The Last Year

“Amelia? Hi, this is Kelly. Kelly from the agency?” she said sweetly, but I was anticipating a request for more paperwork or a check or proof of identification-none of which I could provide her at the moment and my mood further deteriorated. “Yes, Kelly I remember you. I hope you’re not calling for a check or more identification because my purse was stolen and I do not have any of that and won’t for another ten days!” I retorted, prematurely annoyed without giving her a chance. “Actually, I don’t need any of that. I’m calling because I have some information for you. Do you remember when I had you sign a Consent For Contact Form?”. “Yes”, I lied. Towards the end I was just signing things blindly. I was confident that I may have turned over title of the house or sold one of my children but I was weary of reading page after page of legal-ease and could no longer recount a single specific document. “Since you singed that, I’m allowed to tell you that your biological mother put in a request for contact on March 11th of 1986…..apparently your 18th birthday……in case you wanted to meet her.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I was just hoping to find out if diabetes or breast cancer ran in the family but, if I was hearing this correctly, my mother wanted to meet me??? “What? I don’t understand. No one ever told me that she had put that request in. Did my parents know about this?”. “No, you are just now being notified because you filled in the request for contact. We don’t notify you unless a request comes in from both parties”. As I was trying to take this all in, it occurred to me that this seemed like an incredibly shitty way to deal with matching an adoptee and their biological parent, but now was probably not the time to discuss their communication policies. “It looks like she’s updated her information over the years, and that she’s married because there’s a change of last names. Would you like her information?” she sweetly asked, likely not realizing that my life had been completely turned upside down. “Yes, please”, was all I could manage. She recited the information and I checked it with her twice just to be sure I didn’t write it down incorrectly. There was a long silence and Kelly asked if I needed her to repeat it a third time. “No, no, I’ve got it. So…….what do I do with this? I mean, can I call her?” “Yes, that’s why I gave you the information. She left it for you so you could reach out to her if you ever wanted to meet her. We also have some medical information in the file that we’ll send you, but you may get much more information by speaking with her directly”. With that, our conversation was over and I was left to decide what to do next. I looked at the information I had jotted down- she lived in Oregon now. She had been sure to update her address each time she moved which made me assume that she wanted to make sure that I would be able to reach her if I ever wanted to. I started sweating profusely and came close to hyperventilating as I reeled with the events of the morning. I came into the office, pissed off because I had had my identity taken away the day before and was promptly being handed a whole new part of my identity on a silver platter. This was so much more than I had bargained for. So much more than I had ever imagined possible. I had lived my entire life solidly believing that I would never know her name let alone have the opportunity to speak to her. Even crazier to me was the notion that she wanted to speak to me! It never occurred to me that she’d be looking for me. I always assumed that she functioned under the same belief that this was a one-and-done kind of arrangement- that she knew there’d never be a chance for us to reconnect. It seems as though I was also wrong my entire life about all of this and I had to get my mind around this complete paradigm shift. It was very overwhelming to say the least. I quickly decided that I would, in fact, call her but had no idea what to say. Although I did know that she was married, I didn’t know for sure if she told her husband or anyone else and definitely didn’t want to be the one to spark that conversation. My intent was to make initial contact with her and see how it goes, not ruin her life by outing a 29-year-old secret. I walked around my office aimlessly trying out various statements aloud. Some were if I got her answering machine, others were if I reached her directly, even more scenarios were if someone else in the household answered. People walked by my office and peered through the glass as I walked around, talking to myself, completely undeterred by their presence. As each moment passed I became more and more apprehensive and decided if I didn’t do this now I may never do it and so I mustered up the courage to dial the number. It rang 5 times and then the answering machine picked up. It was a woman’s voice and I wondered if I was listening to my biological mom’s voice- possibly for the first time since I was born. My message was basic. I said that I was Amelia Banis and that I lived in the Bay Area in California and was looking for Elizabeth, and hung up. There, it was done. It may never amount to anything and I decided I needed to let it go and move forward in my day, except that the enormity of having possibly heard my biological mother’s voice for the first time was sinking in and the tears started flowing.