Looking back on my adoption

Grandma Jane opened up her old dusty brown picture book. Wow, I exclaimed, mesmerized by the black and white photos in front of me. Grandma Jane, I said, who is that woman? Oh, that is my real mom, she said. Your real mom? Yes, my real mom. So Great-Grandma Gene is not your real mom? No honey, she said, She is not. I thought you knew that? She said with a grin on her face. No, I quickly said as I pushed for more information. Well, let us go sit down over here, and I will explain. 

I followed Grandma to the couch. She pulled out another brown photo book. Now she said back in June of 1930 My real mommy had me. She was only 16 years old. That is, very young to be a mother. My daddy had already left the country, so I do not have any photos of him and me. My mom did not think she could take care of me. However, she was, convinced she had to try. She left the hospital three days after having me. Here she says, This is me in my going home dress. Mom did not have much. Our house was a one-bedroom flat in a small town called Princetown. Here you can see mom and I next to the stove trying to stay warm at night since it got cold there even in the summer months. After a week, mom had given up. She took me to an adoption agency, as seen here in this photo. In this photo, my mom and I were standing outside the agency. The photo was taken, right before she signed the papers to give me up. 

I spent many more summers in this agency before a Woman named Gene Rosenberry and her Husband, Gerald Rosenberry, came to Europe looking for a girl who had been there the longest. This photo here is the day they adopted me. I was almost six years old by this point. Here you can see where I had been crying. This place was the only place I had known, and now these strangers wanted to take me home to the states as they explained it. Here is a photo of the adoption certificate. June 25th, 1935, I was adopted. One day before my sixth birthday. We flew to the states, where my new mom and dad took me to my new home. Here in Central Ohio. I was terrified. They had bought a cake to surprise me, but instead, I ran up to my new room and hid. See here is a picture of my new home. 

It took about six months before I was completely comfortable. Here, she said, look through the rest of these photos. I will be back in a few minutes. Wow. I flipped through the photos of Great Grandma Gene and Grandma Jane. The photos were more than 80 years old. One picture, in particular, caught my eye. That can not be Great Grandma Gene, I thought, Grandma Jane had to be at least 15 or 16 by this point. I looked back at the photos of her real mom. Is it so? I thought. Grandma walked back into the room. I said, Grandma? I have a question. Yes, honey. What is it? Is this your real mom here? Oh, she said. Well, that was the first and last time I ever saw my real mom. When I was about 17 years old, I took a trip to my hometown. My adoptive parents had been able to get my mom's address and phone number. Luckily Mom had not moved or changed her phone number. I had been able to spend a few days with her catching up. That is how I got the photos of her and me as a baby. We did not keep in touch much after I left. I recently learned that she had died only about 15 or 16 years after we met due to Pneumonia. 

I listened to grandma detail the years following her adoption. I learned that Great-grandma and Grandpa had adopted another child, a boy, named Christopher, about three years after they had adopted Grandma Jane. He, unfortunately, died soon after due to an underlying heart condition. Grandma Jane told me stories of fun summers filled with joy, something she feared she wouldn't have gotten in Europe. She explains how she went to her friend's house to watch the Frank Sinatra special With Elvis on March 26th, 1960. Those were the days, she said. She starts talking. One day, she says, I was sitting in an adoption agency, then I was suddenly in the USA scared, then as I got more comfortable, I found friends, went to concerts, and lived life to the fullest. She looked at me with tears in her eyes. You are young, she said. I hope this summer, next summer, and every summer after you live it to the fullest. One day you will be in your 90's sitting down with your grandchildren, reminiscing on the summers gone by, showing them pictures of my real mom, my adoptive mom, and me. You will be, showing them photos of you when you were 9 or 10. One day you will ask where did the time go? Just know that life is not a guaranteed smooth ride to the finish line. It is a bumpy, twisty roller coaster of a ride. So when you pull out the picture book of your life to show your grandkids, I hope you do not regret it and can say, I lived. And I am content with how I lived. I love you, she said. Tears entered my eyes. I hugged her as a knock at the door was heard. Mom had arrived to pick me up. We did one last hug before I left. I whispered I love you, grandma. She whispered I love you back. This was the last time I saw her. As we arrived at the funeral, I could not bring myself to be, overfilled with sadness. I was not sad because I knew grandma Jane had lived life to the fullest and did not have any regrets.