I Met My Bio Mom 25 Years After She Gave Me up for Adoption, and Then I Met My Bio Father – It Changed My Whole Life

Before she disclosed something that completely altered the course of events, I believed that discovering my birth mother was the end of the narrative. This voyage would take me to unexpected places thanks to a notebook, a picture, and a sad reunion with the father I never knew.

Jared is my name. Born and reared in Ohio, I am twenty-five years old and have generally had a typical life. I have a stable IT job, a puppy I love like my own child, and a girlfriend named Kate who is far too good for me.

Life has been going well. But I’m still trying to figure out what happened recently. It fundamentally altered my perception of who I am and my background.

It was never a secret that I was adopted as a baby. My parents were honest about it all the time. One letter from my birth mother was among them. Serena is her name.

I was born when she was sixteen. She was only a child. Her letter is still with me. It’s nicely wrapped inside a pink envelope with a small teddy bear sticker on it, and it’s written in blue ink. Whenever I pull it out and read it, it always hits me hard. In it, she stated, “I’m sorry I couldn’t be your mommy, but I hope you grow up happy and loved.”

Because of this, the words sounded like they were spoken by a child. Nevertheless, there was a lot of passion on just one page. I pondered whether she ever considered me and who she ended up being.

I searched for her for years until my family relocated to a different state when I was ten years old due to my dad’s work. After that, whatever tenuous bond there may have been between us vanished. I finally gave up searching. With school, college, employment, and relationships, life continued on its course. My attention was constantly being diverted by something.

However, I managed to locate her.

Two hours away from my home, she works at this small eatery in a sleepy town off the highway. There are checkered tablecloths, paper menus, and vintage booths that make a creaking sound as you go in. On a road trip with Kate, I happened to end up there.

And something clicked the moment I laid eyes on her.

Naturally, she didn’t recognize me, but I quickly recognized her. The way she slipped her hair behind her ear, her eyes, and her smile all mirrored the one picture my adoptive mother had saved. That day, I said nothing. The following week and the week after that, I remained silent as well.

However, I kept returning.

For three months in a row, I would drive twice a week just to sit at the counter or one of the booths in the corner and casually chat with her. Although she was unaware of my identity, I could see she enjoyed our conversations. “You’re back again, huh? You must really like our pie.” She would say things like, “Want a refill, honey?” and I would smile foolishly and respond, “Yeah, best apple pie in the state.”

She would occasionally stop by my table and talk when the restaurant wasn’t too crowded. Just casual conversation, such as how your day is going and where you’re coming from by car. But to me, it was everything.

She said, “You live around here?” one day.

I answered, “No, I’m a couple of hours out,” and shook my head.

She arched an eyebrow. “You drive two hours just to eat here?”

“Guess I like the vibe,” I answered, attempting to avoid being strange.

She chuckled and grinned. “Well, I’m glad you keep coming back.”

Every time I stepped in, she greeted me with a broad smile. And I considered informing her each time I went. However, I didn’t. Like a coward, I got into my car and drove off.

Then came the evening that I did it at last.

It was a Tuesday. I arrived at the restaurant around 10:30 p.m., ordered coffee, and sat quietly before it closed at 11 p.m. She replenished my cup several times and waved as usual.

I had a hard time looking her in the eye. My hands were perspiring.

I pretended to browse through my phone as I stood by my car until they eventually closed and she out into the cool parking lot.

She locked the door behind her and said, “Hey, are you still here?”

“Yeah,” I replied, attempting to sound informal. “I was actually waiting to talk to you.”

She seems intrigued yet unfrightened. “Oh?”

“There’s something I need to tell you,” I replied. “Something important.”

Slowly, she nodded. “Okay… what is it?”

I reached inside my jacket pocket and took out the folded letter. I simply gave it to her without saying anything.

After examining the envelope, she flipped it in her hands and opened it. Her entire countenance altered when she saw the handwriting.

She muttered, “Oh my God,” as her hand shook.

I had to grab her before she fell because her knees gave way. She began to sob, literally yelling and crying all at once. She repeatedly said, “No way… no way…” while holding the letter to her chest.

I said, “You don’t have to say anything,” while attempting to contain my tears. “I just… I thought you should know.”

Her eyes were red and puffy as she gazed up at me.

“It’s you,” she said in a whisper. “It’s really you.”

I gave a nod. “Yeah. I’m your son.”

Like she was scared, she threw her arms around me and then withdrew them.

“May I give you a hug?” she said quietly.

“Of course,” I responded.

As if everything had stopped, we simply stood there in the parking lot and gave each other hugs. I had to support her while she sobbed into my shoulder because her legs briefly failed again.

“Look how big you got,” she said in a low voice. I was devastated by that. I also shed tears.

She demanded that the restaurant be reopened exclusively for us. She refused to accept no when I told her she didn’t have to. We sat at the counter with a slice of warm apple pie and two mugs of coffee once she unlocked the door and turned the lights back on.

