I have friends at the hospital waiting for their daughter to deliver their first grandchild, my son’s wife is due in May for my third grandchild, and we just attended a baby shower for my wife’s niece, so it’s been hard to focus on anything but birth these past few days. It’s now been over 6 weeks since I sent my initial letter to my probable birth mother’s son. (See Post #393). At that point, I did not have her direct contact information, however this has changed over the past few days. I was doing some Google searches in my time between planes, and discovered a phone number and address, along with the name of a potential step-sister. I was reluctant to go any further, and decided to put my “Banister World” quest on hold for another day.

I had grown tired of this pursuit after my recent pilgrimage to Indiana, hoping to learn more about my roots. I did write down this newly discovered information, but failed to share it with my wife, knowing that she would probably push me to act quickly. I had not heard back from the son, and felt weary of the entire search, questioning my need for answers and the time I already had invested. Was it that important to know? Did I really want to get involved with these strangers that were my blood relatives? What should I do next? My wife had that answer right away, presenting me with the same address and phone number that I had found but did not share. She’s a woman of action and had done her own search, immediately suggesting a call this morning to see if the number was still active. I have to admit that I was curious, but all we got was an old-fashioned answering machine with a man’s voice. My wife responded that her elderly mother used a similar ploy to screen calls after her father had passed away. There was no clue that a woman lived there, or any indication of a name. At least, it hadn’t been disconnected. Even she admitted that the only alternative was to write another certified letter:

 

Dear Edna,

I wanted to thank you for giving me life. My name is Mike Johnston and I live in Portland, Oregon. I was born to you on August 27, 1951 at Wishard Hospital in Indianapolis, and placed for adoption through the Suemma Coleman Agency. I have known your name for over 30 years, but only recently discovered your whereabouts. In fact, I wrote your son, Jerry Poole, about 6 weeks ago, hoping that he would be helpful in my search for you. I apologize if I’ve caused you any embarrassment, but I feel that we both have lived this long to take advantage of any opportunity to re-connect.

I do not know the circumstances of my birth, only that the father was a Marine. I would like to know more, but I realize that you may not have ever wanted me to contact you. With this in mind, I will be respectful of your privacy and limit my communication to this letter before taking any other steps. I do want you to know that that I am happily married, healthy, comfortably retired, and have a 43 year-old son, who is about to give me a third grandchild. I would have never enjoyed these blessings of life without you.

As you read this, I understand that you could likely be skeptical and protective of your past. I do not mean to disrupt your family, and I wish I would have had your contact information before writing your son. It was probably a shock to him in suddenly learning of my existence, so I can see where he would be cautious about replying. I was simply trying to find if you were alive and in good health.

I’ve included a self-addressed stamped envelope should you want to write me back, and my phone number is 512-470-1125. I promise to immediately discontinue any communication if that is your wish, or if my information is incorrect. I look forward to hearing from you.

 

I will probably take it to the post office tomorrow with renewed hope, as I continue to drag my feet about the subject that has been met with deep-seeded resistance. I appreciate that my wife is pushing me to take action while there is still time to potentially reunite.