I felt that way most of my life. Sounds over-dramatic, I know. This might help: I was adopted at birth. I bear very little physical resemblance to my amazing adoptive family, and as a result spent much of my childhood—especially my teen years—wondering where I came from, and who created me. Was I anything like her? Did I look like her?
Leesa and I were reunited in 2000. While she was immediately struck by my resemblance to my birth father—whom I will, sadly, never have the chance to meet—I have always been comforted by the sweet similarities she and I share, that I so longed for.
Leesa and I spent much of today beading jewelry together. Side by side in my blue room, hunched over one another’s designs and creations, sharing ideas, opinions and giggles.
And then I saw her hands. I was puzzled at first, and then surprised. Not surprised at how similar they were to mine, but at the fact I had not noticed this resemblance until now—especially considering the many moments I have spent looking for similarities in every photograph we have taken together throughout the last eight years.
I have my Mother’s hands. And I belong.
My, Leesa’s, and my sister Sarah’s hands.
What a touching post. Thanks for sharing!
ReplyDeleteThat's beautiful.
ReplyDeleteInterestingly my paraspouse is also adopted and has never expressed any desire to meet his biological parents. It's odd. His mother really was keen to meet her but The Man, not so much. Alas.
(Oh and I answered your meme, it should appear tomorrow.)
Thanks Tara and Nat for your comments... Nat, everybody has an adoption story, and vastly different feelings on reunion. My story is a happy one, but not all all. And the fear of the unknown holds many back from answering life-long questions. Ask your paraspouse (?) this: If you found out today your birth mother had passed away, would you regret not taking the opportunity to meet her.
ReplyDeleteI will never have the chance to meet my birth father, and my heart aches for him every day.
Joe