Aloha!

" Life is what happens to you while you are busy making other plans" Allen Saunders


It was February 24, 2004 when my children and I got on an airplane with nothing but our suitcases to start a new life in "Paradise," we were moving to the Sandwich Islands, better known as Hawaii, The Big island to be exact. My husband relocated there four months earlier for a job, when he was offered a permanent position we decided to move.

 I had spent the last two months working full time, being a full time mother to four wonderful children, taking care of our 7 month old son who was sick with  RSV(a respiratory virus). He was receiving home health and a nebulizer three times a day, my oldest son broke his arm during Football practice and had to have surgery, and in my spare time I was packing, cleaning the home and trying to sell all our belongings. My husband was able to fly over, but was only able to get two weeks off and did as much as he could to help while he was home, even with his help I felt very overwhelmed.

The last two month was so exhausting, and draining, I was running on pure adrenaline in order to keep myself from falling apart. When we got on our red eye flight after a long journey to the airport and saying goodbye to family and friends, I could finally let go. It felt good to be catered to on the airplane with movies and food, I took a deep sigh of relief. There was nothing more for me to do, other than sit back and enjoy the ride.

It was a very peaceful ride, the baby slept, my daughters were watching movies and my teenage son wasn't speaking to me. He had been giving me the silent treatment ever since his surgery. He was still mad at us for moving and ruining his life. Looking across at him on the plane I couldn't help but chuckle. He looked so mean with his Fluorescence Pink Cast. He had two other casts before his surgery and this time decided to be funny and get pink. The closer we got to arriving the more anxious I became. All I could think about was getting off the plane and handing the children over to my husband and starting my vacation, that I definitely earned!

It was morning when we landed on the Big island of Hawaii. The scenery wasn't at all how I pictured Hawaii to look. I imagined plush greenery and palm trees with vibrant tropical flowers all over. The view leaving the airport was nothing but black lava rock and very flat. I could see the look on my children's faces, they were thinking the same thing I was, where did we just move too! As we were driving to the town we saw writings in the rocks done by white coral with peoples names on it. That was fun to read and look at, but very different from what I had imagined an island to look like. I never understood why the airport was built where it was. It gave such a false persona of the Island. It wasn't until the following day when my husband drove us around the island we began to see the island we imagined it to look like. We visited the waterfalls Hawaii is famous for and the very well known Volcanoes that built the islands. The only active one in Hawaii today is on the Big Island of Hawaii. Then we stopped at the beach and let the kids experience the ocean for the first time. It was a dream come true. My poor son couldn't get in the water because of his cast, but enjoyed walking along the rocks in the water. We went home and my husband made us one of his Polynesian BBQ dinners, that we must have had a thousand times but it seemed like we were tasting it for the first time eating it in Hawaii.

After a couple of weeks getting the kids ready for school with all the required immunizations for the State of Hawaii, they finally started their first day. That is when my vacation started! I went to the beach everyday once the kids got off to school.  I put the baby in a stroller and we walked the town and went in all the stores. I played a tourist until I ran out of excursions to do and places to go. I found all the "Keiki"( children) ponds and my baby loved it! I soon knew my way around the Island and new all the places to go. My husband was making enough money that I didn't have to find work, I was able to stay home and enjoy being a mother.  I was unable to do be a stay-at- home mom with my other children and took full advantage of staying home with my last baby.  When my baby started preschool I found a job, by this time I was ready to work again and have some independence again, plus it was a way for me to socialize with adults. Working was my vacation away from home.

My children instantly became part of the "local" scene.  Being half polynesian helped. Even though they were not Hawaiian they were learning more about the Polynesian culture then they ever could have learned living on the "mainland", I absolutely was thrilled with everything they were learning and I quickly saw how moving here was the best decision we had made. Everyday waking up to our exquisite ocean view was beyond anything I could ever imagined. My daughters took up "Hula" classes and performed at varies Luau's and Resort on the Island, My eldest son became very involved in High School Sports and we traveled all the islands through his sports. Every time he had to play a High School on another island, we used it as an excuse to tour that island and would stay a few extra days. It was an amazing time in our lives. Every weekend was spent at the beach, BBQing or camping. We loved to entertain friends and new family we were meeting in our home. We were starting our own family traditions. I couldn't dream of having a better life anywhere else. The cultural experience my children were having was remarkable. We had made some life long friends and met relatives we had never seen before. After moving several times in the past we had finally found our home and a place where we wanted to settle and live forever. This was our "Ohana"(home and family). We started to look at homes to buy and make this a permanent move.We couldn't have been more happier; then, overnight the life we had built for ourselves had changed.

