At 36, I found out I was adopted after finding a letter from my birth mother, so I decided to find her. But when I finally did, something unexpected happened. I had no idea what to do.
I was 36 when my parents died. My father was the first to die. He died of a heart attack in his sleep. My mother followed two months later, as if she could no longer live without him. It’s quite beautiful, in a way. A bittersweet way. However, I was their only child, and it was up to me to organize everything.
I sorted through their house, starting with important documents and bills that needed to be settled. My plan was to move in, since their house was now mine and I could stop spending money on rent. However, there was one document I didn’t expect to find. There was a strange letter addressed to me in a box in my parents’ closet, along with some weird paperwork, and I had never seen those papers in my life.
Once I got back to Hartford, I realized I didn’t want to be there anymore.
They were adoption papers. Imagine my shock. I was 36 years old and had just found out by accident that I was adopted. My parents obviously never wanted to tell me, or they would have done so while they were still alive. I mean, they didn’t make me feel like anything other than their son, but it would have been nice to know.
I could have asked them all the questions I could think of. Alas, I couldn’t, so I had to dig through paperwork, trying to figure it out. The adoption took place in San Antonio, Texas, where we lived.
I was now in Hartford, Connecticut, as my father had gotten a job here many years ago, and I returned after graduating from NYU. It was a secret adoption, apparently, my parents never met my birth mother, who wrote me a letter.
In the paperwork, she explained that she was 18 and had no family, no support, and nothing else to offer me. Therefore, adoption seemed like the best choice. I could understand her, although I suspected that my feelings on the subject would change over time. I was mostly numb, reading everything and trying to find out more.
Her name was Helena, and she wanted me to know that she loved me very much.
“I’m only giving you up because I love you so much and want you to have the best life possible. I hope it’s the right decision. With all my love, Mom,” I read the last words of her letter and marveled. I couldn’t believe it and felt a pang in my heart that my parents hadn’t told me.
But what could I do now? I turned the piece of paper over and found her full name and address in San Antonio. So, I could try to find her if I wanted to. But did I want to? Maybe not. Would it hurt her to see me? Would it hurt me to see her?
I was so confused. So I put all the documents and the letter back in the box and continued sorting through my parents’ stuff. I’ll come back to this… problem later.
It took a few months, but I finally gave in and decided to buy a plane ticket to San Antonio. I had already found her on social media and knew exactly where she worked. She was a waitress/barista at a coffee shop.
So I went straight there after renting a car at the airport. I approached the counter, but there was a young girl checking in customers. I couldn’t see anyone else. Was she off that day? I had no idea, so I ordered a coffee and a muffin, paid, and sat down at a random table.
I was focused on my phone for a few minutes until I heard a soft voice with a hint of a Latino accent. “Hey, there, sweetheart. Here’s your order,” she sang, and my heart stopped when I looked up.
I recognized her immediately. We had the same eyes and nose. “Thanks,” I replied, hoping my voice wasn’t shaking. She told me to have fun and went back to work.
I sipped and ate my muffin, not really tasting anything. I tried to look at her without making it obvious. I failed because she kept coming over to the table and asking if I wanted anything else. I kept ordering sweets and drank four cups of coffee that afternoon. But I eventually left and stayed at the hotel.
The next day, I went back to the coffee shop with my laptop and worked from there. At least it was a great excuse to stay there all day. I talked to her more, and at the end of her shift, I struck up a conversation, and she sat down with me.
She asked me about my life and my job, and I said it was pretty boring. “Mine was, actually,” Helena said. She got married in her thirties, but her husband left when she couldn’t get pregnant, so now she’s alone. But she was pretty happy. She loved her job and had a house, so that was good. I was happy for her.
I kept coming day after day for two weeks straight. I learned something new about her each time, and I left feeling good. But eventually I had to go home.
However, once I got back to Hartford, I realized I didn’t want to be there anymore. I missed my parents terribly. I was living alone. Now I was unattached, with no other family to support me or keep me company. Being near Helena allowed me to center myself.
So I put my parents’ house up for sale and moved to Texas. My job was remote, so that wasn’t a problem. I could leave immediately after telling the real estate agent that I trusted her to handle everything.
“My favorite customer! Where have you been, Anthony?” Helena greeted me as I backed up to the coffee shop. I smiled and sat down, ordering my usual lunch.
“I had to sort some things out, but you’ll be seeing me around a lot from now on,” I told her, smiling cheekily.
“Well, I’ll be right back with your order,” she replied and went off to make coffee.
My smile stayed in place as I watched her operate the machine, and I realized that I was going to have to tell her the truth soon.