We discussed everything for hours. She claimed to have had an odd feeling the second time I entered the eatery. Perhaps, just possibly, it might be me, she thought. However, she dismissed the idea almost instantly.

“For years,” she said, “I used to see kids around your age and wonder if they were you. I’d stare too long and end up crying in public like a crazy woman. It messed with my head. So when you showed up here, I told myself it couldn’t be. I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

She said that when my biological father was younger, I looked just like him. Edward is his name. They kept in touch over the years in case I ever wanted to get in touch with one of them. That would make it easier for me to locate the other.

She continued, “Edward didn’t want to give you up. Neither of us did. But we were 16. We had no money. No support. He took it really hard. That’s why he didn’t leave anything behind for you. He couldn’t face the idea that he might never see you again.”

Even though the establishment had closed three hours prior, we continued to converse until nearly two in the morning. She inquired about many aspects of my life, but she was mostly interested in one thing.

With tears in her eyes, she questioned, “Are you happy?” “Did they treat you well?”

I gave a nod. “They’re amazing. I had a great childhood. Thank you for helping make that possible.”

She started crying again at that. According to her, she used to wish that I would locate her on each birthday. She remained in the same city for that reason. However, she assumed I would not want to come when I didn’t show up. Perhaps I was unaware of my adoption.

That really got to me. I regretted not arriving sooner. “You came when you were ready. That’s all that matters,” she added, holding my hand.

She inquired whether we might get together for dinner again soon and whether I would be interested in visiting her home to meet her spouse. “I’d like that,” I said.

We traded phone numbers. My phone rang with a message from her as soon as I got into my car and drove away.

She wrote, “Thank you for giving me this gift.” “I didn’t know if this day would ever come.”

Kate was there when I arrived home. I simply came in, hugged her, and said nothing. I cried because I was overwhelmed, not because I was depressed, and she hugged me close. These were tears of joy. For the first time in years, my chest felt lighter.

Even though everything was still raw and overwhelming, the outcome was better than I could have ever dreamed. We unlocked a door that had been shut for twenty-five years. We’re still determining what comes next.

I assumed that meeting my biological father would make me feel less anxious after everything that transpired with my birth mother. I was mistaken.

Perhaps it was because I had gradually and distantly come to know Serena before revealing my identity to her. I was able to comprehend her energy and feel secure in her presence because of that. However, I knew very little about Edward. Only Serena’s stories and his name were present, along with no letters or images.

Life had other ideas, but we were meant to meet up around two weeks after I saw Serena. Work-related items first accumulated. I then fell ill and was unable to function for days. To be honest, I had a sneaking suspicion that I had been procrastinating. But in the end, we chose a day that did work. I invited Serena to attend as well. She knew him better than I did, so it was simply more comfortable to have her there. She concurred.

We decided on a park that is midway between Edward’s place and mine. With lots of open space and tree-shaded chairs, it wasn’t very crowded. I arrived early, took a seat on a wooden bench, and made an effort to keep my thoughts in check.

A few minutes later, Serena, who was equally anxious, joined me. We said very little. We merely looked at one other a few times and breathed quietly.

Then we noticed him approaching us.

He was already crying, and I could see it even from a distance. Nor did he attempt to conceal it. Before he arrived and gave me the largest bear hug I’ve ever experienced in my life, I stood up, motionless.

He said, “I can’t believe it’s you,” with trembling in his voice.

A little taken aback, I gave him a hug in return. After stepping back to gaze at my face, he gave me another embrace right away. This occurred numerous times.

He used the back of his hand to wipe his face and remarked, “I’ve been waiting for this for so long.” “Thank you, God. Thank you.”

I turned to face Serena. She had already started crying once more and had both hands over her lips. As three mature adults crying in a public park, we must have looked absurd. I didn’t care, though. They didn’t either.

“I just want you to know,” Edward stated in a deep voice, “we loved you so much. From the beginning. We never stopped.”

Something happened to me when I heard that. It struck a different chord when I heard it from him, someone I had never even met before, even though I had already heard it from Serena. I experienced the anguish, the need, and the love that had hitherto found no home.

He said, “I love you,” while holding my shoulders. “We both did. I still do.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, attempting to restrain my own tears. “That means more than I can explain.”

Still attempting to take it all in, we all sat down on a bench. I felt as though I was looking into a mirror from twenty-five years in the future as I examined his features.

Serena had said the truth. It was almost hilarious how much I resembled him.

“Man,” Edward said, laughing while crying. “You really are my kid. This is wild.”

For a long, we just sat there, gazing at one another and breathing. Edward then opened a little canvas bag he had brought along.

“I wasn’t sure if this would be too much,” he stated, “but I couldn’t show up empty-handed. I’ve had this for years, hoping I’d give it to you one day.”

He produced a small picture frame and a soft, slightly worn teddy bear. There was a picture of him carrying a newborn in a hospital blanket when he was sixteen.

