My birth mom disclosed something that changed everything after I believed I found her. A notebook, a photo, and a sad meeting with my unknown father sent me on an unexpected journey.
My name is Jared. I’m 25 and from Ohio, where I’ve led a fairly regular existence. Kate, my partner, is too good for me, I work in IT, and I treat my dog like a child.
Life is good. But something happened recently that I’m still struggling to understand. It transformed my self-image and heritage.
I always knew I was adopted as a baby. My parents were always upfront. One letter from my birth mother was included. Her name is Serena.
When Mom had me, she was 16. She was young. Still have her letter. It’s written in blue ink and folded nicely in a pink envelope with a tiny teddy bear sticker. I read it occasionally and am always struck by it. She continued, “I’m sorry I couldn’t be your mommy, but I hope you grow up happy and loved.”
They sounded childish because they were. However, that page was emotional. It made me wonder who she became and if she remembered me.
I searched for her for years, but my family relocated to another state when I was 10 for my dad’s job. Anything we had in common vanished after that. Finally, I stopped looking. Life continued with school, college, job, and relationships. Something always diverted my attention.
Somehow, I found her.
Her restaurant is off the highway in a rural hamlet two hours from me. Paper menus, checkered tablecloths, and creaky booths are typical. I accidentally went there with Kate on a road vacation.
Something clicked when I saw her.
She didn’t recognize me, but I understood immediately. Her smile, eyes, and hair behind her ear resembled my adopted mom’s portrait. I kept quiet that day. I didn’t say anything the following week or the week after.
I kept returning.
For three months, I drove to sit at the counter or corner booth and chat with her twice a week. She didn’t know me, but she seemed to like chatting to me. She’d remark, “Want a refill, honey?” or “You’re back again, huh? You must really like our pie.” I’d smile stupidly and add, “Yeah, best apple pie in the state.”
She chatted with me at my table when the restaurant wasn’t packed. How’s your day, where are you coming from? But it was everything to me.
Once, she questioned, “You live around here?”
I answered, “Nah, I’m a couple of hours out.”
Raising an eyebrow. “You drive two hours just to eat here?”
“Guess I like the vibe,” I responded, trying not to seem odd.
She chuckled and grinned. “Well, I’m glad you keep coming back.”
When I entered, she always smiled and said hi. Every time I left, I considered telling her. But I didn’t. I drove away like a coward.
I finally did it that night.
It was Tuesday. The restaurant closed at 11 p.m., so I arrived around 10:30, had coffee, and sat quietly. She waved and refreshed my cup several times.
She was hard to look at. Palms sweated.
I was by my car pretending to look through my phone when they closed and she left into the cool parking lot.
She asked, “Hey, are you still here?” and locked the door.
I said “Yeah,” sounding nonchalant. “I was actually waiting to talk to you.”
She appeared curious but calm. “Oh?”
“There’s something I need to tell you,” I say. “Something important.”
She nodded slowly. “Okay… what is it?”
The folded letter came out of my jacket pocket. I handed it to her without saying anything.
She examined the packet, flipped it, and opened it. She changed her countenance as she noticed the handwriting.
“Oh my God,” she gasped, shaking.
Her knees buckled, and I caught her before she fell. She started shouting and weeping. Holding the letter to her chest, she repeated, “No way… no way…”
“You don’t have to say anything,” I said, trying not to cry. “I just… I thought you should know.”
She gazed up at me, red and puffy eyes.
“It’s you,” she whispered. “It’s really you.”
I nodded. “Yeah. I’m your son.”
She hugged me, then recoiled in fear.
“Can I hug you?” she whispered.
“Of course,” I answered.
We stood in the parking lot hugging like the world had stopped. After her legs gave out again, I held her up while she screamed into my shoulder.
“Look how big you got,” she whispered. That broke me. I cried too.
She insisted on reopening the restaurant for us. Though I warned her not to, she wouldn’t accept no. We had two cups of coffee and a slice of warm apple pie at the counter once she unlocked the door and turned on the lights.
We chatted about everything for hours. She said she felt odd the second time I entered the restaurant. She believed it might be me. She quickly dismissed the idea.
