“I’m looking for my biological mother. I’m born as Chinese and was given away to my current mother for adoption just after I was born to this world. I have advertised in newspapers twice to look for her but was unsuccessful. I’m so eager to meet her. Will I will able to meet her?”
Well, this answer is going to be a little different from the way I usually answer questions. The only “psychic” guidance I was able to receive for you was that your mother doesn’t want to be found. I have no idea why that is, though. Honestly, there could be a million reasons. Unfortunately, I don’t think you will find her – at least not the way things stand now. The future is an ever changing event, so I won’t say it’s impossible … just not very likely. However, I’ve been guided to share something with you …
When I first read your question, it tugged at my heart in a very personal way. Most people don’t know this about me, but I didn’t have my biological father growing up. If fact, he has made it very clear that he has never wanted anything to do with me. I was conceived while my mother and father were in their senior year of high school. Supposedly, my father told my grandparents that one day he would come around and tell me the truth, but I’ll be 32 next Tuesday … I don’t think that’s going to happen. When I was about three, I believe, I remember going to court. I was paraded in front of a group of people and brought over to sit on my mother’s lap. Luckily for my father, I looked exactly like my mother and nothing like him. I remember him sitting on the stand beside the judge. He looked at me and said, “She’s not my daughter.” I don’t remember it affecting me much at the time as I really didn’t know the man, but it does seem odd that I still remember the moment so clearly. At that time, blood tests were not admissible in court. Although, I have been told they were positive revealing him to be my biological father.
Growing up, I thought about him every single holiday. My birthday wasn’t too bad because I was actually born on my Grandpa’s birthday. He loved to tell me the story … My mom woke up in labor in the early morning hours. My grandparents rushed her out of the house to get to the hospital. Grandpa was so flustered that he’d actually put his pants on backwards. They were in a big hurry because I was on my way. When they got into the car, they realized that my mom’s younger brother had used the car the night before and left the gas tank empty. They didn’t have enough gas to get to the hospital! So, I’m not sure if they flagged down a cop or if they were stopped, by they found a police officer to help them get some gasoline. (I guess at that time police offers had keys to gas stations.) By the time they reached the hospital, I was halfway out. Weighing barely over 5lbs, which was very small at that time, I turned out to be my Grandpa’s birthday present – best one he every got, he’d always say. My mom even let him name me, and I had always been Grandpa’s girl. The day this question came through my email marked the six year anniversary of Grandpa’s passing. Now, in a few days, I’ll have my sixth birthday without him. I usually take him flowers for our birthday, and the first four years were very hard. He was my substitute for a biological father. Thankfully, we love each other in a way that even death cannot separate us. It took me a few years, but I can connect with him now. It’s more difficult for mediums to connect with their own loved ones sometimes. Like with Grandpa, there was a lot of pain over his death. He was sick. He wasn’t young. But, I wasn’t ready for him to leave. I might never have been. My birthday seems almost bittersweet now.
Father’s Day used to be the worst holiday of them all. I had my grandfather, of course. My mom had also gotten married to my step-father when I was seven. My step-father and I have a good relationship now, but it wasn’t always that way. I will admit that it was both our faults. The transition to life with just me and mom to life with a whole new family was not done properly for one thing. I was ripped away from my school and my friends in the middle of second grade without even a chance to say “goodbye” … One day I was there, and the next day I wasn’t. Then I was thrown into a new family where I was partially responsible for three children younger than myself who all should have been in therapy. Looking back, I can see why I hadn’t handled it very well. It was a little unfair of me, but I know I had a hard time accepting my step-father because he just wasn’t my real father.
I always dreamed and prayed that my father would come for me. I tied my prayers to balloons, in hopes that they would have a better chance of reaching Heaven. When I turned twelve, I called my father. My grandmother (his mother) answered the phone. I told her who I was. Her reply was, “I’m not your grandmother. I’m not your friend, and I never will be. Don’t call here again.” Happy birthday to me! I never forgot what she said. I’m not sure if he lives with his mother or if she lives with him, but I’m pretty sure it’s still the same arrangement today. I have spoken with my father on the phone a few times. On the day of my graduation from high school, I called him. He was happy for me. When my mom’s younger brother died, I called him. He was so very kind. I’ve sent him several letters over the years, but I’ve never received one in return. I think there was once or twice that my letters were returned, but I assumed that was courtesy of my grandmother. It’s been over a year since my last letter, and I’m thinking of sending another, but part of me knows it’s not a good idea. It just causes me pain. The last few years, I’ve sent him pictures of my son, thinking maybe knowing he has a grandchild might change his mind … it hasn’t.
I know who my father is. I know what he does for a living and even where he lives, although I’ve never been brave enough to drive out that way. I’ve seen him once that I remember, as an adult, but I was too afraid to even look at him. Maybe I was afraid to see that he didn’t love me? That’s a hard thing to admit to yourself.
About a month ago, I ran across a website of a carpenter who creates beautiful staircases and fireplace surrounds. I was taken back by the work. I can’t even express the beauty and craftsmanship … just indescribable. I sent a message through the “contact us” area just to say that I loved their work. As I looked more at the site, I realized it was my father’s work! I had never wished so badly for a way to take back emails that had already been sent. I shouldn’t have felt embarrassed, but I did. I guess now I know why I’ve always been fascinated with wood working, even though I’ve never had the time to do it.
I may never know my father, and that’s something I have to be okay with. Obviously, as tears are running down my face with these memories, I still have some work to do. I had a very loving grandfather. I still have my step-father. And, I also have the most wonderful father-in-law in the entire world. I should be happy with what I do have, but there’s still that little girl inside me who prays for her father to love her. No matter how hard I try to console her, she still cries. In the few times that I have spoken in my father, he seemed like a very kind and good man. There was also a photo of him on his website, which made me burst into tears at the shock of seeing his face – a face that I’ve never known but somehow looked so familiar … a face that seemed kind, and funny and good. Why then would such a man not love his own daughter? Why would he not love me? This is my struggle. I know it affects me still.
I don’t know why for sure that I was supposed to share this with you. I hope my story will help you in some way. It’s very difficult for me to talk about, but maybe that’s also why I was meant to share it. I know the pain that comes with being given away – abandoned by a parent. In your case, I do very much believe that your mother had no choice. I believe she did love you. Maybe my dad loves me, too? Maybe some day we will both find the truth. For now, the best advice I can give you is to try and let that part of yourself heal. For me, it has always felt like I’ve been missing a part of myself. I’ve become more and more complete over the years, and I know my spiritual self will continue to grow and heal the hurt I still hold inside.
Much love and blessings to you my friend,
Sheri
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