with dirty dishes. Clearly trying to avoid my computer, I went on an obsessive-compulsive streak, scrubbing the sink out and wiping down the counters.
Finally, curiosity got the better of me and I knew I had to peek at the forum. I grabbed another can of Diet Coke and returned to my desk.
Before I had a chance to get online, I received a text message from my dad: Won’t be home until late. Eating dinner here. Money in the kitchen drawer for pizza. That OK?
I typed back: sounds good. no problem.
A pang of guilt went through me. I felt like I was about to betray my dad.
Getting back into the forum, I searched for my post. Running my finger down the list of new ones, I finally found In Need of an Adoption Search Angel. It had 100 comments already! WTF. I clicked on the post. My head started to swim. There really were a tremendous number of comments.
Taking a swig of soda and reminding myself to breathe and stop hyperventilating, I started reading. Many of the comments were people simply wishing me good luck and telling me they’d been through the same thing. There were many statements of having never regretted it. A few saying it was the best thing they’d ever done. A few writing long diatribes about how horrible their birth mothers turned out to be and how they wished they’d never met them. Sprinkled in the conversation were ten actual search angels. Ten already! How many were there in the world, I wondered, helping people find their way back to their biological parents?
My hands shook as I clicked on messages. Over and over, I had to remind myself to slow down, concentrate and breathe.
I read all ten messages from the search angels as carefully as I possibly could with all the adrenalin and fear racing through my body. What if these people weren’t who they said they were? What if I bared my soul to some creep pretending to be an angel?
After reading through all the posts by the search angels twice, I picked one. Her name was Hannah Chandler. She had her own website. It looked professional. Plain white background. Fancy black lettering edged in gold along the top that simply stated: Hannah Chandler, Adoption Search Angel…Underneath in smaller letters: Let me be your guide. A separate section labeled Family Photos showed both her birth family and her adoptive family. An About My Own Journey section talked about how difficult it had been to reconcile her origins with where she grew up. She was Romanian. She had been given up by her parents and placed in an orphanage in Romania. She wrote about how a couple of workers took a shine to her and doted on her and saved her from the neglect that so many of the other orphans experienced. She was adopted when she only eighteen months old and doesn’t remember anything before the age of three. Her first memory was a happy one: going to a water park with her family, her adoptive parents catching her as she slid down a waterslide in the kids’ pool.
I replied to her comment in my forum thread: I’ll PM you. Then I sent her a brief private message: I’m interested in the services you provide. I’d like to find my birth mom. How does this work?
She answered within seconds: Hello! I’m happy to help you. As with all reputable search angels, I don’t charge any money. If you find my services helpful and want to pay something, you can donate to any of the charities listed on my website, or another of your choosing. All the charities on my website help orphans. Now, what is your real name? I’ll need that to begin the search. Also, do you know where you were born? The hospital? If not, maybe the city or state, or country if you were born outside the United States?
My hands shook as I replied: My name is Jade Whitaker. Anxiety crept up the back of my neck, gave me a prickly feeling and that horrible out-of-body experience that I recognize as a full-blown anxiety attack. I was letting this complete stranger know my name and asking them to search for a person related to me by blood that I might be better off not knowing.
At this point, however, I was committed. I needed to see this through.
I typed: I don’t know any of the other information.
Hannah replied: Have you asked your adoptive parents about how you came to be adopted and if they have any records on your birth?
Tears streamed down my face as I replied. It was as though a floodgate had opened. Sobbing, my hands trembling, I typed: My mom (adoptive mom) died last year. She and my dad never told me anything about my adoption. I never asked, but now I want to know.
Hannah answered: Honey, I’m so sorry. May I ask you a question? You aren’t hoping that your biological mother will actually mother you, are you? That doesn’t always work out.
I was shocked by the question. I said: No, not at all. No one could ever replace my mom. She died of ovarian cancer and I’ve been having pain in my lower right abdomen. I suddenly realized it would be helpful to know my genetics.
Hannah replied: Can you ask your father about your adoption? It would help a great deal in our search.
I typed: Can I think about it?
Hannah answered: Of course. Everything’s on your schedule, dear. I’m just here to help.
I typed: Thank you.