The economy crashed in 2008 and we were hit hard. Something we had not planned on. All construction and building came to a stop on the island. My husband struggled to find work and when he did he was having a hard time getting payment for his work.  It was impossible to live off of my income alone trying to raise a family of six and we soon were losing everything we had spent the last few years building, within 3 months our oldest son graduated from High School and was leaving for college, we were being evicted from our home due to lack of income, we could no longer pay our bills and were behind on everything. When we realized there was nothing we could do without the income to continue living in Hawaii, regretfully we moved back to the "mainland" believing my husband would be able to find work. We ended up having a garage sale and sold all our belongings in our home and found ourselves once again at an airport with nothing but our suitcases starting over again! I was devastated, angry, hurt and felt like my life was falling apart, I felt like everything was out of my control and I didn't understand how this could have happened to us. I had no idea what the future held for myself or my family.

Within the first month of moving back to the "mainland" we found more devastation when we realized that we were now homeless and neither of us were able to find work. We were living with my mother. No person imagines in their "middle age" years, moving your entire family in with your parents. This should be a time in our lives when we should be buying our first home, happily raising our children and teaching them lessons, putting our children through school and helping them in building their future, dreams, and goals. We never imagined our confidence and security as parents and human beings could all be taken away. I questioned what kind of parent I was to my children when I couldn't even take care of myself. I began to have doubt in myself and felt like such a failure. I started looking back on my life and questioning every choice I ever made, wondering if I had done anything differently would I still be where I am today.

Moving to the "mainland" my children were old enough to recognize that certain people treated them different. For the first time in their lives they were the minority.  I felt terrible. I cried every night in the shower when no one could hear me and prayed for people in this world to not be so closed minded.  I didn't know how to take the pain away from my children knowing they were learning the realities of how ignorant some people in this world could be. 

In Hawaii, I experienced prejudices among some people. I was treated differently if I was in town alone, I was just a "hauli", if I went with my children or husband,  I seemed to be more excepted.  I didn't mind being the minority in Hawaii. I learned it was mostly because they didn't know me. Once I had lived there long enough to get to know people I didn't experience it as much. It never crossed my mind moving my children out of their comfort zone,  they would have a different experience and I was hurt that my children had to go through this experience. They never looked at themselves as different before because,  I never taught them to see color only a persons character.

Leave it to children to realize things better than adults! While I was struggling with helping my children go through this lesson in life, my daughter came home one day and ended up becoming my teacher. After school one day she came home smiling from ear to ear and said, "Mom, I figured out what is wrong with people here"? My curiosity was getting the best of me as I tried to imagine what she had discovered, I looked at her and said, "what"? She proudly replied by saying, "no one here has Aloha"!  I was stunned by what she said. She was absolutely right!

 In Hawaii, the culture is all about "Ohana"(family) and "Aloha"(love). With all the hustle and busy lifestyle of the "mainland," people can get so caught up in their accomplishments and lives, that they live for themselves and forget to live for others. This wasn't how I raised my children. Where we lived in Hawaii, life is taken back a notch and more laid back, people are not concerned with "keeping up with the Jones". The kids wear T-Shirt's and board-shorts, natural beach style hair or tied in a bun. The kids call you "Auntie" and "Uncle" out of respect. The teenage kids would hitch hike from beach to beach calling out your name, if you drove past them without giving them a ride. Everyone watches out for one another. The schools taught my kids about humanitarian work and community involvement in taking care of our environment and love for helping one another. At that very moment, I realized even though it cost more money to live in Hawaii, I felt more poorer financially and emotionally with the pressures that are put upon you living in the mainland. I found myself caring about social status, I was humiliated and ashamed I couldn't provide for my family and here comes my teenage daughter to remind me what I forgot. I was proud of my daughter for realizing that wasn't what mattered in life. What mattered was having "Aloha"!

We have chosen to make "Aloha" our family motto. My children have become active members of the community in volunteering for events, something they did in Hawaii  and was able to carry on in our new town.  My youngest son took it upon himself to educate his class about polynesians, so they knew about his culture. My daughter became part of the student council in her school and had a culture week in her school. My husband and I were both amazed and proud at how our children decided to deal with diversity. They taught us better than we could have taught them. Everyday, I wake up in "aw" of my children and their determination to remain positive no matter how bad the outcome may seem. To always find the positive in everything. To remember there is a reason and purpose for everything that happens in life. We are never given any trial we are not strong enough to handle and as long as we remember to have "Aloha" we can get through anything as a family and an individual.