He uttered the words, “This was the only picture I ever got with you,” quietly. “They let me hold you for a few minutes before… before everything.”

I lightly stroked the frame while gazing into the face of the boy who was now seated in front of me.

“Wow,” I muttered. “I didn’t even know you were there.”

“I begged them to let me be,” he expressed. “I wanted to say goodbye. I just didn’t want you to think I didn’t care.”

Then he gave me a journal that was leather-bound. The pages were thick with time and ink, and the cover was wrinkled.

“I started writing in this a few years after you were adopted,” stated the man. “My therapist suggested it, and said it might help me cope. I didn’t think I’d ever actually give it to you, but… here we are.”

I hardly opened it enough to read a few of lines. Although crude, the penmanship was sincere.

One entry started with, “I don’t know where you are,” “But I think about you every day.”

I softly closed it.

I answered, “I’ll read it,” “Thank you. Really.”

“I just wanted you to know how I felt,” he replied. “All the stuff I never got to say. It’s all in there.”

Then, realizing that we were finally becoming comfortable, Serena gave us some room. After giving me a smile, she left us seated under the tree to go take a call.

“So,” Edward replied, “tell me everything. What’s your life like? What do you love? What makes you laugh?”

He posed nearly identical queries to Serena. He inquired about my early years, parents, interests, and even trivial details like my favorite food. I told him everything. that my life was good. An excellent one. that I received the kind of love every child deserves from my parents, who were also kind and encouraging.

It appeared as though he would burst into tears once more.

Saying, “That’s all we ever hoped for,” “We were so scared we were making the wrong decision, but we were just kids. Broke. Living with our parents. I didn’t want to let you go, but I couldn’t give you what you needed.”

When I said, “You gave me a chance,” “And it worked out. I’m happy.”

He smiled at that.

For the next few hours, we merely spoke. He told me about his high school friendship with Serena, how they were terrified to learn she was expecting, and how they were best friends before anything else. He talked about their arguments, difficult choices, and sleepless nights. It was honest, unvarnished, and somewhat devastating.

He began to pick up on details about me, such as my demeanor or small remarks that made him think of Serena or himself. At one point, I took a bag of mango slices out of the park’s vending machine that I had previously grabbed.

He raised an eyebrow and said, “You like mangoes?”

“Love them,” I instructed. “Could eat them all day.”

He chuckled. “Serena was obsessed with mangoes when she was pregnant. Even before that. She used to sneak them into class. Swore they were her ‘magic fruit’ or something.”

Together, we chuckled. The fact that it was such a random detail didn’t even bother me. It gave me a sense of belonging, as though I was more than just a blood relative of these individuals.

We discovered that we shared a lot of similarities. I enjoy hiking as much as he did. I was on the high school swim team, and he competed in swimming in college. Both of us adore classic rock, particularly those of the 1990s.

Saying, “It’s crazy,” “Feels like we’d get along even if we weren’t related.”

When he said, “I was thinking the same thing,” “You turned out amazing, Jared. You really did.”

For a while, we sat quietly and relished the moment. He had more to say, I could tell.

“I hope it’s okay,” he replied, “but I’d like to meet the people who raised you. If you’re okay with that, I mean.”

I gave a nod. “Yeah, they’d like that too. They’ve asked about it. I just… I wasn’t sure how everyone would feel.”

“Well, we’re all adults now,” he remarked. “We can figure it out together.”

I had brunch with my parents later that week. We visited a neighborhood diner that I’ve been going to since I was a child. I told them everything. I discussed the journal, the teddy bear, the letter, and the park.

When I told my mother what Edward had said, she began to cry. My dad appeared proud, but he didn’t cry. His heart feels full, but he’s trying not to show it too much. It’s that quiet type of pride.

He remarked, “I’m glad it went well,” “We always wanted this to be your choice, Jared. You don’t owe anyone an apology.”

“I just didn’t want you to think I was looking for something better,” I replied. “You gave me an amazing life. I love you both.”

My mother took my hand and reached across the table. “We know. And we love you. This doesn’t change that. You’ve always had room for more love.”

That stayed with me.

The next part’s date and method are still unknown to me. It will be the first time my adopted and biological parents are together. They had already met when I was a baby, but not in this manner. They never sat down as adults and discussed me as a person rather than just as a name on paper.

That day will arrive. And I think it will be something lovely when it does.

It was difficult to locate Edward and Serena. It was full with hope, guilt, and anxiety and emotionally draining. But I’m quite happy that I did. It was all worthwhile because of their responses, the embraces, the tears, the stories, and the memories they continued to cherish.

I still find it hard to believe it happened sometimes. that I located them. that they proved to be kind, loving individuals who thought of me constantly. I don’t take it for granted because I am aware that not everyone has that type of reunion.

Therefore, I would like to express my gratitude to all birth parents who have made the difficult choice to let go. Children like me now have a chance at a loving existence because of your sacrifice.

If you’re lucky, you may even be able to find your way back. The same as I did.