Reunion, Part II

Several weeks went by before I dared contact my brother. I wanted to give him space, but my nerves were frayed by the stress of waiting. I knew that this was all new to him, but I'd been living uneasily with it for my whole life. 


I sent off a tentative e-mail to T and received this in response:


Hi K,

We did discuss the situation with C while we were visiting. She told us she gave you up for adoption, there was more to the story than the documents you sent me revealed as far as things being consensual. At this time she does not want any contact with you and would appreciate you respecting her decision. As far as A is concerned, he is still trying to decide what to do. He doesn't want to upset his mother and he has some other stressful things going on right now. I'm sure he will contact you when he is ready and let you know how he feels about the situation. A's father is not aware of any of this and C and A would like to keep it that way for now, I hope you understand. If you have other questions, please email me and I will help as much as I can, but I don't want to ruin my relationship with them either.

T


I wrote a respectful reply, but then felt increasing frustration and anger that my story and identity were being judged and held hostage. How was it that T now knew more about my birth than I did, myself? I sent another appeal:


Dear T,

I have been thinking for a few days about what is most important for me to know. Frankly, I don't think I could enumerate everything in an e-mail or in a telephone conversation. I want to know things about gestures I have, see pictures of C and her family, and hear about the personalities and histories of different members of my family.

I realize that neither A nor C feels able or comfortable providing this information to me, but I do feel that you and I have made a connection and you, better than anyone, can empathize with my difficult position. Likewise, I understand how much you want to support them, and I would not want to jeopardize your relationship with them.

Here is a proposal: if I visit my parents' home in the San Diego area one weekend early in December, would you be willing to meet with me over coffee, just for an hour or two? You could choose a location comfortable for you, and if you want to include A and/or C, that's fine. Or if you want to keep it between us, that is fine, too. I know that this puts you in an extremely awkward position, but there is truly no one else I can ask. I sincerely doubt that J [my grandmother] or B [my uncle] would be open to speaking to me, nor would C want me to contact them. I just can't see myself waiting another 40 years to learn things about myself that nonadopted people know as a matter of course; what A and C prefer is of course in my mind, but I will not sacrifice myself and my desire to know the truth in order to protect them.

To be honest, I cried for several hours after learning that you know more about the infant I was than I know myself. I am a person with feelings, not a clean slate without a past or natural family. This is a painful fact for everyone involved, including myself. I understand that it would be easier on A and C for me just to walk away, but I can't.

Once again, I understand that this is an extremely volatile situation, and that you are in a tenuous position. But I am imploring you, as you have been nothing but kind and respectful of how difficult this is for me. I hope that you won't immediately say no. Please take some time to consider this and the immense difference it would make in filling a dark hole I've been living with every day for 40 years. It's just not a hole I can fill by myself. Believe me, I've tried.

Best regards,
K


A few hours later, I received an e-mail from A:


K,

Sorry it has taken so long to return your e-mail and phone call. I have had a couple of very busy weeks at work and have not had much free time.

We had a nice trip and visit, thank you for asking. After approaching my mother she acknowledged your birth but I do not think she is ready for contact with you at this time. However, I am not against such contact and hope you and your family are well.

I will try and call this weekend sometime.

Thanks.
A

When he did call that weekend, he explained that he was being deployed to Afghanistan in February as physician to a battallion of Marines. A was clearly under incredible stress. He did, however, tell me that he very much wanted to meet me before his deployment. We made plans for me to visit him at his home in San Diego. After C's cold response, I was pleasantly surprised that he was treating me like someone who mattered deeply to him, and had made the point of inviting me to come as soon as possible. I tried to hold back my feelings and stop myself from caring too much, too soon, but it was a difficult battle. A seemed so much like me in the way he respected and treated me. I have rarely met anyone so warm and forthcoming. 

On the appointed day in December, I drove to A's house. I was sweaty and shaking, fearful that he wouldn't like me and that this would be my one and only chance ever to learn anything about my first family. When I arrived, he was outside barbecuing while talking on the phone. I heard him say, "Gotta go, Mom, Kara's here." I felt a chill, knowing that C was on the line. He hung up, then walked up to me, hugged me, and called me "Sister." It was one of the most profound and affirming moments of my life; he smelled and felt so familiar, and it was magical to be in the arms of my flesh and blood. 

Inside the house A showed me pictures of my family: it was strange for the first time to see myself in the people in photographs on the walls. I said to A, "I think I look a lot like our grandfather," and he agreed heartily: "Heck yes, you do!" I noticed that in many photographs C would stand with her weight on her left leg and her right leg sticking out at an angle, like Degas' statues of the little dancer. I do exactly the same thing, and my amom and others have tripped over my right leg for years. I thought it was a singular quirk of mine, but it turns out to be yet another way in which I am part of C. 

A and I drank (a lot), ate a wonderful dinner, and talked for hours. I discovered that my brother and I share so much in terms of our personalities and interest. I told him about the process of searching, my disappointments and successes in life, and how much his acceptance meant to me. He was empathetic and said that while he couldn't imagine what it felt like for me, he thought it must have been incredibly hard. I wept. He held me. I felt comfortable and relaxed with him in a way I've rarely felt with anyone else. We decided not to waste any more time without each other; there were 35 years gone, but the future together lay ahead. 

I cried when I later found out that he was initially equally nervous and worried that I wouldn't like him. It never occurred to me that he might be afraid that I'd reject him. 

The next morning he asked if my aparents would be willing to drive my elder son over, so that he could meet his nephew. They agreed. It was a little bit awkward having them together with A, but I was glad for them to meet. Callum, my son, played with A's son, W. They had a blast running and chasing and riding bikes. A and I talked about how much fun it would be to go camping all together. A hosted a football-watching party that morning, and one of his residents  (A's an attending at the Naval Hospital) was over with his girlfriend. While chatting, I asked how the resident had met A. The guest told me, and then asked me the same. I sighed, smiled, and said, "That's an interesting question." I didn't want to put A in an uncomfortable spot, so I deferred to his lead. A said, "Well, you know, this is my sister. I just met her yesterday." The story came out, A was beaming, and I couldn't have been more proud. He acknowledged me; it was clear that he thought of me as family. 

Our relationship blossomed over the next months, through his being deployed to Afghanistan. He called me twice in the week before he left, saying that one goodbye phone call wasn't enough. He said he loved me. He explained how our relationship put him in a difficult position with our mother, and he didn't know how he would explain me and my family to people when W talked about his cousins. He reassured me, however, that it was his problem, not mine, and that he was in this for the long haul. He told me how much he wished he'd had me around in childhood to protect him from bullies because he was a nerd. It warmed me deeply to feel needed and wanted. 

After he left for Camp Leatherneck, I wrote letters, sent packages, and anticipated and loved getting letters from him. He didn't let me down. I archived every scrap of paper he sent me. I learned that if he died, he had told his wife that he wanted me at his funeral. I cried to feel important to him in a way I hadn't had the courage to hope for.