~
I always thought of you.
Imagined you.
Would go back to you again and again in my mind...
…in my heart.
But you never knew I was here.
You could not hope for me.
You could not dream of me.
You never knew the little girl who was thinking of you...
Not even as you took your last breath.
~ Carole
In
October of 2005 I found my biological father from another Internet search. But
this time, unlike my search for my biological mother, I purposefully set out to
find and make personal contact with him. From another’s perspective it would
appear I was fearless in my pursuit. Whatever tentativeness of further
rejection I treaded upon in my previous search for my mother had vanished. But
in reality, I think I was acting on a righteous indignation…how dare the man
who had created me not even know I exist?
***
My
biological mother was not overly eager to be forthcoming about my father. But I
don’t think this was because she was being secretive, rather the honest truth
was she had very little information about who he was. She was embarrassed and
like most secrets of shame, they are best kept locked away in the dark. In a
single conversation, using as little words as possible, I learned the story of
my creation: They had met at a college party in Bellingham, Washington. He was
older than her. There were some kind of mild drugs and/or alcohol involved. It
was a one-night-stand. She never saw or spoke to him again after that night.
Knowing
that details simply didn’t exist, I asked her the one thing I could cling to…I
wanted to know his name. She knew his first name was Jack but was not positive
about his last. She seemed to remember his family was from the Tacoma,
Washington area. I still feel like I’m holding my breath when I read over the
account. I’m sure we were both relieved when her words stopped painting the
portrait of our story… three strangers. She and I have never spoke of it since.
In fact, we don’t speak of much of anything now. Sometimes in the end we can’t
get past the beginning.
***
Growing
up, my adoptive mom had a piece of paper she kept in the bottom dresser-drawer
in her bedroom. She would let me look at it whenever I wanted. It was my family
tree…my only possession of my roots. On this seemingly simple piece of white
typing paper was all the information in the entire world I had about who I came
from. Just short of being a mere half-page of information, two small typed
paragraphs held all a little girl needed to imagine and dream about who she
came from.
[Original Data Sheet: Birth Fact Form given to my Adoptive
Parents by State Adoption Agency 1971]
Before
I began my search I told my biological mother what I knew about my father. I
quoted my coveted piece of paper from memory describing in lavish detail his
character and physical traits as one would brag about a loved one to a
stranger. Everything I had imagined him to be for the past 33 years came
rolling from my lips with a shy smile. Her response left me cold. Over the
phone I could tell her eyes were downcast when she told me they were all lies.
Just answers from a young girl to official questions. She did her best to pull
out dark memories from a dark room…turns out, I wasn’t the only girl dreaming
of who Jack was or could be.
***
Once
I had his name it didn’t take me long to find Jack on the Internet. He was
still listed in the Tacoma area. And once I had his contact information it was
an easy decision to move forward to contact him. I was already desensitized
from the emotional process of finding my biological mother. And now that I knew
their story I fully believed he had a moral responsibility to, at the very
least, know I existed. He needed to know that he created a child that was born
and still living. Whatever he choose to do with that information once he
possessed it, would be up to him. I went in with that as my clear mental
agenda. To this day, I am not clear about what my heart’s agenda was.
***
I
often try to imagine getting a phone call of accountability thirty five years
after something you did in life. Overall, Jack did a fairly good job of
handling that call. When he answered the phone I asked his name. I told him my
name and that I believed I was his biological daughter, but that I did not want
anything from him, other than knowing if I was. Just like that, clear and simple
and straight to the point. I went on to say that if he would hear me out, I
would tell him what I knew. He said he would listen. So I proceeded to tell him
all I knew, being as specific and detailed I could be with the disturbingly
scarce information I had. When I was finished he said “This is all beginning to
sound very familiar to me.” He said a buddy of his told him he thought he had
gotten a girl pregnant. But he was just about to graduate from college, was
married and his wife was pregnant with their first child. So he choose to let
his friend’s revelation settle-in as nothing more than a dirty rumor.
After
I hung up the phone, I looked at my husband and indignantly stated “He’s a
drunk.” But I still didn’t know for sure if Jack was my father, so before I
hung up I asked him if I could send him a letter, thinking maybe time and
sobering would jog a long-forgotten memory. My letter was very short and I
included pictures of myself, my children and a recent picture of my biological
mother. I hoped he could pick out flashes of remembrance or reflections of
himself though mine or my children’s eyes. The only thing in my life I have
ever asked of him, was written in this letter dated 10/23/2005 just two days
after I turned 34… “Please send a picture of yourself…as I am most curious to
see if there is any resemblance between us. ~Carole.”
A
couple weeks later I received my own letter in the mail from Jack, except he
addressed it to my husband. In it, he wrote in his own hand five short
sentences. “Dear Carole,…”
He
goes on to tell me about the five pictures he had enclosed: He wrote the first
names of his two daughters and their ages; the ages of his mother and father
and when his dad passed away; the ages of his two grandchildren. He then
cryptically scribbled in the final sentence “The pictures are compelling. Also
I do remember a certain night with Sherrie in Bellingham. Jack. Call or write
if you have questions.”
