The One Where I Find Out I’m Adopted

Summary

The author has discovered a letter suggesting they were adopted, leading to confusion and emotional turmoil amidst their mother's illness.

Abstract

The author, dealing with the impending loss of their mother, has been sorting through her belongings and came across a letter from their estranged uncle. This letter, written in 2000, mentions the author's mother adopting a baby girl, which has left the author questioning their own identity and family history. The author grapples with the possibility that their uncle's information is incorrect, especially given the stories of pregnancy and breastfeeding shared by their mother. Despite the lack of physical resemblance to their family, the author has always felt a connection to them. The revelation has added to the author's stress during an already difficult time, prompting them to consider genetic testing to understand their health history better.

Opinions

The author is overwhelmed by the possibility of being adopted, especially considering their mother's current condition.
There is skepticism about the uncle's reliability as a narrator, given his past and the long estrangement from the family.
The author is concerned about the implications of this revelation on their health history and genetic background.
Despite the shock, the author values their existing family relationships and does not want the letter's content to alter that bond.
The author expresses a desire to maintain their mother's comfort and dignity during her final days, indicating a deep sense of responsibility and compassion.
The author views the idea of being adopted as a potentially destructive revelation for an adult, contrasting it with a child's fantasy.
There is a hint of dark humor in the author's tone, as they mention the possibility of being Swedish royalty as a way to cope with the uncertainty of their lineage.

I don’t even have the strength to find a picture for this.

So after each day of sitting vigil at my dying mom’s bedside, I go to her house to slowly sort through things and haul out what I can. This process seems less traumatic than hiring a company to just trash everything all at once.

That’s how I found the letter last night from my uncle to my mom. He mentioned that their sister had told him that my mom had adopted a baby girl, and he commended her on adopting a child.

I desperately wish that I hadn’t found that letter.

It was written in 2000, and my mom and Uncle Jack hadn’t spoken in 40 years. He did time in Sing Sing and was disowned by the family. My mom reached out to him after my dad died in 1999.

My only hope is that my uncle is an unreliable narrator who heard something like, “She’s thinking about adopting.” But then I was born.

And I was born with a tooth. We have the tooth. What, the birth mother handed me over and said, “Oh, by the way, here’s a tooth.”?

I guess, maybe. But my mom also told me stories about her pregnancy and bed rest, since she had miscarried earlier, and how I liked to bite her as she breastfed me.

Can you breastfeed an adopted baby? I have no idea. I don’t nothin ‘bout birthin’ babies.

I’ve never thought I looked like any of my family, but other people say I do. I don’t know. This is just a lot to take in when I’m literally on the edge of a mental cliff as it is. Hershey’s heart disease markers are worse and god only knows what’s going on in my own body.

The staff and I have agreed to keep my mom sedated for everyone’s well being. I give her water when she asks for it and turn on the AC when she’s hot.

I have half an Ativan at home, the thought of which is the only thing keeping me going

I don’t want to be adopted. It’s a child’s fantasy that destroys you as an adult. Now I have to go through probate records (me and my useful skills) and I’ll probably do 23andMe for health markers.

What family I have is still my family. An apocryphal letter doesn’t change that. But my health history might be so much meaningless gibberish now, which is concerning.

Maybe I really am Swedish royalty. Or maybe I’m still just me.