Today is Mother’s Day, and I bought my wife a silly “I’m a Cool Mom” t-shirt at last night’s Mean Girls performance on Broadway. With two grown daughters, she certainly deserves much more, but I’ll leave that up to them. I’m not her mom, nor the father of her children, but she is a remarkable woman, having raised her kids as a single, working mom. By the same token, I hope my son remembers to acknowledge the love for his special mom. My wife will call her 96-year old mom tonight, but we won’t see her again for a few months. We sent her flowers from Hawaii, and maybe the Cubs will win today for one of their oldest and biggest supporters.

My mom passed away a few years ago and I think of her often. She was another special woman in my life, having adopted me at birth and then raised me as her own. I Love You, Mom and Dad. All those years together I also knew that there were two unknowns who initially gave me life, and out of loyalty waited to pursue their identities. However, there were other people in my life who strongly felt that I shouldn’t wait. My adopted sister, for example, included her birth mother in her marriage, that I thought was a little awkward for our adopted parents. She saw it as her right to know and easily connected with a second family, while I was perfectly content with one. By the same token, a friend of mine became more curious about my birth mother than I was thirty years ago. Despite the fact that adoption records in Indiana were sealed, she used her media credentials to access those files and give me the name Edna Faye Bannister along with an address.

Yes, I was curious and took this friendly lead and made some inquiries, but my heart was not into it. It was still with the two people who made me who I am, rather than the two who gave me life. In retrospect, I was also looking for a Bannister with two n’s and a person who has gone by two other last names, so I never found her until just recently. There were detours along the way, including a lead from the wrong state, an address that was only the adoption agency, and other information that turned out to be inaccurate. The adoption agency gave me general data on the birth parents like ages, hair color, interests, and siblings. All this ever led to were fantasies about what life might have been like if circumstances had been different?

Ultimately, I realized that I was probably better off with the adoptive family. My birth mother was only 18 years ago and had not yet graduated from high school The father was two years older and a Marine, as was outlined on the descriptions that the adoption agency provided. Their relationship apparently didn’t last. Once both of my adopted parents had died, I was encouraged by another friend to take a DNA test. The results led to a distant relative connection, who was also a professional genealogist. He sent me some historical birth and census records that matched up exactly with the seven brothers and sisters along with their age differences, from the initial adoption agency description. Because it was such a large family and included twins, there was little doubt that I had found her, and she was still alive, with an 85th birthday about to happen. Over the past six months, as described in the other other entries in this blog (See Diary of an Adoptee entries), I was able to connect with her through her family. In the process, I probably embarrassed her by exposing this secret of my existence to others. Apparently, she is not interested in any direct communication or contact with me.

I will respect her decision, as I continue to seek photos and information on her life through other sources. In a way, I’m a bit disappointed that she wants to remain disconnected, but in another way it’s a relief to not have the responsibility of knowing her. Obviously, what is important to me is not as important for her. Granted, I do not know her state of health or the circumstances of her relationship with the Marine. It could have been rape, the nature of their break-up, or it might have been a one night stand that makes her want to remain distant? Memories of me perhaps are not pleasant, yet she did name her first legitimate son Jerry Lee, the very same name she had them put on my birth certificate. Regardless of the how’s and why’s of my conception, I am just grateful that there wasn’t the decision to abort, allowing me to live a full life. As a result, I am thankful to the loving couple that raised me, as well to the mystery pair that made me.

Today I only have one living mother, despite the fact that we’ve never had a relationship. It’s also the very first Mother’s Day that I actually know where she lives, in addition to being alive and safe. I would still like to know something about the father, but only my birth mother and maybe her year-older sister are left to share that knowledge. I may be eventually able to find out through DNA comparisons, but I’ve found that not everyone who shares DNA is willing to respond to my inquiries. I would just like to say “Happy Mothers Day” to this stranger that gave me a start in life, and to let her know that she made the best possible decisions in giving me up for adoption. Fortunately, I met the nicest people who gave me everything I needed to succeed. Finally, it’s the best day to acknowledge that the two mothers in my life who have never met, gave this love story a happy ending, since any new chapters are unlikely to be written.