So, who really cares about an original birth certificate?
It’s just a piece of paper. You know who you are. You know who your “real”
parents are. Your parents love you; they made you who you are. You don’t need
Well, all those statements certainly sound logical. The
thing is, it’s not about logic. My original birth certificate is the earliest
evidence that I exist. It shows that I am connected to my original family. I
love my parents. Everything I have become is because of them. I am glad that I
was placed with them. I believe it was destiny and that I was meant to be their
daughter. But ... I DID come from somewhere else first. I am biologically
related to other people. I did get my brown eyes and my flat feet and my not so
small ears and my distinguished nose from somewhere else. I also got a love of
reading, a great sense of direction and a caring heart from my “forever”
parents. I grew up in the place I was meant to be…the place where I met the man
I was destined to marry..the place that put me where I was supposed to be in
order to adopt my six children.
When I was reunited with my birthparents I also got
another mother and another father, other siblings, a stepmother and a
stepfather. Something was missing. Something that non-adopted people take for
granted. The ability to hold in my hand, that earliest evidence that I exist. That
two other people were responsible for giving me life and for giving me the life
that I was meant to have. I love both of my families but I look forward to
seeing that piece of paper that documents my first family. The piece of paper
that validates the early version of me is just as important as the amended
piece of paper that validates the forever version of me.