Waiting in anticipation for the 7:20 p.m. train. There was a rumbling, in my stomach, not on the tracks. The clock ticked and my heart pounded. I was pale and my palms were sweating, waiting to meet my birth brother in the flesh. As luck would have it, the train was late. I needed fresh air and seemed unable to take a breath. I would not let my husband leave my side. Finally the train arrived and I started scanning the crowds in vain, looking for him. Then I saw him and he saw me. We embraced and told each other that we were both excited and nervous.
We hugged and said goodbye until next time. He would return to his work overseas and I would return home. It is safe to say that we hold our union close to our hearts. Staying up past 3:00 a.m. our first night together, drinking champagne under the stars was incredible. Our moods went from giddy, to silly and finally a little sentimental throughout the entire night. Every once in awhile one of us would say, “Can you believe that we are sitting here together right now?” The rest of our week together saw us pouring over photo albums, comparing our feet (“take off your shoes and show me your feet,” he ordered. Giggling, I obliged, secretly hoping that his feet were as odd looking as mine and they were.), telling stories of our lives and searches, visiting special places and just spending time learning more about each other.
We shared a lot in one week. His family opened their home and hearts to me and he was easily accepted by my son and husband. A true moment of bonding for both of us took place when we returned to the neighbourhood where we had both lived at different times. This was also the backdrop for the one picture of my brother that I had carried around throughout my search-evidence that he existed. The memories flooded in when we stepped into the family church where our mother was baptized, made her First Communion and Confirmation, was married and later buried. We then continued on to the apartment where my brother lived for six weeks and I spent years visiting. What a moment. Our week was full of moments that we will both treasure forever as we move forward in our lives together.
My search has come full circle and is now complete. James is my brother and I am his sister. Enough said.
Note: This was written many years ago when I first ‘found’ my birth brother and appeared in the Toronto Star’s feature on adoption and reunions. We shared the same mother who passed away when we were young. A secret for so long-I only learned of his existence in my later 20’s and quite by accident and spent 5 long years searching for him. My search is another story that I will write about at some point. I did speak about it at a Parent Finders meeting years ago and suffice to say, I was forced to be very creative to get the information that I felt and still feel so entitled to. Some say by the grace of God I wasn’t put up for adoption and others say it may have been a better thing…I spent my own time with the CCAS (Catholic Children’s Aid Society) although I was eventually released to family. Adoption rights is an issue close to my heart. May all find what they are looking for but at the same time try to temper expectation. For many, many reasons, my brother and I are not currently in contact. I love him dearly and wish for his healing.
She wandered and wondered. At the same time and not. But always one or the other, if not both at the same time. Would it matter in the end? “Being” out loud in thought instead of sneaky in secrecy with everything swirly whirly in her head. A made up story was easy. After doing it enough times there’s a formula, a recipe of sorts. You follow it loosely. Main ingredients of deceit, humour and made up facts, coupled with minor variations of secondary ingredients needed to make a story complete and more importantly, believable.
Laurel E. Anderson 