Our family was hit hard when the economy changed and we were only one family out of many that ended up having their lives changed by the crash of 2008, but I believe we have become stronger as a family through this. This experience has only humbled us and made us realize that no matter how hard you work and plan your life while you are busy living the "American" dream, it can all come crumbling down in a heart beat.  When all is said and done all that truly matters is not how much money a person makes or the job they have or what kind of home you live in, the car you drive or your social status in society, the true dream is being together as a Family and being loved, having Aloha and Ohana.!  When disaster strikes no one cares about what you are, but who you are, your integrity, your compassion, your character, your love for one another. As long as my children have learned that, then I know I have succeeded as a parent.

Our goal is to return to Hawaii someday, but, until that day happens, we keep Hawaii in our hearts by never forgetting the most important thing we learned living there and that is to spread "Aloha' wherever you are. This keeps Hawaii, close to our hearts. Life may have taken us temporarily away from our home we built there, but it's only made our journey to return more adventurous.

Who Am I, Really?

The semester is over. Yahoo! For my final in my creative writing class, I had to write a short non-fiction story. I chose to write it on my life. I never realized how "Oprah" my life was until I started writing.  I hope you enjoy. I hope in sharing my experience, it can help someone else who has struggled in their life too.

Who Am I, Really?

" The two most important days in your life are: The day you are born, and the day you find out why." Mark Twain 

I  always knew I was adopted. My parents chose to not keep it from me, I thought everyone was adopted and it was normal. I never grew up thinking I was different, or that my parents were any less my parents because, they weren't my biological parents.  I never looked at being adopted as being different. As a child in elementary school I soon found out how cruel children could be. I thought it was sad some people were so closed minded they honestly believed you could only be family if you shared the same "DNA."
I was never ashamed of being adopted, and yet my entire life I felt like I didn't fit in. Don't get me wrong. I love my adopted family, and couldn't imagine my life without them, but I felt like no one truly understood me. I longed for a connection or bond with my adopted parents I would see with my friends and their parents. My parents and I didn’t share that closeness.  
 I wanted to know where I came from, who my ancestors were and who I looked like? People often asked what my ethnicity was and I would say, “I don’t know,” sometimes they would ask if I was Mexican, and I would go along with it, my adoptive mother told me when I was very young my biological mother had Indian in her, so I believed I was Native American Indian. 
I was always wondering what my life would have been like if I hadn't been adopted still believing "the grass is greener on the other side." I would dream I was a princess and came from royalty, then I would dream I was immortal or a witch and had special powers. I dreamed of becoming a famous singer, actress or an olympic ice skater and maybe my biological mother would recognize me and find me.
My childhood wasn’t an easy one. When I was five years old my adopted parents got divorced. I remember vividly the day my father left. I went in my bedroom and took my little pink suitcase and packed it with clothes that a five year old would only find necessary to bring. Went into the bathroom brushed my teeth and did my hair; put on my favorite dress to look pretty and show my dad I could take care of myself. I then walked past my mom and stood in front of her so my dad couldn't miss me, my dad was sitting in his red Jeep Wrangler.
He looked up at me and asked, “Where are you going?”
“I want to live with you and I’m going with you.” I replied
He then said the words that crushed me, “You need to stay here with your mother. I will see you soon Babe,” (He always called me Babe). 
He started his jeep and slowly backed out of the garage and soon he was gone. My mom tried to comfort me, but I shrugged my shoulders at her and ran into my room crying and yelling,
“ I hate my mom! How could she want my daddy gone?”

 Not understanding why adults do the things they do at my tender age of five, I was going to show my mom by punishing her and didn't eat anything or talk to her for the rest of that day!

 The majority of my childhood was spent in the middle of my parent’s court battles, and feeling like I had to choose. Every time I would chose my dad the courts kept placing me with my mom, and I became very bitter and angry. There was nothing wrong with my mother, except I felt a distance between us. I never felt like we understood each other. We were so opposite from one another.  I never got much support from my mom emotionally growing up, so I built a ”Halo” around my dad and believed he was going to save me.

