Planning to Meet

The tickets were purchased, the hotel reservations made, the reply card returned for my cousin's wedding.  A day I had waited a lifetime for was actually going to happen.  So why was I so calm?  Why wasn't I nervous?  Why I wasn't freaking out?

Preparation, preparation and more preparation.  A lifetime of preparation, two decades of potential scenarios and two years of conversations.  I hadn't rushed into this.  I hadn't forced this.  I was ready and more importantly, so was she.

I focused on creating a scrapbook that I could give to L that would give her a visual record of many key moments in my life that included pictures and stories about everyone closest to me including my parents, my brother, my aunts/uncles/cousins, my grandparents, my friends and of course, my husband.  I wanted to be certain that I wouldn't forget to tell her any stories that she might want to hear and wanted to leave her with proof that my life has always been a wonderful one.  I knew that, until she saw a pictorial record, she might never allow herself to truly believe that her decision was the right one, one that she need not feel guilty about any longer.

Reactions

Speaking with my birth mother for the first time had a tremendous effect on me, but what sort of ripple effect did it cause for my family?

When What You're Searching For Finally Arrives

Hello?

Hi, this is Lisa Blinn, I believe you just called me?

There was a moment of silence, just the length of a heartbeat, then a deep breath, and then

Oh, hello! It's finally you! I'm XXXX XXXXXXXXX and I'm definitely your mother. Even if I hadn't been certain from the letter, the pictures leave no room for doubt...... The voice wavered and then there were sobs. As I murmured how wonderful it was to hear her voice and how ecstatic I was that she had called, she continued with what was to be a very important question for her and the first of many she would ask me.

Early Morning Caller

After three weeks of waiting, wondering, and worrying, the call finally came.

It was 8:00AM on a Saturday morning, the second weekend in September 2007. I was sound asleep, the dogs miraculously having refrained from awakening me at six as they do every other morning of my life. The rings were incorporated into my dream and I only fully realized it was the phone as the noise stopped. I checked the number. It was a 518 number, the area code I expected my birth mother would call from, and it was not a number I was familiar with.

There was no message.

What to Do Next When You're Not in Control

I had found out that one of the people I had been searching for most of my adult life was not actually biologically related to me. I had also found out that he knew who my birth mother was and where she currently resided. I suspected that she would not be happy to be contacted by him, simply based on his characterizations of their relationship which did not sound as if it had been a happy one. He would not reveal her name to me so that I could contact her directly.

This was a control freak's nightmare.

No Matter What, I'm Part of the Story

Lisa Blinn? Hello! This is XXXX XXXXXXX, I received your letter and would like to first ask you a couple of questions so that we can be sure we are both talking about the same event, ok?

Waiting for Contact

From the moment I handed off my letter to the Fedex man, the clock was ticking. I tracked the envelope obsessively, waiting for the moment that it was signed for at the mystery man's door. As soon as the signature appeared on my screen, I expected a call. Every hour that went by, I became more and more convinced that he would not call. Nevermind that it was delivered at 11AM on a Tuesday and it was possible he was at work, or shopping, or visiting friends, or doing any of the myriad of things that a person does in the course of a normal day when they are not expecting a life-changing package to arrive at their home.

Letter to the Great Unknown

After the shock of a credible response from my shot-in-the-dark classified ad, I spent the weekend crafting a letter to the man that could be my alleged birth father. What were the odds that this Cuban golf pro Lothario had been right near Bard all along? If he wasn't "the guy", would he cooperate and name names?

Below is the letter that I Fedex'd off on Monday morning with huge, flapping, crazed butterflies in my stomach: