Believe it or not, this journey started with an email.
A four-year-old email.
From a stranger named Xena.
No, not that Xena. She’s not real. And this is all real.
Seriously. My life is too ridiculous to not be real.
This begins with me attempting to delete what was clearly
a spam message in my Facebook Messenger. Unbeknownst to me, there is a special
folder for messages which are sent to you, but from those to whom you have no
connection. So, I began by deleting a message from a young man from Africa who
“was in need of a help…”
There was another message from a former neighbor,
chastising me for treating my mother poorly (much, much more on that later (I
promise you, I’m not treating my mother poorly. Which, I suspect you’ll believe
more if you keep reading)). A third was very sweet—from the mother of a former
student who was inviting me to her daughter’s birthday party (I’m a teacher).
And, finally, the message from Xena. That was sent in January of 2012. It had
been sitting in this special folder for four years.
I don’t know exactly why I didn’t delete it immediately.
But, given that I read quickly, the first sentence seemed personal, so I kept
reading.
“J--,
I write to you in secret, under a false
name for a reason. Yet, please know this is from so many people, not just one.
You are loved...by so many. Over the years your church family, friends, and
loved ones have seen you grow into a wonderful person. Like many, I remember
when you were a little boy. Your parents were so proud of you, they loved you
so much. You were filled with talent and that was nurtured by them. However,
your parents have something that tears them apart daily. 30 years ago your
mother wanted nothing other than a baby. After trying unsuccessfully, your
father learned of a music student who was young and pregnant (if I remember
correctly both of your biological parents were musicians). She did not want to
keep the baby. Your father made contact with the girl and asked to her baby a
home. After attending her birth, he brought you home to a church and a family
who instantly fell in love. Your parents never talked about "telling
you" because it never came up...until your mother proudly announced to
everyone that would ask that she would "never" tell you. You were her
son and that was all that mattered.
Over the years, your adoption has been
openly discussed among those who "knew J-- and F-- when". Except when
your mother was around. Your father has often discussed in private circles
wanting to tell you, and has even pleaded with your mother, but out of respect,
he has never said anything. This email isn't being done to upset you, or
"ruin" your life. On the contrary, this is to give you an insight of
to who you are -- truly. Everybody deserves to know this. Your mother will probably
deny the truth, to preserve herself...because she believes you truly are her
blood. But the rest of the hundreds of people who know and care for you, would
tell you differently. If asked. Including your father. This email will not go
any further. You can choose what you wish to do with this information. Just
know that it is 100% the truth.”
I sat on the couch speechless for a few
seconds.
I was adopted?!? Seriously?!?
I mean, we’ve all had those moments
where we wished that we, perhaps, weren’t really
related to our family. But… to not actually be related to the people I
considered mother and father? Could it be true?
I ran upstairs to my roommate, and
shoved my phone, with the message cued, at him.
“Read this…”
“Wha…..?”
“Read this. Now.”
“Ok…”
“If this is true, what is my family
medical history?”
I mean, in general, I’m fairly
even-keeled and level-headed person. I immediately recognized that the most
pressing question I had was, of course, about my family medical history. That I had been offering my doctors the
medical history of the people I believed were my parents my entire life was the
most important problem I observed. Not who my parents actually are. Not why my
parents lied to me for 33 years. Not how I could find out information about who
I am. No. My medical history was much more important.
Huh. I guess that’s what emotional shock
feels like.
I mean, suddenly I began to wonder who
my real parents could be, and also how many people really knew about this, why
my mother had told me about all the things I shared with her side of the
family, and a million other things at once.
What is my ethnicity? I mean, I was
raised my entire life thinking I was 50% British, and 50% Portuguese. If I’m
actually a minority, and could’ve gotten scholarship money, I’m going to
furious.
But, this couldn’t be real, right? What
are the chances that someone would really write me with a fictitious Facebook
account to tell me about this secret that my parents had neglected to tell me for
33 years? Negligible… right?
Except… except… except, so many thing
started to rearrange in my brain. I mean… It would make sense. My father is 50 years older than I am… My
mother 39… My dad’s other two kids are much older than I am… 60 and 56 respectively…
I called a few friends, who were
incredulous at this revelation. Yet… one immediately asked what my parent’s eye
color is (both, in case you were wondering, are brown) and then asked what my
eye color is (Green-hazel. I know. I’m stupid.). But this surely couldn’t
confirm that they adopted me, right?