One of my many memories that stick out in my head growing up is a time when I was ten and my dad came to visit, my mom wouldn’t let him in the house. I wanted to give him a hug and visit with him and my mom wouldn’t let me see him. I ran to the front window and waved at my Dad crying. He stared at me from outside and waved back, then got in his baby blue ford bronco and left.

 I wasn’t told until years later the reason I couldn’t see my dad that day was because he had been drinking alcohol and my mom didn’t want me seeing him drunk or him taking me and drinking and driving.

As I got older, the times with my dad became more infrequent. I would stand outside on his days to visit and wait all day for him to pull up in the driveway, but he never came.

By the time I reached my early teenage years my mom decided to move us two states away, so she could have a new start. I only saw my dad one time after we moved. He came to visit my brother and I during my sophomore year in High School for a week.

My father died when I was nineteen. We were out of town visiting my maternal grandparents when my mom got the call my dad had been killed in a car accident. He apparently fell asleep at the wheel and drove straight into a bank, he was pronounced dead on arrival.

The three hour drive back home from my grandparents you could have heard a pin drop. It was the longest drive ever. My mom still hadn’t told me what had happened; yet I felt this awful feeling inside. I knew something had happened to my dad I could feel it. I didn’t want to ask my mom what was wrong, if I didn’t ask she couldn’t confirm the feeling I was having so I kept quiet and stared out the car window the entire ride. I assumed if my intuition had been right she would have told me.

We pulled into town and my mom drove straight to the rehab center where my younger brother was currently staying. (My dad not being in our lives had already affected him). I knew something was seriously wrong when we were put in a room and the psychologist came in. I had a sick feeling in my stomach.

“Did you tell them?” The psychologist asked my mom.

“No, I wanted to wait to tell them with you,” my mom said.

They were talking as if my brother and I were not in the room.

I wanted to yell, “I already know! It’s Daddy, isn’t it?” But I kept quiet still hoping my instincts were not right, but secretly screaming inside I already knew.

Finally, the words came out of my mom’s mouth.

“Your dad was killed early this morning in a car accident.”

 As I was digesting what I had heard the psychologist looked at my brother and I and asked, “How does this make you feel?”

Are you kidding me! I was just told my Father died and he is seriously asking me how I feel?

“How do you think I feel, you idiot? My father just died, I’m devastated.” I ran out of the room and down the hall to exit the building. My mom wanted them to keep me in the facility because I was so upset, every door I tried to open was locked and I was feeling trapped in this awful place. I went into the bathroom and sobbed. Finally, a lady came inside the bathroom and because I was over eighteen they couldn’t legally keep me there and let me leave.

I ran and ran until I was physically drained I my body couldn't run anymore, and then I just fell to the ground sweating and out of breath. I began to weep, I’ve never wept as hard or as loud as I did that day. I was so upset I could barely breath. I cried until I was so emotionally drained I couldn’t cry anymore. I was oblivious to my surroundings. I became so weak my body and mind shut down and I fell asleep. It wasn’t until I was woken up by a police officer asking me if everything was ok, that I realized I was not in a good part of town. After explaining to him my ordeal he drove me home where I received the final blow.

When I walked in the house I checked the answering machine. There was a message from my dad he had left the day he died. He called to tell us good-bye and that he loved us. He ended the message playing his guitar and singing the song by Crosby, Stills,Nash and Young, “Teach your children well.”  the day and time he left the message on our recorder was hours before his car accident, which meant, He planned it!! By this time I was numb. I couldn’t take anymore. I emotionally shut down. Then, the ultimate last straw was when my mom wouldn't help me financially to go to my dad's funeral, she didn't want us to go. This was so unforgivable to me, I left and stayed with my friend for weeks, I wouldn't talk to my mom. I even tried walking to my dads funeral, but never made it there. It wasn't until a few years later, that I made it out why my brother and we saw his grave for the first time.

 I had built this image of my dad to be my “Superhero.” I thought he was invincible. He wasn’t supposed to be weak. How could he do something so selfish? Why didn’t he think of how my brother and I were going to feel? What if I had been there, maybe I could have changed his mind? He must of felt all alone? I felt an enormous amount of loss and sadness. There was a huge void in my life and I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do with all my emotions. 

Dealing with my dad’s death and trying to figure out where to go from here I had the desire more than ever to discover Who I was. My mom had raised us with a strong religious background and I was beginning to question all of it. How could God have let this happen? I wanted to run away and get lost in a world I knew nothing about.

