Life doesn’t turn out how you plan — if you can plan at all.
I’m reminded of this today, because I’ve reached a tremendous milestone and it doesn’t feel a thing like I expected.
Yesterday in the mail came the penultimate (don’t you love that word?) piece of information I needed to be 99% sure that I have finally found my first mother, Patricia Clark. It is my presumed grandfather’s obituary, which describes him as a painting contractor, just as the information in the report of non-identifying information from Westchester Family Services does.
I have her phone number. All the other details I can find seem to match up. I am at once thrilled, light-headed and in awe of the help I have received from several search angels. (Thank you, Pris and Joanne, among so many others who have offered help and support along the way.)
It seems to be her — there are too many matching details for them to all be coincidences.
Just 90 minutes way in Long Island. There all this time.
When I stop to think about it, I can’t quite breathe right.
Of course my next step is to attempt contact, which I am in the process of doing. I had no luck yesterday.
Cue the balloons and Champagne. Start the happy dance.
Except that hasn’t happened.
Don’t get me wrong, I am thrilled — enough so that I called my Mom last night to tell her the news.
I’ve been worrying since I hung up the phone, though, that I have upset her, even though she and Dad have always said they support me in my search. I’ve been trying to use my own parental experience to put myself in their shoes, but I can’t guess how they are taking this news. I don’t want it to hurt them. I am not looking to replace them or their influence on my life.
And at the same time, I need to know who I am.
For the moment, I am in shock, bewildered and more than a little afraid about what lies ahead.
What will happen next?
The answers to my lifetime of questions might lie at the end of my phone line.
Or there I might find a final rejection.
Wish me luck.