That night, I thought long and hard about talking to my dad. When he came home, he looked too exhausted to approach. I decided I’d try the next day.
I slept fitfully that night. I finally decided to get up when I woke for the bazillionth ti
me at 9:00 AM. I found my dad in the kitchen drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. He still reads a paper version of the news every single day. There was a plate on the table filled with toast crumbs and gobs of strawberry jelly swimming in butter. He always heaps toppings on everything he eats, even jelly toast. His coffee would be the same way: multiple spoonfuls of sugar. I had started worrying about him after losing my mom, worried that he’d have a heart attack if he didn’t change his eating habits.
He looked up from the paper, said good morning and took a sip of coffee before returning to whatever he was reading. The headlines on the front page facing me screamed in large font: Disease from Alien Visitors Spreads Eastward. That was scary. I’d been reading online about people on the West Coast seeing humanoid creatures with green skin and large black eyes, or gray skin and the same kind of eyes. They said the eyes were so black and reflective, they hypnotized you. Then the creatures did something that scrambled your thoughts and downloaded images into your mind, often in rapid succession—just like when you click on something that you shouldn’t in your emails or online and viruses start streaming into your computer in rapid succession and damage it beyond repair. Except that with these creatures, it was your brain that was being destroyed. Scientists had started thinking that some kind of weird, alien virus might be involved because the effect was starting to spread to people in nearby areas who had no known contact with the aliens. There was talk about placing all of California, Oregon and Washington state under quarantine.
I poured cereal into a bowl, drowned it in milk and sat down at the table. I brought up the story on the front page before addressing the issue of my adoption. I said, “What do you think about the story on the front page?”
Looking up through the top of his bifocals, my dad said, “I think it’s mass hysteria. People going nuts for whatever reason and believing in something that isn’t really there to justify it. We’re living in trying times. It makes sense that people in California were the first to see the aliens. People out there believe in all kinds of stuff—healing crystals, chemtrails, that fake Morgellons disease, using marijuana to cure disease. The culture’s ripe for people blaming their problems on aliens from outer space.”
I didn’t want to contradict him because I didn’t want to get him upset, but it wasn’t true that Californians were the first to report seeing aliens. The first report actually came from a group of hikers in the Adirondack Mountains of New York State. Soon after that, an airplane pilot reported seeing flying saucers over the village of Aurora, New York.
I ate my cereal in silence for a few minutes. Then, as casually as I could, I said, “Hey, Dad, can you tell me about my adoption?”
Dad closed his newspaper. His facial expression changed to one of deep sadness, like the sky when storm clouds suddenly roll in. He said, “Sure. I knew this day would come.” Then he got up and walked out of the room.
I didn’t know what to make of that. Was he mad at me?
He came back into the kitchen with a large manila envelope in his hands. Sitting back down at the table, he said, “Your birth certificate’s in here. It doesn’t have the name of your father on it, but it does have the name of the woman who gave birth to you.” He placed the envelope on the table between us and slid it toward me.
I looked at him. I wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the right words.
My dad rubbed his hand through his hair, a telltale sign that he was nervous. I’d won poker games against him after I’d recognized that tell. He said, “I hope you aren’t trying to replace your mother. It would break her heart.”
That was probably true; but I was pretty sure it was his way of telling me it would break his heart, too, even though he’d never admit it. I would have been more shocked that he’d even suggested such a thing except that the search angel had already questioned me about it. I guessed that was a thing people did, looked for someone to replace the mother they’d lost.
Reaching out and putting my hand on my dad’s arm, I looked into his eyes that were now filled with incredible sadness. I assured him that I only wanted to know who my biological parents were in order to ask about diseases that might run in their family. I said, “I think after mom’s death, I’ve suddenly become aware of my own mortality. Dad, I’d like to know what steps I should take to look after my health—you know, risk factors that I should be aware of, medical tests I should have done, stuff like that.”
My dad grasped my hand and covered it with his other hand. He said, “That makes so much sense. You do what you need to do. Just remember: I love you and I’m here for you, just like your mom always was.” Nodding his chin in the direction of the envelope, he said, “Go on, then. Take a look.” He released my hand.