During this time in my life, I remained numb and I became angry with my dad for not loving me enough to stay alive.  I began to question life and my beliefs.  If my father didn’t believe what he had taught me then why should I? I started drinking and not caring about anything or anyone. I became depressed and destructive. I had given up on life.  I had forgotten I was still living.

 In this dark period I met someone who I dated for a brief time. The relationship ended when he told me he was using me to make my friend jealous because he liked her. In his twisted mind he thought by dating me it would make her like him. It backfired on him when both of us wanted nothing to do with him. Not long after I found out I was pregnant.  When I told him, he made it very clear he wanted nothing to do with the baby or me.

 In less than two years I went from a naive, sheltered “churchy” girl to an overwhelming reality check of how cold and cruel some people in this world could be.

             As weird as this may sound becoming pregnant save my life. In a time of my life where I felt I had lost everything and didn’t have any reason to live being pregnant gave me a purpose. It wasn’t just about me anymore. I was responsible for another life. When I got pregnant I stopped living the destructive lifestyle I was living and turned my life around.

During my pregnancy I began to understand the bond between a mother and a child. I felt this heavy burden knowing this baby was going to depend on me for the rest of his life to love, teach and protect him. I couldn’t mess this up! From that day forward I devoted my life to my son and vowed that any pain he felt in life would never be because of my own doing.

Somewhere, somehow my dad forgot his commitment to his children as a parent. For the first time I saw my dad through the eyes of an adult and not a child.  I began to cry not because he had died, but because I understood his pain, his loneliness, and the dark world of depression he had been living in because I had been there too. Instead of being angry with him, I felt compassion for him and sympathy that he had never discovered his reason to live. I realized at that moment God didn’t choose for this to happen, this was my father’s choice. I will never forget my dad’s selfish act that left my brother and I fatherless, but I could finally let go of the pain and forgive him.

            I experienced a lot of ignorance amongst people when they found out I was not married. I didn’t receive much emotional support from my mom during my pregnancy. She was more concern about how my pregnancy affected her. My mom is a good person, but social status matters to her. The way you look, dress, and behave is everything. Being pregnant and not married went against our church teachings. My mom was more concerned with what people in our church were going to say, than trying to understand I was struggling too. This made me think of what my biological mother must have experienced when she was pregnant with me. I started to understand what she had felt being unwed and pregnant.  I realized the apple hadn’t fallen very far from the tree.  Living this experience only made me long to know my biological mother even more.

            For my "first" Mother's Day my mom’s gift to me was a ripped piece of paper. I took it from her hand thinking this was an odd gift. I looked at the paper and saw a name written on it. She had given me a piece of paper with a name on it? I looked up at her confused.

“The only thing I know about your biological mother was she had long dark hair and her name. When your dad and I went to pick you up from the hospital we saw her backside as she was walking down the hallway of the hospital with her mother to leave.”

My mom continued with tears in her eyes,

“I wrote her name down to make sure I never forgot it in case someday you wanted to find her. Now that you have become a mother, I feel you are finally mature enough to understand where your birth mother was coming from and you are ready to handle whatever you find out.”

             Giving me the name of my biological mother had to have been the hardest thing she ever did. The anxiety she must have been feeling knowing I could find my biological mom and wondering how this would change our relationship must have been excruciating for her. I looked at my mom differently that day for loving me enough to give me the missing piece to my puzzle.

The journey to find my biological mother took less than a year. Being born in the "1960's" adoptions were closed and records were impossible to gain access too. I took a chance anyways and contacted the State Capital Building in California where I was born and they directed me to their Vital Statistics Department. The secretary explained to me that because my adoption was closed it wouldn't help to petition the judge, I wouldn't be granted the records under any circumstance. The lady then went on to explain to me, that when the biological mother is at the hospital she is given paperwork to fill out with basic information in case the child should come looking for them, if she had filled out that paper I am allowed a copy of it. She took my name and information and told me they would look up my records and see if she had filled out the paper, if she did I would receive it in the mail within four to six weeks.

 Everyday I went to check the mail and when there was no letter from the State of California it made the rest of the day drag on and the wait for the following day seemed like it took forever. I will never forget the day I checked my mail and there in my hand was a letter from the State of California Statistics Office. I was excited and nervous, like a child on their birthday waiting to open their presents.