“For years,” said, “I used to see kids around your age and wonder if they were you. I’d stare too long and end up crying in public like a crazy woman. It messed with my head. So when you showed up here, I told myself it couldn’t be. I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”
She said I looked like my biological dad as a kid. His name is Edward. They kept in touch for years in case I contacted one. That made finding the other easier.
Says, “Edward didn’t want to give you up. Neither of us did. But we were 16. We had no money. No support. He took it really hard. That’s why he didn’t leave anything behind for you. He couldn’t face the idea that he might never see you again.”
We talked until almost 2 a.m., even though the place closed three hours earlier. She asked many questions about my life, but she cared most about one thing.
“Are you happy?” she questioned, crying. “Did they treat you well?”
I nodded. “They’re amazing. I had a great childhood. Thank you for helping make that possible.”
That made her cry again. She wished I’d find her every birthday. That’s why she stayed in one city. I didn’t come, so she felt I didn’t want to. Maybe I didn’t realize I was adopted.
It hit me hard. I regretted not coming sooner. She took my hand and said, “You came when you were ready. That’s all that matters.”
She suggested we have dinner again soon and maybe visit her house to meet her spouse if I was up for it. I’d enjoy that.
We swapped numbers. My phone buzzed with a message from her as I drove away.
“Thank you for giving me this gift,” she wrote. “I didn’t know if this day would ever come.”
Kate was waiting for me at home. I entered silently and hugged her. She hugged me as I cried, not because I was unhappy but overwhelmed. I cried joyous tears. Years had passed since my chest felt lighter.
Though raw and overpowering, it turned out better than I expected. An old door was opened after 25 years. Our future steps are being determined.
*****
I thought meeting my biological dad would be easier after everything with my birth mom. Was wrong.
Maybe it was because I got to know Serena slowly and distantly before telling her who I was. This gave me time to feel safe with her and understand her aura. I knew little about Edward. No letters, pictures, simply Serena’s stories and his name.
We were planned to meet two weeks after I saw Serena, but life intervened. First, work piled up. I became sick and was bedridden for days. I wondered whether I was subconsciously stalling. We settled on a workable day. I requested Serena’s attendance. She knew him better than me, so it was easy with her. Yes, she agreed.
We chose a park halfway between my house and Edward’s. Plenty of room and tree-shaded benches kept it from being crowded. I arrived early, sat on a wooden seat, and tried not to think.
Serena joined me minutes later, anxious. Not much was spoken. Few glances and silent breaths were shared.
We spotted him approaching.
I could tell he was crying from afar. He didn’t conceal it either. I stood up, motionless, until he reached us and gave me the greatest bear hug ever.
“I can’t believe it’s you,” he shakily murmured.
I hugged him, surprised. He looked away to look at my face, then hugged me again. There were several instances.
“I’ve waited for this for so long,” he muttered, wiping his face with his palm. “Thank you, God. Thank you.”
I regarded Serena. She was crying again, covering her lips with both hands. Three grown adults crying in a park must have looked ludicrous. I didn’t care. Neither did they.
Ed added, “I just want you to know,” his voice heavy, “we loved you so much. From the beginning. We never stopped.”
I felt something hearing that. I had heard it from Serena, but hearing it from someone I had never seen hit harder. I felt the pain, need, and love that had no home before.
“I love you,” he repeated, holding my shoulders. “We both did. I still do.”
“Thank you,” I murmured, holding back tears. “That means more than I can explain.”
Everyone sat on a bench, trying to digest everything. Looking at his face seemed like looking into a mirror 25 years from now.
Serena didn’t lie. Almost funny how much I resembled him.
“Man,” Edward laughed through tears. “You really are my kid. This is wild.”
We sat there breathing and staring at each other. Edward reached into a tiny canvas bag he carried.
“I wasn’t sure if this would be too much,” said, “but I couldn’t show up empty-handed. I’ve had this for years, hoping I’d give it to you one day.”
A soft, worn teddy bear with a small photo frame was pulled out. He held a hospital-wrapped infant at 16 in the photo.
“This was the only picture I ever got with you,” he whispered. “They let me hold you for a few minutes before… before everything.”
I carefully stroked the frame, glancing at the boy who was now this man in front of me.
“Wow,” I whispered. “I didn’t even know you were there.”
