The Voicemail

***You have: ONE, new message. New message:***

"Hi, Rylie sweetie. It's mom. I just wanted to let you know that a package came from the agency today. I'm going to be at the temple this afternoon, but give me a call when you get this."

As I listened to this voice mail while waiting for my weight lifting class to start, I guarantee you bystanders saw my jaw hit the floor. This information was at the end of the list of "last things" I expected to hear. The package that my mom was talking about had arrived from LDS Family Services in Georgia, and I knew without asking what would be inside.

I was adopted. I do not know my birth mom-where she lives, what her name is, or even what she looks like. LDS Family Services has acted as the middle man these past 20+ years as my mom wrote letters to my birth mom explaining to her in vague detail how I was growing up. They also acted as the middle man as my birth mom sent birthday presents in September, and a single silver bell every Christmas. For the majority of my life I have appreciated that my adoption was "closed."
Growing up in a family I love with another mom on the side would have been too confusing.

As I have grown older the nagging feeling of wanting to know where exactly I come from has grown stronger and stronger. When I was a senior in high school I was bound and determined to meet my birth mom after graduation. I spent a lot of time day dreaming of what it would be like to finally meet my flesh and blood. After talking with a teacher who was on the same end of a similar situation, I changed my mind. I really respected this teacher, and hearing the details of her story made me realize I had a lot of growing up to do before I would be ready.

I never changed my mind in wanting to meet her, I just knew that I had to go about it in a different way. I realized that there wasn't room for rash decisions. Once I met her, or learned more about her, it couldn't be unlearned. I had to make sure that I was completely ready for anything. Meeting my birth mom meant that every aspect of my life could be changed...yikes...

While I was home for Thanksgiving I asked my parents to tell me everything they knew about my birth mom. They told me what they knew of her story, and I read the cards and letters that have been exchanged over the years. They showed me a photo album of the 3 days my birth mom and I spent in the hospital together, and I ran my hands over the baby clothes I wore.

I was a wreck. I cried, and cried. And cried some more.
 I don't know what it was, but I just had a flood of emotion come crashing over me. It wasn't an intentional effort, but for the past 20 years I had bottled up all the desperate emotions I had ever felt. It wasn't until this near violent teary explosion that I realized I had been feeling this way. When the tears stopped coming, I felt relieved. I had finally gotten it all off my chest. 



I expressed to my parents the desire I had to seek some sort of contact with my birth mom. I wasn't ready to know her name, where she lived, or much else about her. All I wanted was a picture. Two actually-one at the time of when she was pregnant with me, and one of her now. I can't tell you how many times my mom asked me if I was sure this was what I wanted. It was!! It wasn't just something that I wanted either, it was something that I needed. For months thoughts of my birth mom had been consuming my mind. While I was at the gym I would catch myself thinking of her. Same thing during church and my human development class. While I was eating, and hanging out with friends. She was everywhere.

I decided I wanted to write her a letter verbalizing my request. It was the first time I had ever sought contact and I felt like I owed her a "thank you" of sorts. She had already given me a family; a single decision that has changed the course of my life. She had given so much, I would have felt weird having someone else ask more of her. I got out my notebook and a pen prepared to write a small novel, and sat there. I had NO idea what to say.

What do you say to the women who gave you life and means the world to you, but you have never had the opportunity to meet? I had so much to say, but nothing at all. I didn't know where to begin. Slowly words started coming and my pen began to flow. I ignored spelling errors because I had to focus on steadying my shaky hand; I wanted it to be legible so I wouldn't have to write it again. I knew that whatever came to my mind would be the most pure and raw thought I could muster. I wanted her to receive that unedited part of me.

I thanked her for letting me become a part of a family with both a mother and a father who were willing and ready to have a child enter their lives.

I thanked her for all the gifts she has sent over the years.

I said a lot of other stuff too.

I finally asked her for the pictures I wanted so badly. I acknowledged the fact that this request might be something she was uncomfortable with, but told her I would be willing to reciprocate the offer.
That was that. I signed it "Your Not So Little Girl"

My mom sent the letter off to the agency in Atlanta for approval. Turns out they had to send it to Salt Lake for approval because of my picture request. Then it was back to Georgia and off to some unknown destination. Some time in there, it turned into a big waiting game.

It has been so long without any word back, I honestly thought nothing would come of it. The persistent thoughts had subsided after I wrote the letter, so that wasn't a concern anymore, but I couldn't deny the fact that I still wanted to know.

And then my mom called....
and left the voice mail.

I called my mom back immediately, and luckily she hadn't left for the temple yet.
I told her I had one more class to go to and then work, but I was coming home that night.
No way could I wait any longer.