I reached over. Grabbed the envelope. Undid the metal clasp. I felt like my life was about to change in some hugely irrevocable way. Opening the envelope would be like opening Pandora’s box. I had no idea what I was releasing into my world.
Curiosity propels us forward. There was no going back now.
I peered into the envelope. There were a bunch of things in there.
I dumped the contents onto the table. The first thing I noticed were two hospital bands. I flipped them over to read them. One had my name: Jade. No last name. My birth date. And the words: Daughter of Cora Frost.
A feeling of shock went through me. I don’t know why, but I didn’t expect to see my mother’s name on my band. I wanted to warm up gradually to finding her name on my birth certificate. I wasn’t ready for this.
I looked up at my dad. His eyes were even sadder than they’d been a moment earlier. I said, “Cora Frost—is that my biological mother?”
My father said, “Yes.”
I asked, “Why don’t I have a last name on my baby bracelet?”
My dad said, “Because we were planning to adopt you right away. This was all prearranged.”
I asked, “You mean through an adoption agency?”
My father said, “Well, kind of. The process was actually called an independent adoption. It was arranged by a lawyer rather than an agency. Your mom and I desperately wanted a child. With an independent adoption, we were responsible for paying all the medical and living expenses for the pregnant woman and all the legal fees involved in the adoption.”
I tried to absorb all that. I’d never even heard of an independent adoption before that moment.
I asked, “So, did you know this…” I looked down at the band again. “…Cora Frost? Did you know her?”
My dad said, “Yes.”
I was shocked that I’d never heard of this before. My parents had known my birth mother. I’d never even heard of her. I’d just assumed my parents had gone through an adoption agency and had no knowledge whatsoever about who my biological parents were.
I asked, “So what was she like?”
My dad said, “She was twenty years old when she had you. She was very smart.” He smiled. “You obviously inherited that from her.” Drumming his fingers on the table, another sign that he was nervous, he continued, “She was in college. She got pregnant by a boyfriend who took off as soon as he heard she was pregnant. She had big dreams. She planned to go on to graduate school, get her doctorate degree and eventually become a professor.”
I liked the sound of that. I asked, “Do you know where she is now?”
My dad seemed surprised by the question. He said, “Oh, no. We didn’t stay in touch. We visited her during the pregnancy.” My dad got a wistful look in his eyes. He said, “Your mom bought newborn outfits and baby blankets for the day we got to take you home from the hospital. We were so excited about the new baby we’d soon have. We were worried that Cora might change her mind after you were actually born, but we didn’t need to worry about that. She wanted a good home for you, but she made it very clear over her entire pregnancy that she didn’t want to be a mother. Your mom was there for the birth. The hospital set it up that way, so that your mom would be part of the birthing process and so that she
could hold you right after you were born, to begin the bonding process. We never saw Cora again after she was discharged from the hospital. She seemed ready to move on with her life. And we were ready to begin our lives as new parents.”
I asked, “Do you know where she is now? Or how I could find her?”
He said, “I have no idea. She was just a college student back then. She had pretty big ambitions. She could have gone anywhere to graduate school or to teach, if that’s what she ended up doing.”
I thought about records. The more records I could give to Hannah, the better.
I asked my dad if he knew what college she had been attending.
He remembered, so that gave me another lead. If she had gone on to graduate school, maybe the college had a record of where she’d gone.
I asked my dad for the name of the law firm that had set up the adoption. He wrote down the name. He said, “I don’t know if they’re still in business or not, but that was the firm we used. Our lawyer was Evan Hawkins. Nice man. Probably in his mid-thirties back then.
I stood up, gave my dad a big hug and said, “I’m glad you and mom raised me. You were the best parents anyone could ever ask for.”
Dropping the hospital bands back into the envelope, I headed off to my room to let Hannah know what I’d found.
I closed my bedroom door. Before contacting the search angel, I pulled my birth certificate out of the envelope. And I discovered additional papers, including one from the hospital with footprints of my newborn baby feet. They were so tiny! And information I’d never had before that day. My birth mother’s name: Cora Frost. My birth weight: 8 pounds, 2 ounces. The time I was born: 4:10 AM.
I had opened a door into a whole new world and into a part of myself I’d never known before.
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