 As soon as I opened it, there was my entire life I knew nothing about; who I was, where I came from, information all about my biological mother and father, circumstance of why she gave me up, my heart was pounding as I quickly read why I was given up.

My biological father was married, and was the older brother of my birth mother’s best friend and he raped my birth mother. What? I reread this sentence probably a hundred times. What does a person do with that information? I was the product of the inevitable! The one thing an adopted child prayers isn't what happened. There it was written in a single sentence in pencil.

Do I dare erase it? I thought.

 No! I couldn’t, this was her story. I didn’t write it. As much as I wanted to pretend it wasn’t there on the paper, it was.

My brain was storming with mix feelings needing to soak in what I had just read. I had hesitation if I should continue reading but curiosity got the best of me and I continued.

My heart was beating fast, my stomach was in knots, I was so nervous I became nauseated as I was reading; this was a surreal moment for me. I took in every word and paid extra attention to the handwriting, it was her handwriting. A paper written by my “Birth” mother with all the answers I had been searching for. In less than a page she had become a real person, not just a dream.

 I discovered I was a "mutt" having American Indian, French, Jewish and Irish from my mother's side, and Italian from my father's side. I continued to read until I came to the section "RELIGION”, then I read her reply and saw she was the same religion I was. This took me by surprise because my adopted parents didn't convert to our religion until I was one years old. My biological mother never new I was raised in the same religion as her.

That is when I got this brilliant idea! I could petition the church to look up my biological mother’s church records and see if they would send her a letter for me, without having to give me her location, then it would be up to her to contact me.

I wrote a letter explaining my situation and journey to find my biological mother and enclosed a copy of the letter I received from the State of California with all my basic information and decided to leave it in Gods hands. If it were meant to be the church administrators would feel inspired to mail her my letter.  I mailed the letter to the church headquarters.

A few weeks later I received a letter from the church administrators stating they had located her and mailed my letter. I was shocked and pleased that it actually worked. It wasn't but a few days after receiving their letter I received the phone call of a lifetime.

I was sitting in my living room; it was in the early evening when the phone rang and I picked it up,

"Hello?"

A lady's voice asked, "Is this MJ?"

 "Yes.”

She then said the words I thought I would never hear,

 "MJ, this is your mother Ruth."

There was a brief pause of silence before she went on to explain she had gotten my letter and how much it meant to her. She went on to tell me she had been waiting since I turned eighteen for me to find her. She didn't dare come find me because she didn't know if I had been told I was adopted. She explained to me what I already knew concerning her circumstances of becoming pregnant with me, but she caught me off guard when she said,

“I never wanted to give you up, because I was only sixteen legally it was up to my parents and they didn’t want me to have you.”

She went on to explain in the 1960’s being pregnant and not married had a bad stigma. Her parents sent her to an unwed mother’s home in another town where she stayed until I was born. She told me the day I was born the nurses took me so fast she never got to see or hold me. She never gave me a name. After I was born she went back to her home and no one ever knew she had been pregnant.

My biological father was never told about me and to this day doesn’t know I exist. At her request I never searched for him. She did tell me at the time she got pregnant he was nineteen and his wife was also pregnant. They had a baby girl a few months before I was born. He worked as an auto mechanic. A few years later she mailed me a picture of him and his sister. I have held on to that picture in a special box with other pictures I have collected of Ruth and my siblings over the years.

Ruth went on to tell me that my entire childhood growing up in California I was only twenty minutes away from her. When she was older and married, her husband was a Sherriff in the county and had found where I was living. They would sit in their car across from my house and watch me play. Never wanting to approach me or disrupt my life, but she always knew where I was. Eventually, she got divorced and didn’t have access to my whereabouts any longer. When my family moved away she lost what little contact she had with me. We talked for what seemed to be a lifetime, but in reality wasn’t any longer than thirty to forty minutes, before ending the conversation and making plans to meet.

Two weeks later I was knocking on the door to her apartment. It wasn’t a mansion with extravagant cars or a butler and maids like I imagined growing up. When she opened it I couldn't help but stare at her trying not to stare too much and make the moment awkward. I wanted to take in every little detail about her and discover all our similarities. She was a simple person, dressed in a button down plaid blue shirt and blue jeans. She had dark brown hair and sky blue eyes and was taller than me. While scanning the inside of her apartment, she had very simple furniture nothing to brag about. On the couch I saw a girl and a boy sitting with huge smiles on their faces; they looked to be around my age. Ruth introduced them as my half-brother and half-sister. Their father was Indian, and they looked Indian both with long dark brown hair, brown eyes and brown skin.  I knew I was part Indian, but I couldn’t see it. Ruth and I both had dark brown hair, blue eyes, and white skin. I noticed right away that out of all her children I was the only one who bore a resemblance to her.  My half siblings commented right away on how much Ruth and I looked a like. Wow! I finally knew who I looked like.

