The Meeting

We continued talking on the phone and writing letters for about 8 months. During that time, conversation was very easy. We could talk about anything...serious or the mundane. I loved that about her. We had talked about meeting on several different occasions. I wanted to, but I was also scared. I was scared that we would be moving, yet again, to that next level. I loved her and wanted her in my life, but I also was unsure of what the future would hold for us from that point on.

After our initial phone conversation, the next pivotal moment for me was receiving the first letter from her and pictures. I had always had my thoughts on what she looked like, and of course reality was not what I had imagined. I don't mean that in a bad way either. I thought she was beautiful. I absolutely LOVED having pictures of my biological family. Her friend had copied some pictures of my biological father that she found in a yearbook. Those were nice to have too. I don't know why, but I had always been more curious about my birth mom. I mean, it's nice and all to know about your dad and what he looked like and such, but my birth mom was who I really was curious about.

I stared at the pictures over and over again. Pieces of the puzzle were slowly put together as I looked at them. I had wondered my whole life where my dimples came from. Not one person in my adoptive family had dimples. When I saw her picture, that was the first thing I noticed...I got my dimples from her! I CRIED big time as I looked at the pictures and especially when I read her letter.

We continued to stay in touch. I talked to her on the phone about once a week for the first month. After that it progressed to about a couple of times a week, and at times about every other night. Sometimes I would talk to her each day for several days in a row. It was like an addiction of sorts -- weird sounding, I know, but that's the only way I can think to describe it. I WANTED to talk to her all the time. There was so much that we had to catch up on. I craved her attention and affection. The more we talked, the more I wanted to know her and have her in my life. I knew it was time and I was ready to meet face to face.

We had talked often about when/where we were going to meet. Neither of us wanted it to be a big, all family thing. We thought it would be best if it was just her and I for that first time. Her son still did not know about me. She told me all the time that she wanted to tell him, but was waiting for the right time. I kept telling her I understood and, at the time, I thought I did. As long as she reassured me she loved me and had always loved me, I was pacified enough to take whatever she was willing to give me. We finally decided on a date.

I will never forget that day (I find myself saying that a lot when talking about this). My friends had my daughter for the day. My husband, a coach, had a basketball game that evening so he was out for the day. I was alone. I was ready for a couple of hours before she got there. I wanted everything to be perfect. I examined my outfit several times. I STILL remember to this day what I was wearing. I was so worried about what she would think of me. Would she think that I was pretty? Would she like me? Probably the usual questions when meeting someone for the first time. However, when you're meeting your mom face to face for the first time at the age of 25...the emotions are crazy! I wanted SO bad to be accepted by her and have her approval. I was so nervous.

As I was waiting for her to get to my house, reality was setting in. I wondered what it was going to be like to actually see her. By now, her voice was very familiar and comforting to me. After all, we had talked to each other hundreds of times over the phone. I wondered if talking in person would be any different or less comfortable. I wondered if it was going to be one of those emotional, made for TV kind of reunions. I had lots of thoughts. That day, that time before she arrived is still so vivid. I remember looking out the window 500 times. I remember fixing the wreath on the door and sweeping off the stray leaves that had made their way onto the front porch again. I even walked out to the driveway and looked at my house, trying to get a 'picture' in my mind of what she would see when she drove up. Tired of pacing, I finally just sat on the couch and thought about how life could have been so different.

I finally heard her pull into my driveway. Peeking out the window, my eyes filled with tears as I saw her step out of her car and look around. There she was...my birth mom. My very own flesh and blood. Again, there are no words to fully describe the emotions of that moment. I quickly got myself together and opened the door to greet her. As she stepped through the doorway and embraced me, it was the best feeling. I am a very 'huggy' kind of person anyway, but I literally could feel how much she loved me in that one hug. I can't adequately describe the moment, but I can still feel it today.

There were not too many tears. Some teary moments, but nothing uncontrollable. She brought some photo albums of herself growing up and her family. I really enjoyed looking at them and hearing about and seeing everyone. We ate lunch together and discovered our favorite entree was the same. We discovered that we both had the same habit of pulling on the bottom of our shirt when we're talking or nervous. Silly things, but those silly little similarities meant a lot to me. We went and picked up my daughter from my friends' house. She was so great with her. We went and got ice cream and then went to my husband's game. I was so glad she got to meet the people in my life that meant the most to me. It was one of the best days of my life. I didn't want the day to end.

After she got home that night, she called me to tell me how wonderful the day was for her. She told me that she thought I was beautiful and I was a great wife and mom. She talked for a couple of hours. We both cried. I mainly listened as she shared her regrets with me and played her own 'what if' game. She said she wondered if she could have done it, if she could have just kept me. What would have happened to us? Would I have been as well adjusted. I felt for her. I think, more than anything, she was regretting the fact that she missed 25 years of my life. I understood probably more than she thought I did. I understood because I missed that with her too.