Four months

It’s hard to believe that it’s been four months since I found out that my birth mother was located and declined to have contact with me. Where does the time go? Somehow I have acclimated to this information. I have been able to file these pieces of knowledge somewhere in my mind and know at the drop of a hat that my omoni still lives in my birthplace. That she’s married. That she has a child—my half sibling. But the truth is that I don’t take these pieces out and look at them all that often. At first, I did. I couldn’t help it. I had to keep telling myself that this was real. My whole life, any knowledge of my omoni was shrouded in the past. To know what her life is like in present day has been an almost disconcerting thing to digest. She’s a real, breathing, tangible person out there living her life. And, for the past four months now, living her life with the knowledge that I tried to reach out to her.

The truth is I haven’t thought about her all that much in quite a while. I became consumed by my new job. For a while, that was a very legitimate excuse. I was also driving back to the hometown frequently as my grandma’s condition declined. It’s been four months, though, and my excuses are slowly fading away. Despite the chaos, the ups and downs of life, I could be making more time to think about my omoni. I’ve had plenty of time to sit down and finally start drafting that letter to her to leave with the adoption agency. It’s not a matter of being too busy; I’ve been flat-out avoiding this aspect of my life. It’s also reflected in my lack of writing here. I used to have more of a fire behind me when it came to all this adoption stuff. The flame isn’t gone, but it has lost strength. I have felt hurt and rejected. I have read reunion stories and felt deeply envious, though mostly sad. And then I just stopped reading adoption blogs, books and articles altogether. It got too personal for me. The emotional current ran too deep.

As I write this, I realize that there is much healing I have not yet allowed myself to do. I don’t want to walk around carrying this hurt in my heart. I don’t want to keep expending energy feeling angry at my omoni when I barely know why she said no. Mentally, I walked away from her because I couldn’t bear the thought of continuing to stand at some door waiting, wondering if she’d ever open it for me. She might still. This division is not necessarily permanent. She may change her mind months from now. Years from now? But for now, at her word, this search has come to an impasse. I will not continue to pursue someone who does not want to be pursued. There is nothing else I feel I can do. It’s this feeling of helplessness that maybe is most discouraging of all, knowing I have no control over the situation.

There is a lesson in here somewhere. I firmly believe this and have always sought what I can take away from a painful experience. Right now, I’ve got nothing. But it’s only been four months. Healing doesn’t have a deadline. I somehow suspect that part of this healing needs to involve forgiving my omoni. That letter I write to her might be the final word in all of this. I want to get to a place where I can make that word one of love in case it truly is the last one.