There’s been a lot going on.  It’s been quite evident by my posts recently, and I’m working through a lot of different things: relationship roller coasters, injuries, family stuff and losing my grandma.  But there’s been things I’ve been trying to work through that I haven’t yet described in detail. Part of that was I felt it was important to share specifically with my family first — before opening it up to those who follow my blog.  I had a conversation with my parents recently, it’s relating to what I’m working through. I have also needed time before being ready to be open here, but I’m sure that most people are wondering what has been going on as seemingly unrelated categories have been selected in my recent posts. But all the head space connects, so to me it makes sense, even if it was vague to you at the time.
The thing is, a few months ago, partly triggered by the breakup with the lost friend, I made a choice. A life changing choice. Recently, I told a story of me and my adoption.  That moment, the moment of my adoption had a profound impact on my life. It was always, I thought, the first defining moment of what makes me ‘me’. The defining moment of my identity.  I’ve always had a great deal of curiosity about my story, I’ve been curious about genetic history. I think, that perhaps this curiosity is partly what drove me to science, a genetics lab, even breeding guppies as a teenager or angelfish as an adult. To see and understand heredity better.
Recently I’ve realized that most people look at their families and can identify ‘self’ when they see them. They resemble their relatives to varying degrees. I look at my family and I see familiarity. I see resemblances not in looks but in mannerisms, attitudes, responses. I don’t look at my mom and dad and see how I will look when I reach their age, or what infirmities I may develop. I see my parents.  Most people can look at their families and identify ‘self’ in their relatives. In my family there is the dimple — it even has a characteristic ‘name’. I even have a slight version of it. So I fit to a degree. But mine’s not the same. It’s unique, not the ‘### Dimple’ as we call it.  I don’t look at my cousins or grandpa (when he was alive) and see my dimple, I don’t see self.  I see ‘the family dimple’ but not my dimple.  Not in the same way that my cousin and her daughter would see self when they look at each other, or at my aunt.  This isn’t a bad thing at all. I don’t mind. I look at all these people and just see people I love. People who love me.
My family story is so key to me, that I haven’t really consciously considered that first week of my life after birth.  I’ve never considered how that first week affects my identity. Indeed, I’ve always assumed I had no identity until my parents got me.  Since 1996, Adoption Records have been opened in British Columbia.  At the time there was news media covering this information — it was big news, the ending of secrecy (with options for no contact or personal information vetoes if people need them). At the time the records were unsealed, I realized that I would request the records, search perhaps. Find out that background that has always held my curiosity.  But I wasn’t ready. I was worried about how my family would react.  I decided then, that when I got to the point of being ready to start a family, I would find out my medical background.  I have never felt a lack of relationship, or a missing piece. Just curiosity.  Perhaps it’s the physical connection during those 38 weeks of pregnancy (yes I now know it was 38 and not 40), but I’ve always had a curiosity about my birth mother, her family, who they are — am I like them or am I not? What part of me is nature and what part is nurture?
But, with all the life questions that I am considering, that I’ve been working through so far in 2009, this was something that came up and it was time to answer them. These questions about my origins. So, I filled out the form and at the end of February, I received my original birth registration. As an adoptee this information had been sealed. Likewise my adoption papers with my current full name was sealed from my birth mother (she too has the freedom to request that, should she choose). Like all of us though, my birth registration exists, and it’s the same form that any of us can receive, and that all our parents filled out at our birth.
My expectations were unusual, perhaps because I have always identified with my family and felt loved special and chosen, but they were unusual. I was expecting that there would either be a Non Disclosure Veto or a No Contact Declaration . I was expecting to receive a more complete medical history letter, but no information. My identity has always been tied with who I am, or have been since my adoption that I was expecting to find out that my birth name was ‘Baby Girl Smith’. According to the information I could find that does occasionally happen and I could see many reasons why that might be the case.
Regardless, I was expecting perhaps what would be the ‘worst’ case scenario. I didn’t realize how much I was prepared for that until I received the information. But that’s not what I received. No veto, no No Contact Declaration. Just my original Birth Registration. I now know my full original name. My birth mother’s full maiden name. Her birthday.  How many weeks the pregnancy was (hence knowing it was 38 weeks), and my birth weight.
I was blown away. I was named. Not only was I named but I was given a name that conveys caring, thought, love. Furthermore, the name is so similar to my own first name I’ve been more shocked by this than I expected to be.  What is my original name? Christa Joy (Last Name kept private, of course — ask me offline if you know me).
It’s strange because I can identify with that name, somehow. This spelling is a short form for Christina and, though I don’t introduce myself as Christa, some people end up calling me by that name, sometimes.  I suspect it’s because of my family’s nickname for me: Chrisa.  Incredibly close to my original name, and since Chrisa is quite unique, I suspect some people hear ‘Christa‘.
It was ironic. A family friend, who may not remember that I’m adopted (if she knew — she may not have known my family before I was born), commented how much I look like my grandma did when my grandma was young when she saw my grandma’s obituary. My mom told me this, we had a good, flattered, chuckle at this.  At my grandma’s memorial this same family friend called me “Christa“.  It was surreal and ironic.
And this is the conversation my family and I had several weeks ago, what feels like a lifetime ago.   So walk with me, as I keep thinking about what all this means, processing, learning, growing and changing.