I remember the EXACT date I lost my virginity.
July 8, 1989.
I was 15 years old.
It’s ironic then, that I don’t know the date for something as MOMENTOUS as meeting my birth parents for the first time.
It was spring.
I know that because all the tulips in my yard were in full bloom.
For the rest of my life I’ll always associate tulips with my birth mother.
Finding your birth parents isn’t as hard as you’d think.
At least not for me.
My mom told me she knew my birth mother’s name from the adoption paperwork.
So when I was 17, I asked for her name.
My mom wrote it down on a piece of paper, handed it to me, and walked out of the room.
After a little research I finally got the phone number to my birth mother’s in laws.
I called one day and asked for Sherri or Vince (her husband).
They gave me their phone number.
Just like that.
I stared at that number.
It was burned in my brain.
It took me 5 years to work up the courage to call that number.
One day, I called the number fully intending to ask for a random name – Elizabeth.
When my birth mother answered the phone, she had the MOST BEAUTIFUL voice I’d ever heard and I knew that someone with a voice like that would not be mean to me.
So I asked for Sherri.
“This is she,” she responded.
“I’d like to talk to you about something personal. Is now a good time?” I asked.
“Yes,” there was concern in her voice.
“I’m looking for my birth mother. . .”
I visited her the very next day and got to meet her husband and my sister and brother.
She told me who my birth father was and he was listed in the phone book.
So instead of driving home, I called him.
His (ex) wife answered the phone.
I asked for Paul.
She asked who I was.
I wanted to tell him directly so I just said my name.
She hung up on me.
I called back.
“Just tell him it’s Sherri’s daughter,” I responded.
She repeated what I said to him. Then she repeated it again, this time with gravitas.
They knew what this meant.
Paul had a daughter.
He asked me to pull into a local Denny’s where he said he’d meet me.
He showed up 15 minutes later, with his (ex) wife and her daughter.
We (my ex-husband) and I followed him to his house and slowly, his siblings and friends started trickling in.
Someone brought an “It’s a Girl!” cigar for him.
And the rest, as they say, is history.
What can I say about my reunion?
It truly was an ideal reunion and I feel blessed that my birth mother and my birth father accepted me so openly and lovingly.
Two eighth graders accidentally made a baby, and gave me an ideal home to grow up in.
I regret nothing except perhaps that I didn’t meet them sooner.
I am blessed.