My Birthday, Part Won.

I finally decided to update my user name with legitimate contact information. I decided that I am just as easily found via the phone book so what’s the harm?

I am sitting at my desk.

Bored to tears as usual.

My Outlook tells me that I have new mail. I switch screens to my inbox and see that someone has sent me mail at Reunion.com.

Any other time I would have ignored it.

Everyone knows about Reunion and their fake email prompts. No one is looking for me.

That’s a fact.

No one has ever looked for me.

Even when I go missing.

But I click the link because honestly, I have nothing better to do at the time.

I have no idea what the password is. I guess at it and get it right.

Ah……it says
Date 01/11/2008
From debarybabs (Barbara C……) 
Subject Are you Tracy Renee Jones?
Hi Tracy,

Been trying to get in touch with you regarding your post on www.findme.org. I think I know your birth family. I can’t find a working phone number for you. Please call me at **********. I have a strong feeling you’re the lady who is related to a brother named Spencer. Please let me hear from you.

Blessings . . Kristin

I stare at the screen.

I squint and read it again.

I read it again.

I am angry.

Who is this Kristen person?

I call the number and can barely introduce myself before the woman on the other end begins to praise God and screams. She is talking fast.

She is so excited.

My brother is such a nice guy.

My father is such a sweet man.

MY FATHER?!

I say, ‘who are you?’

She doesn’t hear me because she is yelling to someone else in the background.

I say louder…..angrier ‘WHO ARE YOU?’

She tells me that she is a search angel and that she helps people search for adoptees who were placed and are out there missing.

I can’t breathe.

I am confused.

She is still talking and I say ‘I can’t talk right now’.

She stops speaking and changes her tone.

‘Please don’t be alarmed’, she sounds scared now.

I tell her ‘I have to call you back’ and I hang up.

I stare at the computer screen again.

The words start to dance across the screen because I am crying.

I am hot. My head is spinning.

I can’t breathe.

I stand up and don’t know which way to go.

Something is happening to me.

I go to Melinda in the next cube.

Melinda is eccentric but she’s the best. She’s on a phone call with someone important because everyone who calls our bosses are important.

She looks at me with her head tilted holding the phone with her shoulder. Without any sign of alarm, she reaches for the tissue and plucks and hands it to me.

I dab tears.

She plucks and hands.

I dab tears.

She is plucking as fast as she can and now the tears are coming faster than she can pluck tissue to keep them away.

My body is shaking.

I am going down but don’t want to alarm my co-workers.

I run straight down the hall to the bathroom.

I burst in the door and I scream.

I collapse on the floor and I cry.

Heaving heavy tears.

I cry and release years of loneliness.

Feelings of being lost in the world.

Feelings of being useless and forgotten.

Anger that a woman gave birth to me and left me for dead.

Feelings that hurt so bad in so many way on so many occasions that I have had to fight to not kill myself to stop the hurt inside.

I cry.

The women are coming into the bathroom.

Each stops as she sees me on the floor.

They surround me.

An older woman sits on the floor and takes my hands.

She is speaking loudly to me.

She asks ‘am I okay?’

I can’t speak so I bow my head.

She asks ‘Did something bad happen?’

I shake my head no.

More excited now, she asks ‘something GOOD happened?’

I bow my head and inhale.

I heave the words ‘I am adopted. My family just found me.’

In unison, they yell ‘MOZELTOF!!’ and begin to speak what sounds like prayer in Hebrew.

The group of women have now all joined me on the bathroom floor.

They cry and listen.

They hugging me.

I needed to be touched.

I need someone to stop me from exploding into a million pieces on the floor.

They listen while I explain, ‘I was put into foster care as a baby. I have a child and we have no one. Her father left and my foster mother put me out when I was young. I have always been alone. But she said my brother is looking for me’.

They ask more questions.

I realize I can’t answer them because I hung up on the woman who was helping him look for me.

They pull me from the floor and walk me back to my desk.

They insist I call the woman back and find out more.

I try to compose myself and dial her number again.

I take in a deep breath.

The phone rings…….

(to be continued)