I have replayed those phone calls a thousand times in my mind. Each time I am still amazed and overcome with excitement and emotion.
Maria and I talked on the phone just about every day after that. She bought a plane ticket to Iowa and flew out from Alaska on December 9th. Dave and I were waiting at the Cedar Rapids airport. I can't remember ever being that nervous. I had managed to keep a cool head throughout the whole experience so far. Every reunion I had ever seen had involved tears and melt downs. Mine had so far only involved a lot of surprised stares and laughter. I hadn't shed a tear yet.
Here I was at the Cedar Rapids airport, pacing like a mad woman in front of the security line. (I must have made some FSA employees nervous that day.) Dave tried to get me to calm down but I couldn't get my insides to sit still. I was a wreak. My heart made an abrupt trip down to my stomach and up into my throat when I saw her plane pull up to the gate. Then I started to feel the threat of the flood behind my eyes. I was still willing myself not to cry at that point.
It literally felt like ages before everyone got off the plane. I didn't have any picture of her. I had no idea what she looked like and I was pretty certain that the image in my head wasn't going to aide my search. But as soon as I saw her, every bit of me know who she was. It was those eyes. I knew those eyes. I saw them in every picture and mirror every time I smiled. It was the strangest feeling in the world. I was completely overcome with emotions I can't even name. She walked up to me with those smiling eyes and hugged me. And I lost it. Every emotion that I had been feeling, all the things I wanted to say to her, all the questions I had for her... they all came out of me in incoherent, happy sobs. She squeezed me tight while I sobbed and told me "It's ok baby girl. It's ok." This succeeded in unleashing a new strand of sobs followed by some pretty feeble attempts at laughter. In all of my dreams, I never imagine that our reunion would feel like this. This was my mother. The woman who gave birth to me. The woman whose blood flows in my veins. The woman who carried me in her womb for nine months. The woman who made such a selfless sacrifice by choosing to take a hard look at herself and make the decision that was right for ME. All I could say was thank you.
The week of her visit went by far too quickly. We spent hours talking and looking at old photographs. My coffee table and living room floor was covered in photos of me. (It was rather uncomfortable actually.) She brought photo albums of herself and told me all about her life in the last 29 years. There are some photos of her when she was a young girl that look incredibly similar to me at the same age. There are three or four pictures of her when she was 18 and 19 that look identical to me at that age as well. It is amazing! She was nothing like I had ever imagined. She was better than that. I had prayed for days that God would clear my mind of any expectations or conclusions I had come to about her over the years. He gave me just that. All expectations that I had about her had been wiped clean just moments before she got off the plane. It had allowed us to get to know each other with no pressures. It was an amazing gift. Even more spectacular was that insight it gave me into how much of a hand God has had in my life to date.
And that part of the story will follow shortly...
Friday, January 30, 2009
Reunions part 2
It is amazing to me how something simple can set off a series of events that changes your life.
This past November, while staying with my parents in Oregon, my mom and I watched "Troy the Locator" on tv. The show is about a man who dedicates his time to helping people find lost loved ones. He has a ton of resources available to him and seems to get the job done very well. After about two tear filled episodes, my mom told me I should write the show and see if they would consider helping me find my birthmother. So I shot of an email thinking that there wasn't a snow ball's chance seeing as how I was one of thousands writing in every day.
My husband, Dave, asked if I would send him a copy of the email. A short time after getting it, he called me telling me he had never really understood how important it was to me to find her. He wanted to help me find her. Being the former detective that he is, he jumped right in. He pulled out my adoption packets and looked through all the information. He found a birthdate for my birth mother that the agency had forgotten to black out and set to work. The next day he called me and told me he had found 150 Marias with that date of birth. It would take some work narrowing it down. My mom spoke up and said she had heard from someone at the agency that my birth mother had moved to Alaska. So Dave calls back and tells me he has searched for Marias with that date of birth in Alaska. And there was only 1. I started freaking out a little. He told me not to get my hopes up and said he'd call me with more information. The next day, he told me he had contacted the neighbor of "Maria Works" and was able to determine that she was from California, she was hispanic. She was married with two boys and worked at a Safeway. Dave had explained to the neighbor why he was looking for her and the neighbor agreed to "feel out" the situation and give Maria Works his number.
