You start wondering about your birth mother, whether she'd even care or not that she has two grand children. You wonder if they have any of her features. You wonder if you do too. No one in your family has an insatiable need to write or a knack for music. You've always wanted to know where you get your quirks from – like your sense of humor and flair for all things dramatic, or your freakishly large feet and freakishly small ears…. Little things that most people take for granted because all they have to do is look at the people sitting at the dinner table. It seems silly. But to you it’s important.
You've just always wanted to feel like you belong - something you've never felt in your adopted family or anywhere you’ve ever been.
You start to cry fearing that you'll never meet her. Your adopted mom told you it was a closed adoption and that she’s sorry, but there’s just no way to find out who your mother was. This has left you bewildered since you were a little girl, but you tried to just forget about it and move on with life. It’s not like the parents you were given were all that bad.
Then you start to suspect that your mother isn’t exactly being truthful about finding your birth mother. After your first son was born, your father told you that your Birth Mother tried to contact you when you were 16, but your biological mom "didn't think it was a good idea." A few years later he asks you why you never went to Maine to pick up the letter that your Birth Mother had written to you. You told him that you had no idea she had. He said, “I could’ve sworn your mother told you. I must have been confused.” He’s never confused. You didn't speak to her for weeks after you found about this. She claims it was in your best interest, but you know damned better. She's somehow threatened, and you suppose you can understand to a certain extent. But you feel like it is your inalienable right to know where you came from and you don’t know how much forgiveness you can muster for anyone who interferes with this.
For now, you’ll just sit and take care of your babies, and brush their blonde hair, wondering how in the world you, an interracial, brown eyes brunette, managed to have two blue eyed blonde babies with a couple of other brunettes.
Your next step is to try and find some way to get your original birth certificate from Maine. All you know is that when you were born your name was Naiomi, your mother was a college student at the University of Farmington and your father was apparently MIA.
You aren’t trying to replace anyone. Your parents are your parents and nothing can change that.
You just want to know where you came from. Doesn’t everybody?
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