I left with my roommate and his
wonderful girlfriend (again, keep reading to find out why) to get to our
destination, close to the wedding we were attending the next day.
Cut to me laughing unexpectedly, and,
honestly, slightly maniacally at things which were not particularly funny,
throughout most of the next eight hours. I’m sure it was delightful for my
companions. I also have new appreciation for what going mad feels like.
After accepting that I’m not getting a response
from Xena, and I’m not going to call my father and ask if I’m adopted on the
phone, I finally decided to pick the scab of this situation somewhat
creatively. I called one of my oldest friends, E, whose family is strongly
interconnected with mine. As she’s slightly older than I am, perhaps she had
heard something? I call her and begin walking in circles in the rental house’s
back yard.
So, I relate my story.
I don’t know what I was expecting.
Comfort? Horror? Shock? Disbelief? Those would all be typical responses to this
revelation, wouldn’t they?
Instead, the response I got was this:
“How do you want me to respond?”
The wall of perceived reality in which I
had lived for the past 33 years began to crumble.
“Um… well, given what you just asked, I
think I beginning to understand whether or not this is true or not. But, I need
you to respond honestly…”
“Ok… So, I promised myself that if you
ever asked me, I’d tell you the truth.”
“So, what you’re telling me is that I’m
adopted?” I asked incredulously.
“Yes… You’re adopted.”
“How long have you known?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever not known.”
“Oh…” I begin to slightly
hyperventilate. “Oh…”
I got myself together as she consoled me
a bit, and I kept it together until we said our goodbyes. Then I called my
friend M, whom I’d spoken with earlier. This is the point which my brain
comprehended what I’d just been told.
I’ll be honest, I fell apart. Full on
sobbing, racking breaths, which, for me, is almost worse than death. I am
(thought I was) British—we (they) don’t show outward emotion. I’m sure it
wasn’t fun for my friend to hear me uncharacteristically fall apart on the
phone, when we were over 100 miles away. I mean, I didn’t find it fun.
At this point, my roommate’s girlfriend,
D, notices my distress. She literally ran to me and hugged me. I really needed
that, though I’m generally not a fan of human contact. I was partly stunned
that she cared, and partly stunned that she recognized that I needed that hug.
I continued talking to M for a few more
minutes, as I calmed down. After calling a few other close friends and
discussing this rather unexpected turn of events, and randomly picking a
fantasy football team (completely random. I forgot, and auto-drafted many
people. Priorities. Just because I was adopted, doesn’t mean that I didn’t need
to pick a good fantasy team).
After finishing the important thing, the
draft, I decided to retire for the evening.
Jonathan! Wow! I have no words. Just a big long hug from me here in Cleveland. Hang in there. Lean on your close friends. I will keep you in my thoughts and prayers
ReplyDeleteThank you so much Barbara! I appreciate it so much. Sending you hugs too.
DeleteI'm actually handling things in an appropriate way.
Hope you are well!
OMG! NOLA soon? I can't right now!
ReplyDeleteUh... Sure? Except, I have no idea who wrote this...
DeleteOh wow! I'm on the edge of my seat wondering what you did next! And honestly how you are dealing with it all. Hugs and love!!!!
ReplyDeleteThis is huge, Jonathan. Please let me and Kate know if you need anything at all. I imagine this is all still sinking in but we are behind you 100%.
ReplyDeleteThanks Drew. I appreciate it. See you both soon!
DeleteWow...This is one of those "So Mrs. Lincoln, other than that business with Mr. Booth, how was the play?" situations. But I think you were in a way right with your first thought: your medical history. This is a big deal but you seem to have a lot of friends and support. I support you! Tony Ramienski
ReplyDeleteIt is, isn't it?
DeleteI'm really amazed at the support today.
Thanks for being included in that. Hope you are well!
Though never closer than a student-teacher friendship (much to my dismay), my heart and support goes out to you! I'm impressed and proud with how well you seem to be handling the news.. Maybe this is too soon, but you have the makings of a fantastic novel here. You wrote a very captivating narrative. -Love always
ReplyDeleteThank you Maya.
DeleteI appreciate your reading and support!
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ReplyDeleteMan, Jonathan, that is crazy. To learn something like this at this age, I can't imagine what that feels like.
ReplyDeleteThis is Micah, I thought Blogger was putting in my name but it didn't.
Delete