This is such a crazy story with God's fingerprints all over it and I really don't even know where to begin, so I guess I'll back up to the beginning. May 19, 1972, to be exact.
Well, now that I truly think about it, the story begins even farther back than the night of my birth. For Vicky, my birth mom, it begins nine months prior to that. As for my parents? Their longing for a child began as the ink on their marriage certificate dried in the fall of 1969.
Mom and Dad knew that they wanted a family from the start. My Mom is the oldest of six kids and assumed she'd have a large family herself, when the time came. If I'm remembering correctly, at one point she told me she wanted to have ten kids. Let's just say that I am beyond relieved to not have nine younger siblings.
My parents were not conceiving as quickly as they would have liked. Apparently, my mom's doctor (a GP, not an OB/GYN in the Los Angeles area--where my parents were living at the time) was also their friend and knew of their heartache and desire for a baby. Thinking that having a biological child was possibly not in the picture for them, my parents began the process to adopt an older child through the foster system...right around the time my 19 year old birth mother found herself pregnant. Mom and Dad told their friend, Dr. Anderson, of their plans to adopt a waiting older child. He had a check in his heart about pursuing this type of adoption, and he told them so.
An unmarried college student, Vicky didn't feel that she was ready to parent a child so she let her concerns be known to her doctor. Obviously, I don't know exactly what was said in Dr. Anderson's office, yet I do know that he clearly cared about Vicky and her unborn child.
On the night I was born Mom was listening to a Dodger game that was in extra innings on her bedside radio. Dad was working the night shift at the aerospace company he would ultimately be employed at for 26 years. When the phone rang later than usual, Mom must have assumed that it could only be a bearer of bad news on the other end. Instead, it was Dr. Anderson, ready to tell my parents of a wonderful gift they would soon receive.
"I'm about to deliver a baby tonight and she needs a home. Do you want her?" he asked. My Mom replied with a resounding "Yes!" and then called my Dad to tell him the most unexpected news they'd ever heard.
These days doctors have no input in adoptions, but back then I guess they did. Or, if they didn't, God simply used Dr. Anderson as part of his plan to create the Speelman family. My parents had a whopping two days to gather baby gear and prepare to become parents. Gratefully, both of my Mom's sisters had recently had babies so they were able to gather hand-me-downs from them. When my parents came to get me at the hospital they were unable to see Vicky, but my Mom said she glimpsed her from the hallway outside her room. Overwhelming gratitude filled Mom's heart for this selfless woman who was willing to give her--a woman she never knew--a huge part of her life, her baby. The adoption was a closed case and became official a few months later.
As many adoption and infertility stories go, my parents conceived my brother nine months after I was born. Once Kevin arrived in November of 1973 the plan to parent ten kids went out the window.
I never
didn't know that I was adopted. For as long as I can remember I've always been aware that another woman who I didn't call "Mom" had carried me inside her womb and chose to give me life. I've always known her name and a bit of her background, as it was reflected on my original pre-adoption birth certificate that my parents still have in safe keeping.
Growing up I never had any "longing" to find my birth mother, as many adopted children do. I, like my parents, have always felt great respect and gratitude for Vicky, but I never experienced any aching or emptiness that caused me to feel that I needed to find her. My parents were (and still are) wonderful parents. They raised me well and in a loving, stable home. What more could I need?
As I approached adulthood and began to more fully appreciate the depth of Vicky's sacrifice, I found myself thinking of her more often...usually right around my birthday. One specific instance is very vivid in my mind. Right around the time of my 30th birthday in 2002 I had an overwhelming burden to pray for her that lasted for about two months. Clearly, God desired extra prayers on Vicky's behalf and I was happy to offer them. Once that call to prayer was lifted I didn't think of her as often, or longingly wonder how her life had transpired.
Fast forward to October 31, 2010. I received a message on Facebook from a woman who claimed to be my biological half-sister. Since it was Halloween, my first reaction was that someone was playing a trick on me...and that there was no "treat" in sight. I read and re-read the message and realized a few things: 1) This person knew way too much about my birth mother, and 2) way too much about me for the message to be a joke. Todd read it, we discussed it, and then I poked around her profile a bit and found pictures and background information that just about knocked me off my chair. I replied to the message and we began a Facebook friendship that quickly evolved into a real friendship, as it was clear that Elaina and I were kindred spirits.
My first and most pressing questions for Elaina were "How did you find me?" and "How long have you known about me?" As it turns out, Vicky had told her about me when she was a teenager during their "birds and bees" conversation. And thanks to this crazy ol' world wide web, Vicky, with the help of Elaina's aunt, found me through my blog! Cyberspace is a small place!
Through Elaina I learned that Vicky went on to live a happy, productive life after I was born. From working as a counselor at a Crisis Pregnancy Center I have seen firsthand how teenage pregnancy can "derail" a person's life, and I was so thrilled to hear that Vicky's life was good and full. Although it wasn't God's plan that Vicky and I live our lives together as mother and daughter, He did see fit that we lived much of our lives less than two miles away from each other in the same city in Orange County.
"But didn't this all take place in Los Angeles?" you might ask. Yes and no. When I was 11 years old my family moved from the LA area to Mission Viejo due to a job re-location for my Dad. After Vicky got married a few years after I was born she and her husband also moved to Mission Viejo. They established their family there...on a quiet street about a mile from the street that I grew up on. The street that Vicky's family lived on was directly above the church I attended in childhood and throughout college. Their house literally had a view of the church that I spent countless hours at every single week. I think it's utterly amazing that my birth mother very likely saw me driving too fast in the church parking lot or pushing a preschooler in the swing on the playground. I can only imagine that we passed each other in the mall and sat at nearby booths in a restaurant. Mission Viejo is a relatively sleepy suburb and our "circles" certainly intertwined without us knowing it.
So as Elaina and I got to know each other better through email and Facebook it was only fitting that we should meet. Knowing that Todd and the boys and I would be coming down to visit my parents and have fun at Disneyland, the timing worked perfectly that we should meet that weekend.
When I walked into Mimi's Cafe in Laguna Niguel last Saturday morning and saw my sister for the first time it was as if I had always known, and loved, her. Our conversation was so natural and meaningful. We have much more in common than our genes and I am so anxious to explore this new realm of sisterhood further.
Vicky and her husband no longer live in Mission Viejo. A few years ago they moved out to the desert...a place that Todd and the boys and I frequently escape to for R and R. Maybe one of the "subliminal" reasons I enjoy the desert so much is because I have family there. Family that I hope to someday meet, thank and embrace.