Three days later I get a phone call from Dave. "I just got off the phone with your birthmother." This is when I really started to freak out. "I wasn't sure if it was her so I kind of skirted around the issue about and asked about California. But when I told her I was calling on behalf of my with 'Kristin NAOMI' she yelled into the phone that she had been waiting for this call for ages. She has been dying to find you and wants to talk with you."
All I could do was stare at the phone. My mom was ecstatic and couldn't wait to get all the details. I sat and stared at the wall for a bit. I wasn't really sure what to think or do. I had been looking for this woman for most of my life. This was a day I had waited for for oh so long. At that moment I didn't realize I could feel so many different emotions at one time. It was overwhelming. But the feeling I was most overcome by was fear. And I really didn't have anything to be fearful of. The fear of her not wanting to talk to me was nonexistent. The fear of her not being alive didn't matter any longer. It was the fear that the woman I had always thought of would exist. That I would be somehow let down by the real thing.
It took me three days to push that fear aside and make that phone call. It was amazing. We talked for 3 hours. Hearing her voice and her laugh was an incredible feeling. It was so similar to mine in so many ways. Learning that she loved music as much as I do, that we have the same sense of humor, that we both tend to smell absolutely everything... all music to my ears. Dave had sent her pictures of me and she commented immediately that I was "a Mendoza". My last name was Mendoza! She also told me that I have two younger half brothers who are dying to meet me. It was an amazing moment.
This past November, while staying with my parents in Oregon, my mom and I watched "Troy the Locator" on tv. The show is about a man who dedicates his time to helping people find lost loved ones. He has a ton of resources available to him and seems to get the job done very well. After about two tear filled episodes, my mom told me I should write the show and see if they would consider helping me find my birthmother. So I shot of an email thinking that there wasn't a snow ball's chance seeing as how I was one of thousands writing in every day.
My husband, Dave, asked if I would send him a copy of the email. A short time after getting it, he called me telling me he had never really understood how important it was to me to find her. He wanted to help me find her. Being the former detective that he is, he jumped right in. He pulled out my adoption packets and looked through all the information. He found a birthdate for my birth mother that the agency had forgotten to black out and set to work. The next day he called me and told me he had found 150 Marias with that date of birth. It would take some work narrowing it down. My mom spoke up and said she had heard from someone at the agency that my birth mother had moved to Alaska. So Dave calls back and tells me he has searched for Marias with that date of birth in Alaska. And there was only 1. I started freaking out a little. He told me not to get my hopes up and said he'd call me with more information. The next day, he told me he had contacted the neighbor of "Maria Works" and was able to determine that she was from California, she was hispanic. She was married with two boys and worked at a Safeway. Dave had explained to the neighbor why he was looking for her and the neighbor agreed to "feel out" the situation and give Maria Works his number.
Three days later I get a phone call from Dave. "I just got off the phone with your birthmother." This is when I really started to freak out. "I wasn't sure if it was her so I kind of skirted around the issue about and asked about California. But when I told her I was calling on behalf of my with 'Kristin NAOMI' she yelled into the phone that she had been waiting for this call for ages. She has been dying to find you and wants to talk with you."
All I could do was stare at the phone. My mom was ecstatic and couldn't wait to get all the details. I sat and stared at the wall for a bit. I wasn't really sure what to think or do. I had been looking for this woman for most of my life. This was a day I had waited for for oh so long. At that moment I didn't realize I could feel so many different emotions at one time. It was overwhelming. But the feeling I was most overcome by was fear. And I really didn't have anything to be fearful of. The fear of her not wanting to talk to me was nonexistent. The fear of her not being alive didn't matter any longer. It was the fear that the woman I had always thought of would exist. That I would be somehow let down by the real thing.
It took me three days to push that fear aside and make that phone call. It was amazing. We talked for 3 hours. Hearing her voice and her laugh was an incredible feeling. It was so similar to mine in so many ways. Learning that she loved music as much as I do, that we have the same sense of humor, that we both tend to smell absolutely everything... all music to my ears. Dave had sent her pictures of me and she commented immediately that I was "a Mendoza". My last name was Mendoza! She also told me that I have two younger half brothers who are dying to meet me. It was an amazing moment.
