Cross-border adoption: the trauma of knowing one was given away at birth and the travails of trying to find out why
BY?Mihir Srivastava?EMAIL AUTHOR(S)
THE QUEST Arun Dohle, in his foster father?s lap
On the evening of 29 July 2012, Carina Roodenburg, a kindergarten teacher from Utrecht, the Netherlands, wrote this brief note describing what had transpired earlier in the day:
?Carina, come here,? a voice unknown two days ago, but sounds familiar already, is calling me. It is my uncle. I stand up. Finally. I?m already waiting for two hours and it surprises me that the tension didn?t drive me crazy yet. I am aware of every footstep I take. How many will it be? Fifteen? Twenty?
This is the moment I have [been] longing for. Maybe already thirty years. That many years ago they flew me out of this colorful country into the Netherlands. Between all those tall white people which some of them I could call family and a lot of them even friends, I kept thinking of her. My mind could not remember her smell, her skin, her voice. But my heart did. It started to hurt. More and more. The missing. The not knowing. Tears were piling up and there was only one way to go. Back! And that is where I am now. Still three footsteps to go. Then I will be there. Back to whom it all began. Where I began. One step. I look up. Our eyes met. Now I know. Forever. There she is. My mother. Continue reading “Family Secrets”
?Carina, come here,? a voice unknown two days ago, but sounds familiar already, is calling me. It is my uncle. I stand up. Finally. I?m already waiting for two hours and it surprises me that the tension didn?t drive me crazy yet. I am aware of every footstep I take. How many will it be? Fifteen? Twenty?
This is the moment I have [been] longing for. Maybe already thirty years. That many years ago they flew me out of this colorful country into the Netherlands. Between all those tall white people which some of them I could call family and a lot of them even friends, I kept thinking of her. My mind could not remember her smell, her skin, her voice. But my heart did. It started to hurt. More and more. The missing. The not knowing. Tears were piling up and there was only one way to go. Back! And that is where I am now. Still three footsteps to go. Then I will be there. Back to whom it all began. Where I began. One step. I look up. Our eyes met. Now I know. Forever. There she is. My mother. Continue reading “Family Secrets”