The call finally came. The red message light flashed LOUDLY on my phone. I couldn’t help but notice it when I got home from work last night.
“Michele, we have the information you’ve been looking for,” said a soft-spoken lady.
Just a phone call … Nine digits, a few rings and a sweet hello away… The first big step in the next part of my journey… It had taken longer than expected but only by two weeks. And once I summoned the courage to lift the phone from the counter, I would know my birthmother’s name.
Kicking off my shoes, I went in the kitchen and pulled Lean Cuisine pizza out of the freezer and popped it in the microwave. Then I changed into my volleyball clothes. And while the pizza cooked, I gathered up pen and paper and I dialed the phone.
Five minutes later, I had the answer to a question I had been silently asking for at least 30 years. What is her name? She shares my sister’s name, coincidentally. Her name is Denise. Maybe that was God’s plan for giving her a bit of an advantage with me. You know how it is when you meet someone for the first time that has the same name as someone you don’t really like very much? Well, she doesn’t have that working against her. You all know how much I love my sister. I hope this new Denise is half as good as the one I’ve already got I my life because that would make her a pretty good person.
So it has been roughly 24 hours since I wrote her name and address and phone number on a piece of paper. But I haven’t gone any further.
Over the last 15 years, I have weighed the impact that one phone call or email or meeting could have on a multitude of lives. I know life as I know it will be over the minute I hear her say my name or the moment I set eyes on her. Because then there will be a connection that never existed before… not for ME, anyway. I need time to soak this in. I need a moment to take a deep breath.