Reunions part 1
**Finding my birth mother has been an amazing experience. I wanted to keep record of all of it for myself and to share my happiness with my friends. There is much to share and, due to the mind boggling lenght of my last blog, I decided to split this up into a few parts. Hopefully it will help me keep my thoughts a bit more organized and will keep others from being overwhelmed with reading it.**
Today holds a special significance for me - aside from the fact that this is the day that I was born on. I'm pretty well sure anyone who is reading this blog knows that I am adopted. For those of you who didn't, you know now. 29 years ago I was given up for adoption. About 2 months ago I was reunited with the woman who gave birth to me. Here's the story...
My birth mother was in high school when she gave birth to me. Before I was taken into foster care, she had be christened with the name "Naomi". My parents like the name so much they kept it, calling me Kristin Naomi Burton. In many ways it was the only tangible thing of her I had. I spent my life knowing I was adopted. My adopted parents always talked about my adoption in a way that helped me understand how much of a blessing it truly was. When children at school would make fun of me, my parents taught me to see it as something different about me that made me incredibly special. Ever since I was a little girl I had wanted to meet my birth mother. I have had dreams throughout my life of meeting a faceless woman. In the dreams I had always known she is my birth mother but I wake up frustrated because I never see anything more than the outline of a figure and a voice that sounds very much like mine.
The only information I have on either of my birth parents is the packet given to me by the social worker. It is filled with physical descriptions and some information about their situation at the time but that has only been enough information to torment me with all that I don't know. There is so much more to a person than a short biography on a piece of paper. What does she look like? Do my hands look like hers? Do I smile or laugh like she does? Does she think of me as often as I think of her? Is she happy and healthy? The question that weighed heaviest on my mind was "who do I look like"? For some this wouldn't be a big deal. But I don't look much like my adoptive family. I'm hispanic and the rest of them are all German, English or Irish. At family reunions I stick out like a sore thumb. I felt that knowing who I looked like would give me some sort of connection to a bit of who I was, genetically speaking anyway.
I have lived an incredibly blessed life. My adopted parents, Curt and Kathy Burton, are the most giving and loving people I have ever known. They had both encouraged me throughout the years to find my birth mother. I had tried numerous times over the years. I had even driven to the high school I thought she went to in San Diego and spent hours looking through the year books. But I always came up short. After so many dead ends I felt pretty defeated and gave up for a time.
Today holds a special significance for me - aside from the fact that this is the day that I was born on. I'm pretty well sure anyone who is reading this blog knows that I am adopted. For those of you who didn't, you know now. 29 years ago I was given up for adoption. About 2 months ago I was reunited with the woman who gave birth to me. Here's the story...
My birth mother was in high school when she gave birth to me. Before I was taken into foster care, she had be christened with the name "Naomi". My parents like the name so much they kept it, calling me Kristin Naomi Burton. In many ways it was the only tangible thing of her I had. I spent my life knowing I was adopted. My adopted parents always talked about my adoption in a way that helped me understand how much of a blessing it truly was. When children at school would make fun of me, my parents taught me to see it as something different about me that made me incredibly special. Ever since I was a little girl I had wanted to meet my birth mother. I have had dreams throughout my life of meeting a faceless woman. In the dreams I had always known she is my birth mother but I wake up frustrated because I never see anything more than the outline of a figure and a voice that sounds very much like mine.
The only information I have on either of my birth parents is the packet given to me by the social worker. It is filled with physical descriptions and some information about their situation at the time but that has only been enough information to torment me with all that I don't know. There is so much more to a person than a short biography on a piece of paper. What does she look like? Do my hands look like hers? Do I smile or laugh like she does? Does she think of me as often as I think of her? Is she happy and healthy? The question that weighed heaviest on my mind was "who do I look like"? For some this wouldn't be a big deal. But I don't look much like my adoptive family. I'm hispanic and the rest of them are all German, English or Irish. At family reunions I stick out like a sore thumb. I felt that knowing who I looked like would give me some sort of connection to a bit of who I was, genetically speaking anyway.
