A picture is worth a thousand slova

A friend recently pointed me toward a European social media website designed to help people from across the world reconnect, people who may have their personal information written in another language. Which makes inquiries rather difficult. Trust me on that one.


As soon as this site came across my radar, I couldn’t help myself. I gleefully dug out my paperwork on Max’s biological relatives, and wouldn’t you know we were able to find his mom and older sister. Neither profile was able to tell us much information that we didn’t already have, but we were able to find multiple pictures of his mom and both sisters (who are still in Mom’s custody).

And a flood of emotions crash over me as I study these new faces, trying desperately to pick out the similarities between their features and Max’s. In this photo I see she has the same broad cheek bones as my son, while I pick out an expression I’ve totally seen my son make in that photo.

There’s even a very sweet family photo taken around the campfire, his mom and sisters look so healthy and happy together. The picture of a perfect family. I have to stop myself from imagining my son there in the frame, with a stick in his hand gleefully poking that campfire with his first mom and siblings.

Now I know some people get their panties in a bunch when they think about adoptive families searching / finding / communicating with their child’s biological family. And to that I say, to each his own. I can see why it would be scary to share personal information with complete strangers. So I respect the sentiment that causes some people to hold back.

But I’m not one of those people.

I do not feel threatened by the other mom. She might have been his first love, but I’m the one he calls for in the night. I’m the one who will move heaven and earth to get him what he needs. I’m the one who will never give up on him, or stand by when someone else tries to take him away from me. Heavens no.

I am his mom now, but I do respect the fact that she played a huge role in making him who he is. Despite the mistakes this woman made in her past, I know that in her heart, little Max is still her son. There’s no denying he has her smile. He remembers her. He asks about her. And a big part of me thinks that he does want a relationship with her. He wants to know that she still loves him.

And I’m ok with that.

He likely wants to know a bit about her, and more likely she wants to know a bit about him too. I don’t know what made her give up her second born child. But I know she probably had a good reason. Don’t I at least owe her the peace of mind that comes with knowing that her only son is happy and healthy with a new family? That we know she did what she did because she loved him? Shouldn’t she know that we do tell him how much she loves him?

If the roles were reversed I would want her to tell me those things. To give me that peace.

So as we proceed through this door we do so with caution. Caution and courage. Caution in knowing she hurt him profoundly once, and courage to believe she doesn’t want to do that again.

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