***
So
there it is, I found my biological father.
***
I
never talked to him on the phone again. I sent him a Christmas card for the
next five years, and never received a return card, letter or call. In 2010, my
Christmas card to Jack is returned stamped by the Post Office as Undeliverable Return to Sender No Forwarding
Address. I have lost Jack again.
***
I
let a year go by not knowing where Jack was. But by the next Christmas panic had
begun to build in my mind. I needed to send my card to Jack, I needed him to
know I was still here. Most importantly, I needed to know he was still there. Ever
since I found Jack I had peace in simply knowing he was found. I could contact
him if I wanted to or needed to. I had pictures of him. I had always known him
on paper and this was how I continued to have my relationship with him. But
make no mistake about it, I was in a relationship with him. I didn’t even
realize that myself until I no longer knew where he was.
My
emotional state brought me back to another Internet search, six years after the
one that led me to Jack. I looked up his girls names again, even though past
attempts had proven fruitless … in attempt to sooth I turned to repetition,
panic’s familiar friend. But this time compulsion paid off. One of the girls
was now listed with her maiden name. With no time to waste, or to even think
about the implications of what I was doing, I sent my card to Jack’s daughter. I
told her who I was, having no idea if he already had. I told her I had lost
Jack. I asked her to call me if she knew where he was or if she wanted to know
more about me. I did not realize I was sending the card to the girl who 40
years earlier was in her mother’s womb when our father was creating me in
another’s.
***
Three
days later I got a call from Jack’s other daughter. Not the one I sent the card
too. She told me Jack had moved to Arizona with his third ex-wife. That he was
a chronic alcoholic. That he had had so much potential, but wasted it all away
with each drink he choose over life. He was so athletic, so handsome, so smart…but
now he was only a mess. I lost Jack again.
***
Two
months later I got another call from Jack’s daughter. He was in the hospital.
He had been picked up by an ambulance after he was found bleeding and
unconscious on his bathroom floor. He was being admitted into Hospice in the
final stages of liver failure. His two daughters were going to Arizona to be
with him. They didn’t invite me. I didn’t try to call him, or fly to see him.
Two weeks later he died.
I
never got a chance to meet Jack in person. I was not mentioned in his Obituary.
But I have it printed it out. I look at it whenever I want. Just short of being
a mere half-page of information, two small typed paragraphs, it holds all a little
girl needs to imagine and dream about who she came from.
Obituary
JACK N.
HADLAND
2/1/1947
to 1/15/2012
Born in
Tacoma, Wash., Jack graduated from Wilson High School with scholarships in
basketball and golf. This handsome, generous, fun-loving guy spent time reading
novels and following sports and current events. His greatest passions were
golf, telling jokes and stories, and laughing with family and friends. After 30
years of employment at Boston Fuel as a Teamster, Jack remained in Tacoma for
several years before moving to Green Valley, where he made many friends,
enjoyed the sun, and liked hanging out at the American Legion Hall, swimming,
and golfing.
He is
survived by his sister, his two daughters and two grandchildren. The Family
wishes to thank lifelong friends for their hospitality, compassion, and support
during this difficult time.
***
God’s
Word...
“But from there you will seek
the Lord your God and you will find him, if you
search after him with all your heart and with all your soul.” Deuteronomy 4:29 (ESV)
Prayer…
God,
you know how painful this is to me. You have watched me search for my lost
father in my heart for my whole life. You do not ever promise that this life
will be easy, or that we can understand your timing. But you do promise that
anyone who searches with all their heart for you, that you will be found! This
has been a very long process for me and I am ready now, Lord, to give you Jack.
Even though he has been yours all along. Even though you have been carrying
this burden for me from even before I was born, I still took it upon myself. I
thought I could make things right. I thought I could find his love. But in the
midst of all my efforts, I did not seek you yet you were still here with me,
holding me all the time. It has taken me nine years to write this prayer Lord.
What a sweet victory it is to release this burden from my heart to you today!
Going deeper…
*What
does it mean to you to have such a paradox in life: something is found but
still lost?
*
Do you have someone in your life you have been searching for?
*Is
there anyone in your life you have been hurt by but that person doesn’t realize
it?
*If
yes, do you feel like it is your responsibility to let them know how they hurt
you?
*Have
you ever dreamed of what you wanted another person to be?
*Does
this story make you upset because it has such a sad ending?
*If
something in life doesn’t work out like you imagined or in a positive way do
you feel like God is not involved?
*Can
you see how seeking with your whole heart after anything but God has the
potential to let you down?
~ Your
True, Unfailing Love Promise: God will be found if you seek Him. ~
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