Meeting My Birth Family | Part 1 : Arrival

Aaand we’re off!

I’m finally sitting down to tell the tale of my Mississippi adventure—one of the most whirl-windy weekends of my life.

Before I do, I feel the need to explain something.

Since returning from my trip, I’ve been to BBQ’s, bible studies, and breakfasts with friends, all asking, “Well, how did it go?”

By the time I had breakfast with a friend last weekend, I was in storytelling mode. When I wrapped up the details of my final day in Mississippi, my friend looked at me curiously and said, “You seem different than I thought you would be.”

I asked her to elaborate. She said she thought I would be more “excited.” That it seemed I had just “checked a box.”

At first, I felt a sense of guilt for my lack of emotions. I tried to explain that it was the fifth time telling the story. And that Nate had just left. And I was still processing.

Then, I realized I have “checked a box.” In much the same way I “checked a box” on my wedding day. 

Of all the other crazy times in my life, my wedding weekend is the closest comparison to meeting my birth family. It was a wonderful, imperfect day I will remember for the rest of my life. 

But there is a reason they call these things “once-in-a-lifetime experiences.” (You can only handle them once.)

That’s not to say this was the end of something, but rather, the beginning.

So, without further ado, I’d like to tell you about MEETING MY BIRTH FAMILY (Part 1).

Day T-Minus 1:

The day before my trip, I had a panic attack.

My phone was blowing up with text messages asking what the plan was—when I was doing what on which days, with whom, where—etcetera etcetera.

It was all very exciting, but I was beginning to feel the pressure.

So, when my best friend called about something completely unrelated… I lost it.

After hyperventilating for a minute, I pulled myself together, packed, and loaded my bags into Nate’s truck. I headed to make one last stop at the hardware store…where I proceeded to lock my keys IN the truck. With all my luggage in it.

Thankfully, the roadside assistance man was an angel. But the ordeal added to the growing sense of stress.

Day 1:

The next morning was my birthday! I bounded out of bed, ready to go. It was a new day, and a new year of life. I was ready to grab it by the bunions. But there was one thing I was not excited about: flying.

When my mom and I were finally on board our first flight, buckled up nice and snug, I decide to take a peek at the book my cabin-mate was reading. The title was called : AFTER THE CRASH.

Fantastic. I’m going to die on my birthday.

After forty minutes of turbulence and trying to keep myself from “tossing my cookies”, the plane finally leveled out.

I got to work writing Part 2 of Finding My Birth Family. I wanted it ready to post, so I could share the exciting news that I was on my way to Mississippi.

On the flight from Dallas to Hattiesburg, I finished the blog post, and was feeling rather proud of myself. Until I lost the entire thing.

Yes. I somehow (stupidly) left the browser page before it saved. I turned to my mom with tears in my eyes and said, “It’s gone. I… just… can’t imagine writing it again.” So, on our final flight into Meridian, I stared at the seat in front of me, feeling defeated.

By the time we checked into the hotel, I was exhausted. After three flights, little sleep, and losing my writing, I felt like an 80-year-old man. This was supposed to be the most exciting day of my life—I was going to meet my birth mom for the first time, that night!

So, I asked her if I could take a nap. (Lol.)

Lisa graciously agreed, and suggested we meet for dinner.

When my mom and I headed down to the lobby, I was strangely calm. I think the emotional rollercoaster of the previous twenty-four hours leveled me out. I felt a flutter of excitement, but was also detached. Like it was all happening to someone else.

Before long, Lisa was walking through the first set of lobby doors. She was small, like me. Wearing a lime green t-shirt, and carrying a HAPPY BIRTHDAY balloon. When she caught sight of me, she stopped short and had to look away.

Needless to say, there was lots of hugging and tears.

The three of us walked to Logan’s Roadhouse for my birthday dinner. My mom asked Lisa about growing up in Newton, and the challenges of being in an interracial relationship in Mississippi in the 80’s. She talked about my birth father, and how the two of them stayed together for twenty years. She talked about my adoption, and how the reason I was in foster care for eight months was because she was trying to keep me.

We talked about my full sister, who was born just eleven months before me, and how Lisa never got to lay eyes on her after her birth—how our grandfather more or less forced her to sign the adoption papers straight off. And while Lisa was pregnant with my sister, some KKK members from our father’s hometown had been looking for them. (No joke.)

We talked until the restaurant closed, and then we sat in the hotel lobby and visited some more.

One thing I learned is that Lisa is a talker! (I guess I know where I got it from.)

When things were winding down, she and my mom shared a moment. Lots of “if only” this, and “I wish I could have” that. My mom always regretted that she couldn’t send Lisa any news about me, with the closed adoption records. It was hard on her, but Lisa stated again and again that seeing me confirmed in her spirit that she made the right choice.

Around midnight, we walked her to her massive, huge, gargantuan pickup truck(!)

It was hard to say goodbye—one more story; one last thing—but I assured Lisa that I would only be gone for a day (to meet my biological sister) and that I would see her again before leaving Mississippi.

So after hugging goodnight, we parted ways. 

It took a long time to fall asleep. There was so much to absorb—a lifetime of stories and time missed. But I had another big day ahead. I was driving to Hattiesburg to meet my sister for the first time…

Which I will tell you all about next week! (I’m such a tease.)