'A Trip Bonded Me and the Daughter I Placed for Adoption 18 Years Ago'
(Courtesy: Tré Miller Rodríguez)
When does a travel fantasy become reality for you? When you buy the plane ticket? Pack? Arrive at your destination? If the trip is a reunion with the daughter you placed for adoption the day she was born, you’ll need to pinch yourself at every stage to be certain you aren’t hallucinating.
At 15 years old, my daughter, Laurie, secretly located her birth certificate and searched for my name online. She discovered a blog I had started in 2010 after losing my 40-year-old husband to a sudden heart attack. She also found details of her birth story: I was a pregnant high-school senior, her bio father hadn’t shown for any prenatal appointments, and her adoptive parents had kept in touch with me via letters.
Laurie eventually decided to contact me the way everybody gets in touch nowadays: Facebook. A few months after that extraordinary day, we reunited for 24 giddy hours in her North Carolina hometown. Although I wasn’t accustomed to acknowledging myself as a mother, I felt an immediate instinct to love and protect Laurie—and never let her go again.
With the blessing of her adoptive mom, we started planning a summer trip. We would rendezvous in Southern California, where I grew up and my family still lives, and I would introduce Laurie to my parents and grandparents. My daughter and I would be sharing a guest room for an entire glorious week.
Where our first visit was adrenaline-fueled and impossibly short, I hoped this reunion in the California desert would give us time to relax in each other’s company. I envisioned sun, road trips, and late-night girl talk. I did not envision a pipe bursting in my parents’ dining room—or the walls and flooring being torn out the same day Laurie arrived.
With furniture and china piled everywhere, the house looked not unlike an episode of “Hoarders.” Messy rooms were a pet peeve Laurie had shared in our early Facebook correspondence, so my anticipation of her visit was now dissolving into anxiety. Yet when she sailed through the front door, her face didn’t even register the construction chaos. We leaped into each other’s arms and group-hugged with my parents.
(Courtesy: Tré Miller Rodríguez)
Through happy tears, Mom and Dad absorbed the reality of their first grandchild, full-grown and standing in their foyer.
“You look just like Tré at her age!”
“Oh my—she has Nana’s hands!”
“Welcome to our crazy family, Laurie!”
For a less poised teenager, this could’ve been an overwhelming moment, but Laurie embraced and engaged my parents as if she’d greeted them a thousand times. To my delight—and astonishment—she fit seamlessly into our crazy family.
She also fit in the same size clothing as I did, so sharing a closet involved much squealing over each other’s wardrobes.
“Laurie, I love this dress—I’ll give you a belt that’s perfect for it!”
“OMG! Can I see that clutch too?”
(Courtesy: Tré Miller Rodríguez)
From wearing each other’s clothes to liking the same music and comfort foods (pass the pizza and mozzarella sticks), every new similarity felt like cause for celebration. The third time my mom mistook Laurie’s voice for mine, I half-joked that Laurie seemed more like my prettier twin than my daughter.
We did make time to lie in the sunshine and to watch a movie, but for the most part, we were on the go. We road tripped a few hours north to Exeter, California, where my grandparents tearfully welcomed the girl they’d always referred to as “our lost great-grandchild.” On the trip back, we visited the roadside memorial my parents and I erected in 1994 after my teenage brother died in a car accident.
(Courtesy: Tré Miller Rodríguez)
One week with Laurie was all it took to establish the most meaningful bond of my life. Our California trip has become the reference point from which we’ve built memories, inside jokes, and future plans. It’s where we realized our biological connection transcends state lines and last names. And even two years later, we can’t stop pinching ourselves.
Tré Miller Rodríguez is the author of “Splitting the Difference: A Heart-Shaped Memoir” and a columnist at ModernLoss.com. She over shares on Twitter (@tremillerny) and blogs at WhiteElephantInTheRoom.tumblr.com.