 I stayed the night in her home, getting to know all of them talking, playing cards, and eating dinner. I found out a lot of my interest and hobbies were the same as Ruth’s, things I would tell her about me she would comment she did too or she also like. It was refreshing to talk with her. Ruth understood me because she thought like I did. My adopted mom and I rarely thought alike.

 Instantly, I was intrigued. It was a moment I had dreamed of my entire life and here I was in her home, wondering if this is how it would have been if she had kept me. Wondering what my name would have been? Would I have the same personality or have been the same person, if Ruth had raised me? I was trying to envision my life with these new people. I would have grown up with a sister; I grew up being the only girl and always wanted to have a sister. I was excited to know I had a sister and yet, the awkwardness made it so I didn't know what to say to her. I couldn’t help but wonder if our relationship would have been a close relationship, or if we would have fought and been rivals. My visit with Ruth and her family was like an outer body experience. For a moment, I was in their lives but I wasn't part of it.

A search that took Twenty-two years was over in a weekend, I felt like I was floating on a cloud. I couldn't have been more blessed to know the most important missing link in my life didn't turn out bad. I was wanted! They did want to meet me! Her children grew up knowing about me. I wasn’t this awful secret nobody talked about. I never forgot this moment. It’s a memory I will cherish deep in my heart for the rest of my life.

 I am fully aware that not all children who search for their biological parents have the same outcome as me. My visit with Ruth was unique because my outcome could have been a disaster, but by some miracle it wasn’t. I will be forever grateful. This is the only time I saw Ruth but we have stayed in touch over the years. I have to thank modern technology for keeping us connected.

 Ruth and my half-sister and I have built a friendship through many conversations on Facebook and emails. My half-brother came and lived with me for a year. We figured out we had attended the same elementary school at the same time but never knew whom each other was.  He and I are the closest in age and we seem to have the most in common.

I don't know if finding Ruth answered all my questions but it did fill an emptiness I had inside.

Over the years I have continued to think back on one thing Ruth said to me when she first met me and asked how my life had been.

I gave her all the details of my childhood and she angrily replied,

            “If I had known your life was going to be like that I would have kept you. I gave you up to have a better life than what I could give you.”

I wondered would my life had been better, if she kept me?

The year I spent with my half-brother he repeatedly said,

“Be glad our mom didn’t raise you?” He told me they raised themselves, He always said Ruth wasn’t ready to be a mother. Each one of them had dealt with their childhood in their own way; two of them were recovering drug and alcohol addicts, and the third one(the youngest) was in prison for attempted murder. I’ve never met him.  I know their childhood wasn't easy either, but even with all my trials my adopted life didn’t seem as bad as theirs.

I learned to appreciate my adopted mom and come to accept that we will always have our differences. I’ve been able to build a friendship with her. She is my mom. She raised me and loved me. After years of my parents trying unsuccessfully to conceive their own children. I was their miracle baby. I wasn't wondering if " the grass was greener on the other side," anymore.

Do I let being adopted define me? Does coming from a broken home define me? Does my father’s suicide define me? Does being a single parent define me? I wouldn’t be human if these life events haven’t defined me, but they never destroyed me.

I learned to appreciate the life I was given. Even though it wasn’t the life I had imagined, it was still my life and my lessons to learn. I choose who I am, not my circumstances of how I was born or the way I was raised; They may influence my choices, but they are still my choices and who I become is ultimately up to no one, but me. How I chose to live my life, my character, my spirituality and the example I set for all those around me will define the destiny of my soul.

I spent my entire life putting the value of my self-worth on “who I was,” I never allowed myself to learn the biggest lesson of all that I am simply ME!  A daughter, a sister, a wife, a mother, a friend, and that is, all that truly matters.

I traveled a long journey to realize it; the important thing is I realized it.

"I guess WE ARE WHO WE ARE for a lot of reasons, and maybe we'll never know most of them, but even if we don't have the power to choose where we come from, we can still choose where we go from there." The perks of being a Wallflower, By Stephen Chbosky