I have lived an incredibly blessed life. My adopted parents, Curt and Kathy Burton, are the most giving and loving people I have ever known. They had both encouraged me throughout the years to find my birth mother. I had tried numerous times over the years. I had even driven to the high school I thought she went to in San Diego and spent hours looking through the year books. But I always came up short. After so many dead ends I felt pretty defeated and gave up for a time.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Life, Love and other mysteries
**A warning for those of you about to read this. It is lengthy and probably rambles a bit. But it is one of those things that comes from the heart. For those of you who take the time to read it, God bless your patience! For those of you who don't... I don't blame you for finding the task daunting but I hope you give in a read it nonetheless.**
This past month, on January 5th, Dave and I celebrated our 2 year wedding anniversary. It has only been a short time that we have been married but both of us chuckled about the fact that it feels quite a bit longer than 2 years.
Married life is an interesting thing. No matter how well you feel you are prepared for it, you have no idea what you are getting into. I imagine it is much like having a child. You are never fully ready but you wouldn't trade any of it for the world.
There is much to be learned from being married. One would think this a pretty obvious thing. After all you are taking two people who hardly know each other, sticking them in the same house, sharing the same bed and the same bathroom. Each has their own personality and, most often, they pair up with the person most opposite them. At first it is all goo-goo eyes and giggles, but then the personalities start to come out. Like two polarized magnets being forced together, the differences become glaringly apparent. The things in your mate that you thought were so cute and quirky at first wear your nerves. They are SO far from perfect. They are completely impossible to understand. They don't do things the way you do them. I mean, doesn't everyone fold their socks the same way? What is wrong with them??? You start to look at your beloved through an entirely different pair of uber-critical eyes and find yourself unhappy with what you see. This is where the rubber meets the road.
I realize that all of the above stated information has been published in every book on marriage or habits of the opposite sex that has ever existed. I had no idea how true any of it was until I found myself looking through, and being looked at through, those same disapproving eyes.
Its tough. In my case, I had spent 27 years of my life living and doing things a certain way. It is who I am... what I've always done. Now I'm married to a man who does things quite differently.
We are complete opposites. I am a fly-be-the-seat-of-your-pants type. I take life as it comes and enjoy the ride. He is the plan ahead type. He is prepared for anything and everything that comes his way. I am incredibly unorganized. I live in a perpetual state of what I call "organized chaos". My system makes no sense to anyone else, but it makes perfect sense to me. My husband is on of the most clean and meticulous people I've ever met. I drive him absolutely up the wall! I am a social person. My life is filled with people I care about and I love spending time with them. Socialization is not that high up on my husband's list of priorities. This has been the cause of more than one disagreement on what to do on a Saturday night. I can be extremely stubborn and prideful. He can... well, he can be stubborn and prideful. All in all, we have the propensity to push each other to the edge on occasion.
Which brings me to the whole point of this marriage thing. I have spent the majority of these two years trying to figure out how to live with someone so different. What is it that needs to change so I can tolerate him better? I've tried changing him... we all know that doesn't work. I've studied the school of learning to accept the things about him that you can't stand. That works every so often although it does little more than buy me some time before my next annoyance. I've tried the accentuate the positive approach. However, for some reason I think married life comes with some sort of "look at the positive" inhibitor.
Then there is always the "keep it the same" approach. After all, you are who you are and no one should try to change you right? So you keep on keeping on - squeezing the toothpaste from the top of the tube, leaving your keys wherever you toss them, forgetting to turn off the lights when you leave the room. No big deal. In the meantime, your spouse is probably pulling their hair out wondering why you can't just do things they way they do it. But hey, that's their problem. I am me. You should love me just the way I am.
Yes, there is some truth in that last statement. I should be loved for who I am. But the biggest thing I have misunderstood about marriage is that the whole nature of "me" has changed. I am Kristin, Dave's wife. He and I are now one. When I said "I do" I committed to starting down the path of life hand in hand with my husband. There is little I will do that will not affect him and vice versa. Any refusal to change on my part will not only affect him but also the relationship. So by choosing to live my life however I want it without any thought of my husband, I am making the ultimate selfish decision. Sure I would probably be happy doing my own thing, but who wants to live selfishly?
I've been spending alot of time in Philippians and 1 Corinthians during my Bible times. I keep reading about what love is. "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails."
