her voice.

As an adoptee, I have always had a longing to know about my birth family. Where did i come from? Who did I look like? What personality traits did we share? I had an ever increasing curiosity as to who my birth mom was; what she did, what she liked, what she disliked. I had been given a few pictures and handwritten letters from her throughout my childhood, but these failed to fulfill the mother shaped hole within me. By the time I was in college, I craved to know more about her.

The longing to know her ate away at me, I decided to do something about it. Grabbing my computer, I typed in her name and watched the internet go to work. Within seconds, multiple names populated, partnered with addresses and phone numbers. I was able to narrow down the list using prior knowledge I had gathered of her whereabouts and quickly scribbled down the number that was beside her name.

I stared at the paper, reading the combinations over and over and unsure of what to do next. Do I call? Do I just keep the number or do I rip it up? 

It sat on my desk, staring at me. The numbers held so much power and it wasn’t long before I couldn’t ignore them any longer. I had to make the call. With trembling hands, I picked up my phone and begun to dial. Each number I pressed was one step closer to finding an answer to a lifelong question: who was my birth mom?


I had to catch my breath.


Each tone increased my heart rate.

Click. “Hello?”

It was her.

I spoke not a single word, but my soul screamed; it knew that voice. I felt a rush of calm and comfort, inexplainable and foreign to me. I had not one doubt that I was hearing the voice of the woman who gave birth to me.

That phone call lasted only a few seconds, but its impact has been lasting. I am still in amazement of how much our beings hold onto. I had not heard my mother’s voice since infancy and somehow I knew with certainty that it was her speaking to me on the phone that night.

It was simply woven into my being.

No matter the age a child is adopted, there is a connection between them and their birth family. There is a loss that is not easily forgotten, whether it is spoken out loud or kept quietly within the soul. Don’t forget this. Don’t ignore this. Listen to it, holding it with honor and respect, never negating the loss that is adoption.


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