I sat in my bedroom anxiously looking outside my window, waiting for the green minivan to pull into the driveway. It felt like forever when I finally saw the vehicle turn down the street. It’s happening, I thought, as I looked anxiously at myself in the mirror, it’s all real now.
I was about to meet my half brother and sister, ten year old twins. As I wrote about in my post seven, I knew about my siblings from my birth mom’s side since they were little. We had often exchanged letters and school pictures; a gesture of aiming to bond us from a distance.
Now they were living with my grandparents and I was going to meet them. My 16 year old body was shaking, heart racing and palms clammy. I was a study mix of nerves and excitement.
I heard the car door shut and small voices echo outside.
The doorbell rang. This was it.
I ran downstairs, shakily opening the front door. There they were. My brother and sister. My sister stood there, smiling ear to ear, looking up at me with big blue eyes. My brother, a little further back, looked at me with a shy excitement that I completely understood.
Time stood still for that moment. In front of me were two people that were biologically related to me, an opportunity not common to an adopted person. We spent that weekend smiling, hugging and comparing all the minuscule differences and similarities between us. I asked questions about our birth mom; questions of curiosity only they could answer.
And then before it had even started, the weekend was over and they were on their way. It was hard to say goodbye, I wanted to soak up every moment with these little souls. But, now I had a person and a voice connected to those letters that had been written to me so many times before, and now I had a picture of all of us. Together.
I’m so very thankful for that day and grateful that we have been able to continue to have a relationship. My brother is a music genius, and the amount of proud I feel when I see him play is unsurpassable. My sister’s sweetness is contagious and she has given me the title of aunt, a responsibility that I will never take for granted.
Adoption stories are messy, complex and often I find myself explaining mine by drawing some sort of webbed family tree. But, even though its different than others and hard to understand, it’s mine. And, it’s beautiful.
Just like my brother and sister.