“Adoption Diaries”
By: Jennifer Clark
I found my biological mother when I was 21 years old. After a lifetime of wondering about where I came from, who did I resemble, and Oh so many questions, I found her. I had this image, a story in my head of who she was, what she was like, but to my disappointment, it was much better in my imagination than in real life! Some of the Names and places have been changed.
CHAPTER 1.
September 17, 1987. My 21st birthday. If anyone would have asked me three weeks earlier what I would be doing to celebrate, this would have been the last place I would have guessed. Instead, I found myself standing outside the entrance of Orlando International Airport. I crushed the red, hotboxed, butt of my Virginia Slim into the concrete ashtray situated just outside the Delta Airlines entrance.
My hands shook as I snuffed out the fire. Rummaging through my oversized handbag, I fished out my boarding pass. Looking down at the ticket I read over everything just to make sure that it was correct. Julia Harrison, Yep that was me. Funny thing, I never felt like a “Harrison”. I certainly didn’t look like a “Harrison”…Dark brown hair, brown eyes, an olive complexion and most definitely Hispanic origins. Shaking off the familiar feeling I scanned over the rest of the ticket. Delta flight 2672 seat 24a departure 9:14am, arrival 11:52am Departure- Orlando International airport, Arrival-Newark International airport. It was my first time on an airplane. I was traveling on my own and although terrified, excited at the same time.
A birthday gift from a woman I had met only once in my life. It was so long ago, I don’t even remember meeting her. How could I? As I was entering the world for the very first time. 21 years ago to the day. A very important woman indeed, my birth mother. I’d found her whereabouts only two weeks prior, after receiving a package she’d sent in response to my three page letter introducing myself as her long lost daughter. Lost, not really lost, I knew where I was. She knew where she was, she gave me away…to perfect strangers, No adoption. Just gave me away. I was born “Julia Santiago’’ but she didn’t want me and somehow 8 weeks later I became a “Harrison”.
An only child. Illegally adopted to a loving Caucasian family. How they accomplished the name change and successful social security switch, I’ll never know. 21 years later, she wanted to see me! It had been a long time coming and I wanted to meet her too. I had questions. So many questions. The day however, was starting off shaky. My anxiety disorder was running rampant, even though I had packed two days in advance. I had everything I needed, including my meds. Xanax? Check. Wellbutrin? Check. As much as I needed my medication, I often forgot to take them or felt so good that I didn’t think I needed them. Only days later, to be stopped, dead in my tracks and left bedridden, depressed and staring at the ceiling. So, again I would go back to them.
I meticulously selected every outfit with great thought and detail, along with perfectly matched jewelry, shoes, and scarves. I wanted to look my best, I wanted her to feel like she lost out by giving me up. I don’t know why I felt that way but deep down I wanted her to regret it. I, on the other hand, had no regrets. I may not have known my biological family before now but I knew that I had been raised by the right parents. My parents. She was the woman that gave me life and for that I was grateful. Honestly, the thing that I was most curious about- was meeting others that looked like me. That I looked like. I was definitely half Puerto Rican. The other half? Unknown. I knew only the version of the story my parents told me. My perfectly white skinned, southern spoken, parents. I had made it a vow to myself to one day find out the truth, and today was going to be that day! I had read on my birth certificate that she was born in Puerto Rico. The certificate listed her husband as my father, but that was just a technicality. He had been overseas in the Navy when I was conceived. The base covered the medical bills for my birth, so he was legally my father. However I wasn’t his child, and he didn’t want me either. This left my birth mother without many options. The story of my biological father had some inconsistencies and I would soon learn there was so much more to this query. Some radical and unbelievable possibilities. Some decades later, DNA would lead me down several different paths.
I was thrilled at the idea of having siblings. Two sisters and a brother. Half-siblings, but siblings nonetheless. Having been raised an only child, there were many times I had wished for a sister. I think most every child wishes for the one thing they don’t have at some point. The only child wishes for a sibling, the child with siblings wishes they were the only child; Of course I also wanted a Shetland pony and a Corvette and none of these were going to happen. I wasn’t a little girl anymore, but I did get the siblings after all and I couldn’t wait to meet them. She bought my plane ticket soon after our first phone conversation. Looking back, I believe it was purposely planned to take place on my birthday and that was fine with me. My mom, I think, was a little distressed. Maybe even disappointed. I did my best to assure her that no one could ever replace her. That it was more curiosity than anything else. She went along, because she loved me. She always went along. That was just her way of showing her unconditional love for me. Daddy never showed any concern about my curiosity, but I was his “baby girl” and he knew there was no reason to worry. I used that leniency sometimes to my advantage as a teenager. I could get away with pretty much anything. But they always looked after me, no matter what. I couldn’t have had a better mother and father, I truly believed that God had as certainly reached out his hand and laid me into their arms as I stood there breathing.
I blew out the last bit of smoke, slowly and formed a circle with my mouth, popping my jaw and blowing it out, making a perfect smoke ring. Leaning down, I wrapped my bag around my wrist, pulling the duffel bag around my head and shoulders. Last cigarette for a while, I lingered to take it in a second longer, then the large glass doors opened, as if to say “Welcome Julia”. I stepped inside.
LET ME KNOW IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO READ CHAPTER 2.
