Growing up my household consisted of 4 people, a mom, a dad and 2 sisters who were both adopted. My sister and I came from two different cities, two backgrounds, three years apart but we grew up with the same view on our adoption stories; we were filled with contentment. My sister, Danica, has always been someone I looked up to, she is my rock. When she said to jump, I’d replied with how high. I loved hearing from strangers that we looked alike even though, to us, we had very obvious traits that were not biological. I even outgrew her in height by the time I was in 2nd grade. I loved going through life together, healing through a parental divorce, losing our adoptive mom, moving cities, changing schools, navigating social groups but always being each other’s best friends. I wanted to do everything she did, wear everything she wore, and experience everything she did with her. All so in sync except when it came to unraveling our own adoption stories. Our parents were always direct and invited us to pursue our adoption stories once we became legal adults.
At 18 years old, my sister Danica was eager to start discovering her biological roots. Being only 15 years old myself at this time, I was literally obsessed with my (adoptive) mom with zero intention on traveling this road to search for my biological family even if I was legally able to do so. Danica was open and patient as she began her search and I remember wishing I could have the confidence she had if or when I was ready to open this box myself. Fortunately for her, she found straightforward non-identifying information fairly quickly. Unfortunately, it wasn’t filled with rainbows nor was it covered in glitter and the beginning of her end result was one of the biggest fears adoptees face... discovering your biological mother has already passed away before you even got to know/learn her name.
Many years had gone by along with many milestones and tragic losses that Danica and I endured together. My sister picked back up her search in 2017 and we were both excited for her to explore her maternal side further. Meanwhile, I was still not ready. I had flipped flopped, toying with the idea from age 18 to 30 but never made the move forward. I can sit here now and tell you it was because I was nervous I’d get the same news as my sister about her mom passing away years before and having to deal with another maternal loss crippled me. I was also scared that there wouldn’t be any information for me to receive which would end my search abruptly.
Currently, I can sit here and say that I did not want the pressure of replacing one mother with another or one father with another or one sister with another… seemed unfathomable but potentially realistic. Maybe it was fear of rejection that my presence wouldn’t be welcomed or that their lives were already complete without my being a part of it. At the time, I just wasn’t prepared, wasn’t ready but yet so envious of my sister.
As my sister pressed forward with her search, we’d talk for hours about these new family members she was connecting with and meeting. She’d text me pictures of her newly discovered aunts and we’d get giddy comparing all their physical characteristics, something so foreign to adoptees.
I was just as eager to meet all of them and watch her create these personal relationships but so scared I’d be left behind. At times I admittedly felt varied levels of jealousy which brought sadness which would manifest into anger at myself because why would I feel jealous for her readiness, her initiations when I too could be making these strides but was choosing not to out of fear.
I was jealous she knew something, yet I knew nothing.
I was jealous she was brave and ready, yet I was not.
Once I did take the leap of forever faith, a year or so later at the beginning of my 30’s, I knew our journeys were not going to unfold the same way. I knew our stories were going to be different. I knew my journey of reuniting was not easy on her either. My story came together quicker than hers which made me feel guilty and somewhat crushed me because she had wanted this more than I did. Getting the news that my biological parents were both alive, well, and accepting was a loading feeling because already our stories were not the same. Between our two different adoption and reunion stories, my sister and I went back and forth with happiness, sadness, hopelessness, enviousness, and helplessness. Of course, we stood by each other through each connection but I remember feeling bad, guilty, apologetic talking about my birth father and his outpouring love when she herself is still to this day hoping she will find her birth father. She has spent so much time and research and reaching out to matches through ancestry trying to find him and being left with dead ends. She at times has described it as feeling more lost and disheartened. Yet my experience was the polar opposite and it felt heavy for both of us. The first time I introduced my new biological sisters to my sister, I felt apprehensive because I didn’t want anyone to think they were being dismissed. Even as the younger sister, I feel protective of her because through her reunion search she has experienced so much loss already that was beyond her knowledge.
Our whole lives have been about our family, the “same” mom, and dad, but now our families have expanded well beyond one another. Hearing her say “your mom” instead of “our mom” took some getting used to. Hearing myself pluralize “my sisters” took a lot of getting used to. Things that come naturally in a non-adopted dynamic were very unnatural for me and her during our reunions. Our definitions of a family continue to grow as these new biological relationships strengthen. Neither one of us is forgetting about our strong bond and memorable upbringing and we will continue to remain communicative, considerate, and open to embracing all this new love and relationships but this is adoption– Uncharted territory: Honest. Trust. Love. Uncertainty.
