The Lake and a Painful Conversation about my Birth Father.

I am up early this morning getting ready for my first overnight stay with my birth mom and her family. They have rented a cottage on a lake somewhere way up in New Hampshire and I am leaving here early Sunday morning and coming back late Monday night. It should be fun. My birth mom has wanted me to stay over for a while but I feel so weird about it. Is it the lack of personal space? What if I snore really loud or talk in my sleep? What will I do if I can’t sleep? It makes me feel …very vulnerable.

My birth mom said I should do whatever makes me feel comfortable. Somehow she is aware that I feel strange and I wonder if she has the same feelings. It is a big step for both of us.

I finally managed to hook up for a phone conversation with my birth dad’s high school buddy.  My birth dad confided in him during the pregnancy, birth and adoption and he was very excited to share his memories. I wasn’t at all prepared for how emotional and painful this conversation was going to be for me.

He told me that he thought my birth and the disappearance of my birth mom was a “life changing” event for my birth dad. He described my birth dad as a very happy, sensitive kid. The type of kid who held a funeral for a dead bird they came across in their childhood travels. He went on and on descibing this 1950’s Mayberry RFD type childhood complete with swimming holes and dance halls.

He did tell me that my paternal grandparents and uncle never knew about the pregnancy and that my birth dad felt terribly guilty when my birth mom was sent away. His friend thinks my birth dad never really recovered from this incident and this was the event that set him adrift in life.  A real lost soul. He made some very poor life choices. An unhappy marriage, alchohol problems, jail time and finally his death of lung cancer at age 53. 

This buddy choked up when he told me that “something changed” in my birth dad after my birth. I was startled when he said that he thought my birth dad would have been so thrilled to finally meet me. He then said something that I still think about…this friend of my birth dad said it wasn’t my fault. My fault? I still don’t quite understand that part. I was a new born baby and I didn’t have any choices. None of us did… 

He went on to wonder if I had searched earlier and reunited with my birth dad before his death if I might of somehow saved my birth dad. While that is certainly flattering, I don’t know if “meeting the son he lost” would have dramatically changed my birth dad’s life. I think the damage was done.

After our phone call, I ended up outside on the deck choking back tears. I felt so terrible that I never got to meet my birth dad and I felt sad for all three of us. Three people whose lives were changed so dramatically by those events. Me, my birth mom and my birth dad all wondering what happened to the others…

I plan on heading up north to play golf with my paternal uncle late next week and I would like to stop in to visit more with this guy.

I also “divorced” my therapist recently. When I discovered she was an adoptive parent, I started feeling like her perceptions were a bit one-sided. There seemed to be this slight implication that my birth parents wouldn’t have been good parents and I really didn’t owe these birth relatives anything. I feel my birth parents would have muddled through like anyone else…and I like my birth relatives!

I saw a therapist a while back who wasn’t covered by my insurance but I really liked her a lot. She was a reunited adoptee and although her relationship with her birth mother didn’t florish, I think she might understand my situation a little better. I just need to decide if I can afford her or if I even really need her.

Anyway, I am off to the lake! I’ll let you all know how it goes…

Family Beach Day.

I left Boston last Sunday at 8:00 a.m. heading up to New Hampshire and Maine for the annual family beach day. My first stop was in New Hampshire to join up with my paternal uncle and his wife at the house where my birth dad grew up.

Having been too late to meet my birth father, I am fascinated by this house. There are thousands like it all over the state. These small New England farmhouses clustered around the mills were built to house the workers and their families.

This was my third visit and I find myself taking in everything I can. I memorize the details. There are two small rooms, a hallway with stairs and a kitchen on the first floor. My head is full of questions. I look at the kitchen table and I want to ask if my birth father ever sat there. My paternal aunt tells me that the only room that has really changed is the second room on the first floor which I imagine was originally intended to be a dining room. She remembers it being a TV room back when she was dating my uncle in the 1960s.

Interestingly, they inherited this house when my paternal grandmother died and decided to use it as a second home. Because they haven’t changed anything, there is this odd sensation that my grandmother went to the store (instead of the great beyond) and will return at any minute. It is almost like this tiny house quietly stopped in time waiting for me.

We headed off to the beach in Maine and I had a wonderful day meeting cousins. I think there were about ten of us. The kids were running around and I ended up talking with almost everyone. I felt like I belonged. I was a part of something. I was… family!

My uncle and his wife were anxious to get back so I left with them. We stopped at a small restaurant for an early dinner and then returned to the house. My uncle headed off to the shed to re-grip my golf clubs and I talked with my aunt in the house. She handed me a small piece of paper with a name and number on it. She said that she had run into this high school friend of my birth father recently and he was very anxious to speak with me. Apparently, my birth father confided in him about the pregnancy and adoption. He and I have been playing telephone tag but I hope we can speak soon.

I headed home and pulled out the old high school yearbook. This guy was in almost every sports picture with my birth father. This sounds promising.

I recieved an email with the family picture from the annual beach day yesterday. To an outsider, it would be just a picture of a large family having a good time at the beach. I look at that picture and I see something else. I see myself in the picture but I look somehow different than in other pictures. I am not leaning away from people. I am actually smiling. I don’t look uptight or tense. I don’t have that confused look of my childhood photos…

Could it be I was actually happy?