I can't remember the first time my parents told me I was adopted, it's one of those things I always knew. I remember them reading me books when I was little about how they prayed and wished for me and how my other mom and dad couldn't take care of me, so they were blessed with me. It was always an open conversation in my house, they never got awkward when I asked them what color hair my birth mom had or how tall my birth father was. Now, don't get me wrong, I had my issues with understanding my adoption. Let's just say I was convinced for a while that my birth mother was a famous surfer in Hawaii. It was awkward sitting in 7th grade science class watching everyone fill out their Punnet Squares to find out the probabilities and possible outcomes of their eye colors. I remember sitting there trying to figure out how I could have green be some sort of probability so I didn't have to tell the whole class that I had no clue what color eyes my birth parents had. Like I said, my adoption was always a very open topic in my house but I had (and still do have) a tendency to keep things inside and not talk about them. Whenever I did get the courage to ask or talk about my birth parents, I was always pleasantly surprised with how comfortable my parents were with talking about it. I suppose this is why when I told my parents in the summer of 2012 that I wanted to reach out to my birth mom they were 100% behind me and okay with it.
My adoption was closed which means there could be no contact between me and my birth parents until I was 18. My birth mother told my mom that she wasn't going to reach out to me when I turned 18, but she hoped that one day I would contact her. My mom gave me a picture of me and my birth mom on the day I was born, the day I said I was ready to contact her. It took me a few days to compose the letter I sent her but with the help of my best friend Emily, I would have to say (without tooting my own horn too much) was pretty much perfect. It explained how I respected her decision to give me up for adoption and I had never felt anything but love towards her. I told her that every essay I had to write in school about "my hero" was always my birth mom for giving me the chance to be brought up in a family she never could have given me. I told her that I had a picture of her and was excited to finally see where I got my blonde curly locks from! I told her I understood that me contacting her was a lot to grasp, and to take her time writing back to me. I didn't tell her that at the age of 22 I would wait in my house until the mail came and sprint to the mailbox every day for about three months. When she didn't write back after a few months I started to think that maybe she didn't get the letter. My mom and her wrote a few letters back and forth over the years and they would always send them certified. When something is sent certified you have to sign a little green postcard in order to get the mail, and then the green postcard is sent back to the sender to ensure that they got it. I didn't send my letter certified because I didn't want her to feel pressured. My mom sent her a certified note after a few months went by just making sure she got my letter. A few days later we got the green post card in the mail with the same signature she had written for all those years "<3, S." This meant that she did indeed get my letter and for some reason has never responded.
This is when I decided that I wanted to find my birth father. I am an excellent "Facebook Stalker" so it didn't take me long to find him once I was given his name, town, and his family members names (which my parents had in a packet for me.) When I found his page I had my doubts that it was the right person, until I saw a tattoo on his arm that said "Meghan." I was looking through his statuses the night I found him (I hadn't reached out to him yet) and I saw a one that talked about his IV infusion of Tysabri. I had no clue what Tysabri was so I googled it and found out it was a therapy for MS. I sprinted downstairs to tell my mom and dad that Gary has MS and they reassured me that there is only a 1-3% chance that you develop MS if you have a parent with MS.
That was 2 weeks before our vacation at Lake Lure where my first signs of MS began.
Maybe my birth mother never writing back was a blessing in disguise since it led me to contacting Gary which gave us the vital information that he has MS, something we would have never known if I hadn't of found him.