For many adoptees, our stories begin after we were adopted and not when we were born. For thirty four years I never knew the answers to simple questions such as what’s your birth weight or what time did you enter this world or what hospital was your mom at. Growing up in a closed adoption steals parts of our stories that many of us adoptees spend a lifetime trying to piece back together.
August 24th 2018 is what I call my “Rebirthday”. Through hoops and fire, it was the day that I received my Original Birth Certificate that I had set out for many months before but have waited an entire lifetime to obtain. If you are at all intertwined in the online adoption community, you have probably seen a lot of buzz around adoptee’s and their fight and education for original birth certificates. The most common response to the social media posts I see regarding this “piece of paper” is just that… a simple, meaningless piece of paper. Yet this piece of paper has been altered, tampered with and it is actually LEGAL to do so! Born to someone else so quickly gets replaced with new names of practically strangers. These strangers’ names are added before bonds are made and nurture established.
Names erased to be forgotten.
In pure panic, I often find myself digging up my adoption file, double checking on the location of my OBC in fear that I may lose it and haven’t yet memorized all the information on it that I had never known. Brushing my fingers across the information of my birth mother’s first and last name, something I didn’t know for the majority of my life. Scanning the details of the hospital where I was born and placed; the place for the first and last time I would be with my birth mother. I look over the combination of numbers and words that spell out the address where I could have potentially grown up. Practicing ‘5:27’ over and over in my head trying to memorize these set of digits as my time of birth. The doctor’s name embedded in my brain; the man who knew my birth mom and her family well and knew the journey she had chosen for me. I sift through all the documents, re-reading each transaction, each line of communication, matching dates with every note dictated… reliving, reminiscing, worrying about then and now and everything in between.
When I searched, prayed, begged for this piece of paper, I had no idea what it would mean to me. Unaware of what it would do to me. It meant reunification with both my biological families after living a closed adoption with no information. It meant gaining a sense of wholeness and provided answers to a lot of unknowns. Yet, it has also opened up a wound that I am just now learning about, the primal wound. A wound made by a conscious decision that created scar tissue that is currently unraveling and dissolving. This piece of paper displays the severance between a mother and her child; proof of the trauma of separation.
This year’s “rebirthday” has encouraged me to cross my T’s and dot my I’s that I have everything for our daughter Brooklyn; organized, locked up and safe for when she is willing and ready. Fortunately, she doesn’t have to fight the fight I had to and for that I am thankful for some legislative change over the past several years. If I had attempted to retrieve my OBC just 10 years before I did, I would have been slapped in the face with a dead end right there. Thankfully, my birth state has updated their statutes to allow adoptees to gain back their own rights. There is still so much that needs to happen on state and federal level and even within adoption agencies. It breaks my heart that most of my adult adoptee friends are still having to hire lawyers to fight for their own identification, their own birth history.
Coming from an adoptee who had to fight a dirty fight for my rightful information but also coming from an adoptive mama to a four year old, I want to leave you with a couple reminders to be proactive so your child doesn’t have to live their lives in wonder. First, fight for your child’s original birth certificate. When you are signed up with an agency or lawyer, ask how this works specifically for your state and circumstances. Once you learn what it will take, do not stop there. When our family adopted, I was adamant about walking away with our daughters’ original copy in hand leaving the courthouse. It meant that I had to ask our case worker more than once in the hospital, remind her after discharge and everyday leading up to finalization that it was imperative to get this document so my daughter does not have to pay for it later. Secondly, make sure you write down everything you learn about the biological parents and families (names, ages, other family members) and the child birth stats such as birth weight/height/time of birth. Sadly, these are all attributes of my story that I just learned in my mid thirties. As a new parent to this child, you think you will remember everything but it is not worth the chance. Lastly, preserve the information, pictures, documentations in a safe place. Somewhere you can reference as quickly as you need to for when questions arise or they are desired by your child.
This piece of paper is so much more to me.
This piece of paper is part of my identity.
Part of my history.
Part of my story.
Part of my being.
Names never to be forgotten.
WRITTEN BY KIRA MCSHERRY: Kira currently lives in the hot desert with her husband + two children. She is a an advocate for the adoption triad as both an adoptee and adoptive mom. Photography is her addiction and writing is her therapy.
