ometimes, a girl receives way more than she wished for. That happened to me when I received information about my birth mother in early 2019, just shy of my 49th birthday. Adopted as an infant, I grew up in Keithville, Louisiana, with a cowboy dad and a fashionista mom, both Caddo Parish teachers, plus a big brother and sister. While I had a sweet life in the Walker family with plenty of love, horses, and shopping trips to South Park Mall, I always wondered about my heritage. Was my birth mom out there? Did she think of me? I remember scanning crowds for a stranger who looked like me.
As soon as the info landed in my eager hands, I took to Google with the sleuthing skills of Sherlock Holmes. I hit the jackpot when I discovered an obituary for my maternal grandmother. I stared at the list of survivors and thought, Look at all that family. Although I’d always dreamed of meeting my birth mom, I never thought much about the aunties, uncles, siblings, and cousins that could come with it. I turned to Facebook in hopes of putting faces to some of those beautiful names.
With a few clicks, I found a Barbara Hall from Oklahoma that matched the obituary, by name at least. I gazed at her picture as my heart twisted and pounded with both wonder and insecurity. I think this is her! I kept searching to confirm.
The next hit on Facebook was Angie White, who had a couple dozen mutual friends, most of whom I knew from high school. I looked back at the obit and thought, Could this be my sister? Did I go to high school with my biological sister?
I took a deep breath, sent a “Please let this go well, Lord!” to heaven, and typed out a sheepish message to Angie.
“Angie, I see we have a bunch of mutual friends and that you went to Caddo Magnet High. I think we have another connection I’d like to talk to you about. Could you give me a call?”
Next, I located my birth mom’s brother, Paul, and sent him a friend request and a message. I couldn’t bring myself to reach out to Barbara directly. I wanted her to have the choice about talking to me. Plus, my fear of rejection had me by the throat. I could barely breathe at this point.
“Hi Paul…you’re going to think I’m crazy, but I’m trying to get in touch with Barbara Jean Temple. Are you related to her?”
Within 10 minutes, I got a reply from Paul, and, after hearing my story (and picking his jaw up off the floor), he agreed to pass my message to Barbara.
Two days later, I got to talk to my birth mom for the first time. She said all the things I always hoped she’d say, and I told her what I practiced in my head for decades, just in case I ever got to meet her. I thanked her for loving me enough to let me go and assured her I grew up well-loved. I also clued her in that she just gained three handsome grandsons who couldn’t wait to meet her.
While still floating from the sheer bliss of hearing my birth mom’s voice, I got a message from Angie.
“Holy wow! I just got off the phone with Mom, and she told me about that connection! My mind is a bit blown right now. I can’t believe we went to the same high school! Hello, sister!!”
The next night, we quickly discovered we share the “talker” gene as we connected decades of dots over dinner. Every time I get together with my “shiny new sister,” my life is enriched. Her personal interests are broad, colorful, and unfamiliar to me. She’s a full-blown foodie, so passionate about locally sourced foods, she’s on the board of Slow Food North Louisiana. If we happen to eat out, you won’t find us at a chain restaurant. Angie is all about the local haunts, and I do believe she knows every chef in town. Her home is graced with unique artwork from local artists, as well as from her many travels. Angie’s dedication to our community shows in her involvement in several charitable organizations, including her recent appointment to the Board of Directors of Volunteers of America, North Louisiana, the agency responsible for helping a teen mom named Barbara Jean find a home for her blonde-haired baby girl.
Knowing my beautiful birth mom is still magical to me almost four years after our first phone call. The more I get to know her, the better I know myself. Gaining a sister out of the deal is a bonus gift I didn’t think to wish for but can’t imagine my life without. She challenges me to take loving action when I see areas of need. She shines her creative light on the simple pleasures of this world and invites me to enjoy them with her. I may be the big sister (by 13 months), but Angie continually teaches me something new or nudges me to consider a new perspective. I think I’ll keep her.