“I begged them to let me be,” he said. “I wanted to say goodbye. I just didn’t want you to think I didn’t care.”
He gave me a leather diary. Cover creased, pages thick with ink and time.
“I started writing in this a few years after you were adopted,” stated. “My therapist suggested it, and said it might help me cope. I didn’t think I’d ever actually give it to you, but… here we are.”
I opened it to read a few sentences. The penmanship was crude yet sincere.
“I don’t know where you are,” one entry said. “But I think about you every day.”
I closed lightly.
“I’ll read it,” I said. “Thank you. Really.”
“I just wanted you to know how I felt,” stated. “All the stuff I never got to say. It’s all in there.”
Since we were finally getting comfortable, Serena gave us room. She left us under the tree after smiling at me and taking a call.
“So,” he said, “tell me everything. What’s your life like? What do you love? What makes you laugh?”
Nearly the same questions as Serena. He wanted to know about my childhood, parents, passions, and even silly stuff like my favorite food. Told him everything. That I lived well. A great one. My parents were loving, supporting, and gave me the affection every youngster deserves.
He appeared ready to cry again.
He said, “That’s all we ever hoped for.” “We were so scared we were making the wrong decision, but we were just kids. Broke. Living with our parents. I didn’t want to let you go, but I couldn’t give you what you needed.”
“You gave me a chance,” I said. “And it worked out. I’m happy.”
That made him smile.
The next two hours were spent conversing. He told me how he met Serena in high school, how they were best friends first, and how afraid they were when she got pregnant. He described their conflicts, tough choices, and insomniac nights. It was blunt and painful.
He noticed my mannerisms and minor things I said that reminded him of himself or Serena. I got a bag of mango slices from the park’s vending machine.
He raised his eyebrow: “You like mangoes?”
“Love them,” I said. “Could eat them all day.”
He chuckled. “Serena was obsessed with mangoes when she was pregnant. Even before that. She used to sneak them into class. Swore they were her ‘magic fruit’ or something.”
I laughed with you. It wasn’t even important that it was random. It made me feel like I belonged to these individuals beyond blood.
A lot of similarities emerged. We both liked hiking. He swam competitively in college, and I swam in high school. We enjoy traditional rock, especially ’90s.
“It’s crazy,” I remarked. “Feels like we’d get along even if we weren’t related.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” he said. “You turned out amazing, Jared. You really did.”
We sat quietly, relishing the moment. He seemed to want to say more.
“I hope it’s okay,” said, “but I’d like to meet the people who raised you. If you’re okay with that, I mean.”
I nodded. “Yeah, they’d like that too. They’ve asked about it. I just… I wasn’t sure how everyone would feel.”
“We’re adults now,” he remarked. “We can figure it out together.”
I had brunch with my parents later that week. We visited a diner I’ve frequented since childhood. Told them everything. I discussed the park, letter, teddy bear, and journal.
“I’m glad it worked,” he replied. “We always wanted this to be your choice, Jared. You don’t owe anyone an apology.”
“I just didn’t want you to think I was looking for something better,” I add. “You gave me an amazing life. I love you both.”
My mom grabbed my hand across the table. “We know. And we love you. This doesn’t change that. You’ve always had room for more love.”
That lingered.
It’s unclear when or how the next portion will happen. My birth and adoptive parents will meet. They met when I was a baby, but not like this. Never as adults, sitting down and talking about me as a person, not a moniker.
That day will arrive. I think it will be beautiful.
Finding Serena and Edward was hard. It was draining, full of fear, guilt, and hope. But I’m pleased I did. The reactions, embraces, tears, tales, and memories they held made it worth it.
I sometimes can’t believe it. I found them. That they were kind, loving, and always thought about me. Not everyone gets that reunion, so I don’t take it for granted.
Many birth parents have taken the difficult decision to let go. Thank you. Your sacrifice allowed youngsters like me to live a loving childhood.
You may even find your way back. As I did.
Another touching story: Nina’s flawless relationship with her parents breaks up on the night before her wedding. Years later, their unexpected homecoming reveals a heartbreaking truth. Nina must decide: can love withstand control? Old scars reemerge and new boundaries are challenged.