Ouch! Can I honestly look at that and say that I hold to the majority of those things on any given day? No, I can't. Especially not if I'm living my life looking out for myself. So that does that say about how I treat the people I love? Not much. Ok. I'll do whatever it is I need to do to make the people around me happy. I'll do whatever my husband asks. That's all I need to do right? Oh, so wrong. I've tried for years to follow this rule. Seems easy enough but it is just a con job. I put on this self sacrificing act in order to make myself feel better about how I'm treating people. But there is no change of the heart. My motive is still making my life easier and easing my conscious. How would I like it if the tables were turned? I already know that I can see right through people when they apply the same band-aid solution to the way they treat me. I hate it! I would be a fool to think they can't see the same in me.
This got me thinking. Would I be able to live with myself just the way that I am? If I'm honest with myself the answer is no. Truth be told, just about every part of myself that irritates my husband is an area of my life that I wish I was better in. I honestly want to more organized. I would love to be a better housekeeper. I would love to be able to plan ahead more practically. I don't want to be so stubborn and proud. I don't want to selfishly look out for my own interests.
What it all boils down to is that I'm not trying to learn how to live with my husband. I'm trying to figure out how to live with the worst parts of me. What do I need to do to fix those parts of me that I honestly can't stand? I need to wake up every day and focus on what it is I need to change to make me better.
Sound selfish? Maybe on the surface. But think about it... if we, who tend to avoid looking inward, can manage to take a gander and recognize all the nasty stuff inside our ourselves it is a pretty safe bet the people closest to us have seen that part of us first. By changing those parts, we are not only making ourselves better but we are presenting a much better person to those we care about. Its hard to act on your own interests when the very nature of those interests embarrasses or disgusts you. Each time I set my own interests aside leaves more room for me to focus on what I can do for someone else. And who can benefit more from that than my spouse. I love him with all my heart. He is an incredible man and I can't image my life with any other. Why wouldn't I want to give him the best of everything?
So I'm going to get up in the morning and take a good, hard look at myself. I know I'm not going to like everything I see. Thats good. I know where to start. I know I'm going to screw up. It is in my makeup to look out for myself first. But my hope and prayer is that with each success and failure I will focus more on what I need to change and less about what is wrong with everyone else. Every good day can be looked at as a win for those I care about and every loss a solid reminder that life isn't all about me.
And Thank God it isn't...
This past month, on January 5th, Dave and I celebrated our 2 year wedding anniversary. It has only been a short time that we have been married but both of us chuckled about the fact that it feels quite a bit longer than 2 years.
Married life is an interesting thing. No matter how well you feel you are prepared for it, you have no idea what you are getting into. I imagine it is much like having a child. You are never fully ready but you wouldn't trade any of it for the world.
There is much to be learned from being married. One would think this a pretty obvious thing. After all you are taking two people who hardly know each other, sticking them in the same house, sharing the same bed and the same bathroom. Each has their own personality and, most often, they pair up with the person most opposite them. At first it is all goo-goo eyes and giggles, but then the personalities start to come out. Like two polarized magnets being forced together, the differences become glaringly apparent. The things in your mate that you thought were so cute and quirky at first wear your nerves. They are SO far from perfect. They are completely impossible to understand. They don't do things the way you do them. I mean, doesn't everyone fold their socks the same way? What is wrong with them??? You start to look at your beloved through an entirely different pair of uber-critical eyes and find yourself unhappy with what you see. This is where the rubber meets the road.
I realize that all of the above stated information has been published in every book on marriage or habits of the opposite sex that has ever existed. I had no idea how true any of it was until I found myself looking through, and being looked at through, those same disapproving eyes.
Its tough. In my case, I had spent 27 years of my life living and doing things a certain way. It is who I am... what I've always done. Now I'm married to a man who does things quite differently.
We are complete opposites. I am a fly-be-the-seat-of-your-pants type. I take life as it comes and enjoy the ride. He is the plan ahead type. He is prepared for anything and everything that comes his way. I am incredibly unorganized. I live in a perpetual state of what I call "organized chaos". My system makes no sense to anyone else, but it makes perfect sense to me. My husband is on of the most clean and meticulous people I've ever met. I drive him absolutely up the wall! I am a social person. My life is filled with people I care about and I love spending time with them. Socialization is not that high up on my husband's list of priorities. This has been the cause of more than one disagreement on what to do on a Saturday night. I can be extremely stubborn and prideful. He can... well, he can be stubborn and prideful. All in all, we have the propensity to push each other to the edge on occasion.