The rest of the day was out of focus. I walked into my apartment not remembering leaving campus. I texted Dan because I couldn't call him. My emotions were running too high, but I needed to talk to someone. I had called others, but no one answered. I knew if I tried to talk right then I would loose it, so I suddenly became very grateful for technology. Luckily he was home and could visit before we both headed off to work. I walked over to his apartment and (he doesn't know this...haha) paced in front of his door for a good 2 minutes trying to gain control of my emotions. I was feeling such a wide range of emotions I'm convinced it's not healthy....then we talked. I didn't cry! (small miracle) I think I might have except for the fact that one of his roommates was there.

Work was busy so I was forced to take my mind off things.
Driving was slow so I was forced to get choked up listening to sappy songs that remind me of my life.
Then I was home.

I talked with my family, got on the computer to do homework, and surprisingly, I kind of acted like nothing significant was going on. In hindsight I realize I was stalling. This was a monumental event, and I was biding my time. I had no idea if I was about to open a can of worms that would complicate things more than I had anticipated, or if I would be let down by a lack of response.
 To put it simply: I was scared out of my mind.

Finally my dad broke the ice and asked if I was ready.
I was.
I read the letter that my birth mom wrote to my parents thanking them for their support in my life.
Then it was the moment of truth.
I knew that there were pictures in my letter, so I handed it to my mom and told her to take them out and hold them face down in her lap. I wasn't ready for that part yet. I have had an image of what my birth mom looks like for the past 20 years, and I didn't want to be disappointed. As silly as it sounds I was devastated when I saw her hair in the photo album from the hospital. She had DARK dark hair. All my life I have imagined her blond. I guess I have no grounds to base my imagining, but I am naturally blond, so I assumed she would be the same. The fact that she had dark ruined the one thing I was so sure I had right. After that shocker I had to idea what to expect.

I went into our kitchen and read the letter while my family patiently waited in the living room.
My first thought when opening it was, "WOW."
It had been typed in teeny tiny font so there was a lot to read.

I was all smiles.

At one point I jumped out of my chair and basically screamed bloody murder.

In her letter she explained that my instinct was right. SHE WAS BLOND!!! :D The only time she has dyed her hair was while she was pregnant with me, and during that time she looked like a stranger to herself. I smiled, and laughed, and smiled some more. I kept repeating, "I knew she was blond. I KNEW it." I said it at least 2 times a minute. If it was any other circumstance I know my family would have been annoyed, but they were too happy being happy for me to feel anything else. I really love them so much.

Once I finished the letter I went into the other room and read it out loud to my mom, dad, and younger sister.
They cried. They laughed. They loved. It was awesome.

My favorite part of the letter (besides the blond hair of course) was the part about my brothers.
I HAVE BROTHERS!!!!!

Oh. EM. GEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

I have wanted more siblings my entire life and the fact that I could have half siblings somewhere in the world has always fascinated me. It's a dream come true.
One is 8 years, and the other is 8 months.
They are now my 2 favorite kids. My sister is my favorite teenager, my mom (Virva mom-the one that raised me) is my favorite woman, and my dad is my favorite man, and now I finally have 2 of the cutest little specimens to fill the kid category.

After reading the letter I felt like a void had been filled in my life. I know, cliche, but since a letter could make me feel that way, I practically ripped the pictures out of my mom's hands. She warded me off and handed them to me one by one. First came one of each of my half brothers (the have the cutest names EVER, but for privacy's sake...). Then one of my birth mom the year she was pregnant with me. Can I just tell you how weird that was. When I saw the picture I was like "Duh, Rylie. Of course she is your mom. How were you not imagining this exact picture your whole life?!" We have the same crazy hair, facial structure, and eye color. Maybe my family can see more because they kept looking at the picture, looking at me, and then back at the picture. It was like watching a ping pong match!

Finally I got the last one-the one of her and her husband. They look like such a great couple! Tanned, made up, and on the beach, they definitely have the Southern look going on.

After seeing the pictures, I was, and am still glad I made the decision to ask for them.

When I look at the younger picture I see my birth mom, but
When I see the one of her now, it's like I'm just looking at a picture of a beautiful woman.

Although she is my mom, she will never be my mother.

I have always tried to imagine people's "stories." What they have been through that has made them who they are today. It has never occurred to me until now, but my adoption is a LARGE chapter in my life story. I know that it will always be there whether it's playing a main character, or just adding detail to the setting.

For now I'm going to continue correspondence with my birth mom.

It's the beginning of the end.
I don't know when, where, or how, but the next chapter will begin when I meet her.