November is National Adoption Awareness Month, and this year it feels especially meaningful to me. I’ve always known I was adopted — it was never something my parents hid or avoided talking about. I grew up in a loving home where adoption was simply a part of my story. But being adopted in the 1980s meant my story came with many blanks. Closed adoptions were the norm, and there was little to no information available about my birth family — not to my adoptive parents, and later, not to me when I turned 18.
For years, I didn’t think much about searching. I was content with the life I had, grateful for my family, and not really focused on what was missing. It wasn’t until I began working in the field of adoption that something inside me began to stir.
In my current role, I have the privilege of walking alongside expectant moms who are considering adoption, birth moms who have made adoption plans, and adoptive families as they navigate their journeys. Through that work, I began to see adoption from every angle — not just as the child who was adopted, but as a professional and even as an adoptive parent myself.
My husband and I have a son through adoption, and we have an open relationship with his biological family. It’s something I cherish deeply — the openness, the honesty, the connection. Watching my son grow up knowing his birth family and his story made me realize how special that is, and how different it was from my own experience. The more time I spent with birth moms, the more I began to wonder about my own. Was she still living? Did I have siblings? Did she ever think about me?
Then came Christmas 2023. My husband and I had agreed — no gifts for each other that year, just for the kids. So when I saw a package under the tree with my name on it, I was confused. Inside was an Ancestry DNA kit. I was thrilled and curious. I took the test immediately, mailed it off on December 26th, and waited anxiously for the results.When the matches came back, there wasn’t a direct connection to a biological parent. But I did connect with an aunt and a few extended relatives. That was enough to give me hope. I wanted to keep going.
Because I was born in Arkansas, I learned that adoptees could request their original birth certificates, though it came with a price tag of over $100. It felt unfair to have to pay for something that was mine all along, but I did it. When that envelope arrived, I opened it and saw my birth mother’s name for the first time.
Her name was Mary.
Through Facebook groups and the help of a volunteer “search angel,” I was able to find her. We connected first through email, then on Facebook Messenger. Those first messages were cautious but filled with emotion. After a few months of talking, we decided to meet.
In May 2024, I met Mary for the first time. I can still feel the weight of that moment — the mix of nerves, hope, and gratitude. She was kind, open, and welcoming. One of my biggest fears as an adoptee had always been rejection, but instead, I was met with love. I also learned I have two biological sisters, and getting to meet them was surreal and beautiful.
Since then, our relationship has grown into a true friendship. I spent Thanksgiving with them last year, and this November, we’re planning a beach vacation together. Sometimes I still can’t believe how everything unfolded, how a simple Christmas gift led to this incredible reunion.
When I look back on it all, I see so much of God’s grace woven through every detail, from Mary’s courageous decision decades ago to the way our lives have reconnected today. I’m grateful for the life I’ve lived, for the parents who raised me, for the work I get to do now, and for the new relationships being formed every day.
Open adoption isn’t always easy — it takes communication, vulnerability, and a lot of grace — but it’s beautiful. And now, at over 40 years old, I’m living my own version of open adoption with the woman who gave me life.This journey has reminded me that it’s never too late to seek answers, to offer forgiveness, or to find healing. I’m thankful I took that step, and most of all, I’m thankful for Mary. For her love, her strength, and the story that continues to unfold.