I went to Peach Morrison looking for tips about the best way to approach my birth mother. I came away touched by her story. Not only did she approach her crisis pregnancy with an intent to inflict as little harm as possible on those affected, she reunited with her son at a time and in a manner that seemed practically ordained.
It gave me great hope.
And hope brought just one difficulty — the notion that I would be satisfied by mere contact with Lynette was now officially a fiction. Discoveries made around my father’s kitchen table about the circumstances of her life only whetted my desire to reach out to her. And Peach’s story hinted at the possibility that a reunion could be joyous, not ruinous. So secretly, this became my aspiration.
But my conversation with Peach also made clear that I needed to constrain that desire in my first communication with Lynette. Coming on too strong might repel her. So might droning on about the family that raised me.
So I revised my letter, which took me only a few hours. I read it through several times, extracting superfluous words and reciting it in my head as if it were to be spoken, which is always my practice. Finally, I arrived at a passable rendition:
Dear Lynette,
I apologize in advance if I am contacting the wrong Lynette Amato. I am searching for the woman whose maiden name is Lynette Rigel and who lived on Parr Drive in Springfield, Ohio, in the late 1960s. I recently requested my adoption records from the state of Ohio, which revealed to me for the first time the name of my birth mother. I believe you might be her.
I would very much like to speak with you, but I leave entirely to your discretion whether we have further contact and, if so, what form it might take. I know this message has the potential to be discomfiting to you, but my intent is to bring you peace and reassurance, not anguish. Whatever you decide, I simply want to express my profound sense of gratitude to you and tell you a few things I believe it is important for you to know.
My earliest childhood memory is getting tucked in each night, my mother and father sitting on my bed and reciting to me the story of how I came to be their son. They had tried unsuccessfully for several years to conceive and eventually determined that perhaps God had not given them a child because they were meant to adopt. I do not think my parents were told a lot about you, but you were not omitted from my bedtime story. They told me my birth mother loved me but was simply too young to care for a little boy. They vowed to give me the best home and all the love that they could, and they did just that. I grew up knowing they were not only thankful for me but also for a brave, young girl who likely went through something very difficult to give birth to me.
Of course, I do not know for sure what that period of time was like for you, but if I let my imagination run a bit, I conjure a girl who was scared, confused and perhaps even made to feel ashamed. If you carried me like a burden, if my creation seemed to you a curse, please find solace in the great joy that resulted from what you endured. I have family I love and who love me. I have made a living doing work I enjoy. I am healthy. Most of all, I want you to know I am happy to be here and am keenly aware I have you to thank for that.
It’s been just one week since I first read your name on my original birth certificate, but in the process of finding you, I’ve learned enough that I feel as though you are no longer a stranger. I also feel as though that’s not quite fair — I’ve approached you before you had a chance to look me over. To remedy that, here is a link to my Facebook page. Most of my posts are set to “public,” so there’s no need to send me a friend request in order to size me up, although you are more than welcome to do so if you like. As I said, I would love to talk with you, but I will leave that for you to decide. If you do not want or are not ready for that, I would appreciate a short reply, just so I know I have the right person and that you received my message. That alone would mean a great deal.
I send you my most heartfelt thanks for giving me a chance at life. I’ve tried hard to make something of it. God bless you and your family,
Jeffrey Glenn Kidd
I copied and pasted that letter into the body of an email sent to the two addresses Debi uncovered using BeenVerified. Confronting the same doubts I overcame before every newspaper article I ever filed — was this really the best work I could do in the allotted time? — I took a deep breath, then hit “send.”
I immediately received a bounce-back reply that one of the email addresses was invalid.
But the other address was still in play. No bounceback. This was happening. For real. Nothing to do now but wait.
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