A year ago I took a huge risk. A risk I never imagined myself taking in my life. A risk that took little thought but a lot of action. The risk of finding my adoption file. With my adoption being closed and private I figured the starting point would be contacting the only thing I knew, the family lawyer who finalized my placement. I quickly hit a dead end, as he was insensitive and unhelpful. In fact, his exact words to me were, “if she hasn’t set out to find you still, you obviously weren’t a product of love so you might as well stop searching.” The flame underneath me was now a full fledge raging fire.
I was recently made aware that the state of New Mexico, where I was born and placed, had changed their laws within the last 10-15 years making it possible for adoptees to unseal their non-identifying adoption file with a court order. Because I am not one to give up, I ended up hiring an Intermediary/Private Investigator to assist with getting court approval. It seemed like my only option left. That also was halted when I was informed my file was missing from the courts. Yup! Missing. But why? Where did it go? It had a place, a bin number, a case number, why was it not there? Who removed it? When was it removed? At this point, I had no biological names, no story, no information regarding my adoption. I jokingly began to fantasize that I must have been royalty, a princess even (which unfortunately wasn’t the case) and that’s why my file was missing. But seriously, what was worth hiding? Why was this so difficult?
It made me feel like I didn’t exist.
I didn’t matter.
I was a secret.
Someone was ashamed of me.
Recently, on March 25th 2019, keeping in mind my birth mom and I are already in reunion, I got a call. A call that I always imagined getting. A call that so many adoptees want to receive. A call from the law firm:
Your birth mom has contacted our office. She is inquiring in information about your adoption file as well as about you.
My heart sunk deep into my stomach hearing those words even though I was well aware she contacted the office for our file. Together we decided we wanted to attempt to retrieve the documents again. Now all of a sudden there is a file? Just suddenly reappears? To continue the rat race I had been dealing with for a year, the only way we could view the file was with consent from my (adopted) father. This stopped me in my tracks with confusion. Why was it up to my dad or my birth mom to reclaim our documents? Of course, without hesitation, he authorizes and a few long days later it’s accessible for us to view.
April 5th, 2019, with confidence and fear, I head to my hometown, stroll up to the lawyer’s office to be handed a packet of paper long overdue. Getting this file is me coming full circle. Back to a place where it all started and restarted because my journey has never ended. I knew deep down in my heart getting this information wouldn’t change anything. I was still me. My parents still my parents. My birth family still my birth family. My reunion still real. I wanted this file to give a resolution. Answers to my story. Answers that my birth mom cannot provide. We were wanting it to provide insight into why my file was missing. It took me a minute (or 45) to open it. Once I did, I was not welcomed with any information I didn’t already know. Part of me was relieved about that but part of me was disappointed. I hate to say disappointed mainly because I was looking for deception, proof of deception at least, no one wants betrayal but it’s hard to get closure with so many missing pieces.
As adoptees, we should be entitled to this information. ALL the information. Not just the information that would make us feel comfortable or at peace but all the details that make up the beginning of our lives. And we deserve this information from the get-go. I am aware that there are still some states that will deny an adoptee their information no matter the measures they take and not only does that blow my mind but it also breaks my heart. This is a huge injustice and disservice to an individual no matter where their story starts or ends. No matter the reasons or seasons. Again, growing up I never felt empty or broken or abandoned but knowing now that I couldn’t obtain anything simply because it disappeared really hurt me.
I have this file for justice.
Justice for myself and for my birth mom.
I want this file to be another healing piece to puzzle.
For her.
For me.
And I can now fortunately say, for us.
I do not take any of this for granted.
