"You never find yourself until you face the truth" – Pearl Bailey
I keep picking up heavy stones and every time I do I seem to find a nasty gross worm. I had thought I killed them all or knew the location of all that I did not kill.
Turns out I am wrong.
No, I am not out collecting nightcrawlers or foraging through the dense wooded area behind my home. I am organizing my home office area. Right now I have numerous computer peripherals, wires, cameras, digital voice records, media cards, scanners and such scattered all over my dining room. It is a large room so I am sectioning off a part of it and intending to put a fabulous secretary/media center from Pottery Barn in the location.
Yesterday, while organizing, I come across "the box". This is a fireproof box that contains every scrap of my life regarding my daughter. Letters from her father, pictures from when she was born, poems I wrote during my confinement in the maternity home known as Gehring Hall, diaries of mine, books of others that remind me of her or her father, and much more.
For some reason I opened it yesterday. I rarely do. I tend to hear the squealing of angry demons when the top is lifted. I did not hear many demons yesterday and I reached in and took out one of the two pieces of paper the agency gave me. The first piece of paper is my surrender paper. The second, the one I took out, is the four page handwritten profile of my daughters adoptive parents.
I read it again, this time with a new eye, a different view. I read about miscarriages and fertility treatments, and income and degrees in Elementary Education and Public Safety. And I read that her Adoptive Mother had one sister. I also read on page three that she met Adoptive Dad because her brother married married his cousin.
Whoa, back up, wait a minute. How does Adoptive Mom have one sister on page two and suddenly a brother on page 4? Did they mean brother in law? Or did they lie?
Knowing other Kurtz agency profiles that were proven upon reunion to be outright lies, I am leaning toward it being a lie.
It makes me wonder, again, how much of the profile is just untrue. How much of this was doctored, written just for me? How much did they plant in there? Keep in mind I never found this error 23 years ago as I sit post partum. Someday, I really hope my daughter will connect the dots for me. Having this piece of paper, this document of lies, in front of me reminds me again and again of how I was so manipulated.
I deserve to know the truth.