Which brings me to the whole point of this marriage thing. I have spent the majority of these two years trying to figure out how to live with someone so different. What is it that needs to change so I can tolerate him better? I've tried changing him... we all know that doesn't work. I've studied the school of learning to accept the things about him that you can't stand. That works every so often although it does little more than buy me some time before my next annoyance. I've tried the accentuate the positive approach. However, for some reason I think married life comes with some sort of "look at the positive" inhibitor.
Then there is always the "keep it the same" approach. After all, you are who you are and no one should try to change you right? So you keep on keeping on - squeezing the toothpaste from the top of the tube, leaving your keys wherever you toss them, forgetting to turn off the lights when you leave the room. No big deal. In the meantime, your spouse is probably pulling their hair out wondering why you can't just do things they way they do it. But hey, that's their problem. I am me. You should love me just the way I am.
Yes, there is some truth in that last statement. I should be loved for who I am. But the biggest thing I have misunderstood about marriage is that the whole nature of "me" has changed. I am Kristin, Dave's wife. He and I are now one. When I said "I do" I committed to starting down the path of life hand in hand with my husband. There is little I will do that will not affect him and vice versa. Any refusal to change on my part will not only affect him but also the relationship. So by choosing to live my life however I want it without any thought of my husband, I am making the ultimate selfish decision. Sure I would probably be happy doing my own thing, but who wants to live selfishly?
I've been spending alot of time in Philippians and 1 Corinthians during my Bible times. I keep reading about what love is. "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails."
Ouch! Can I honestly look at that and say that I hold to the majority of those things on any given day? No, I can't. Especially not if I'm living my life looking out for myself. So that does that say about how I treat the people I love? Not much. Ok. I'll do whatever it is I need to do to make the people around me happy. I'll do whatever my husband asks. That's all I need to do right? Oh, so wrong. I've tried for years to follow this rule. Seems easy enough but it is just a con job. I put on this self sacrificing act in order to make myself feel better about how I'm treating people. But there is no change of the heart. My motive is still making my life easier and easing my conscious. How would I like it if the tables were turned? I already know that I can see right through people when they apply the same band-aid solution to the way they treat me. I hate it! I would be a fool to think they can't see the same in me.
This got me thinking. Would I be able to live with myself just the way that I am? If I'm honest with myself the answer is no. Truth be told, just about every part of myself that irritates my husband is an area of my life that I wish I was better in. I honestly want to more organized. I would love to be a better housekeeper. I would love to be able to plan ahead more practically. I don't want to be so stubborn and proud. I don't want to selfishly look out for my own interests.
What it all boils down to is that I'm not trying to learn how to live with my husband. I'm trying to figure out how to live with the worst parts of me. What do I need to do to fix those parts of me that I honestly can't stand? I need to wake up every day and focus on what it is I need to change to make me better.
Sound selfish? Maybe on the surface. But think about it... if we, who tend to avoid looking inward, can manage to take a gander and recognize all the nasty stuff inside our ourselves it is a pretty safe bet the people closest to us have seen that part of us first. By changing those parts, we are not only making ourselves better but we are presenting a much better person to those we care about. Its hard to act on your own interests when the very nature of those interests embarrasses or disgusts you. Each time I set my own interests aside leaves more room for me to focus on what I can do for someone else. And who can benefit more from that than my spouse. I love him with all my heart. He is an incredible man and I can't image my life with any other. Why wouldn't I want to give him the best of everything?
So I'm going to get up in the morning and take a good, hard look at myself. I know I'm not going to like everything I see. Thats good. I know where to start. I know I'm going to screw up. It is in my makeup to look out for myself first. But my hope and prayer is that with each success and failure I will focus more on what I need to change and less about what is wrong with everyone else. Every good day can be looked at as a win for those I care about and every loss a solid reminder that life isn't all about me.
And Thank God it isn't...
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