It’s a feeling like none other. A churning. A desire for truth in the inmost parts, propelling me to action. If you were to see me now, you would think I were searching for gold.
Instead, its clues from my alleged birth father’s military records.
Records reveal that he was suffering from psychoneurosis, anxiety, nervousness, restlessness, sleeplessness, and headaches which were the results of a “hold up” (his words).
Who in their right mind would do this? Most people don’t need to look for relatives. And what would normal families think of me searching for lost relatives with negative, painful histories?
Am I a fool?
Should I be sneaky and not let anyone know I am searching?
Sometimes, I feel like a little imp, begging for food on the street corner.
It’s just not fair that we adoptees have to be the searchers.
They should search for us.
Even though birth father wasn’t able to serve in the military as a soldier, he later enlisted in Arkansas in a different capacity…a chauffeur. His home was in Portland Oregon. Also, he has auburn hair.
I’ve been told by experts that the DNA matching is really quite credible. It shows me to have a half-sister and half-brother.
And so, the journey continues.
My adoptee heart that yearns for truth reminds me that adoption, indeed, is a lifelong journey.
This day, I am grateful for my adoption, which removed me from a mentally-ill father and an abusive mother.
God is good.
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