It may not sound like the most compelling title ever thought up, but it does express one of my personal philosophies. I know we’ve all been through some heavy and traumatic events in our lives, it’s inevitable and if you haven’t, don’t worry, it’s college. Things are bound to happen and are bound to make you doubt whether or not there is true and genuine love in this world. I’m not focusing on a specific type of love, that’d be too easy to write about. When I mean love, I mean it could come from your grandparents, parents, siblings and even your closest, or least closest, friends. I had to fight my whole life to find out whether or not this was true, but it is, so don’t worry.
When most people look for love, you could say they find it in all the wrong places. Whether it be in sex, money, you get the idea. The way I found out that I was truly loved was by seeing the tears in my mother’s eyes the night we found each other. Now I’m sure I just made twenty or so heads spin with that and only one person is reading this. Don’t worry, I’m going to elaborate on how that happened.
My struggle to find love started when I was about eight I would say, the year my parents split up. I’ll deny it to them and say it was never hard on me, but it was. There was more fighting when they broke up than when they were together, and I felt I couldn’t be a normal kid. Having grown up over night from the mentality of an eight year old to that of an eighteen year old is tough on a kid. I felt like no one saw me; my mom was always a hysterical wreck, my dad only got me on a few days and even then I felt like property and not someone’s daughter.
On really bad nights, I would try to sleep and dream of what things would have been like with my biological mother. I had known I was adopted probably since I was five or six – when you’re told you have Greek in you and no one else in your family, including your parents, does, you catch on quick no matter the age. The only thing I had managed to squeeze out of my mom was that I had an older brother and that was it. I felt like she didn’t want to tell me anything about that part of my life, so for most of my life, I was in a fog.
Fast forward to this year.
About a week after my eighteenth birthday, my cousin had gone against my mom and found information on my mother. I probably choked him a bit the way I was hugging him, and he’s bigger than me too. All I could do was stare at her blurry picture, but I couldn’t work the nerve to send her a message telling her who I was. My mom said that she would send an email that night and tell her to contact us; she never did. I snuck the information over to my dad and after I stopped jumping up and down with excitement, he went to the computer desk and emailed my mother.
That weekend, we got a call Friday night from her. My ear was glued against the wall as I listened to my dad get all emotional on the phone, updating my mother with all I had been through. Then, he knocked on my door and I went back to writing like I didn’t know who was on the phone. I took the phone from him and felt my heart almost explode out of my chest before I said hello. She sounded so young and so excited, and before we hung up, she said this:
“I’m so sorry I gave you up, Lindsey. You have no idea how heart broken I was after you were gone. I looked for you in every little girl as the years went on.” She started sniffling on the phone, I felt tears in my eyes too but I bit them back.
The following Monday, I was driving to Charlie Browns in the heaviest snow fall ever, with the biggest smile on my face. Charlie Browns was a restaurant down the road from my dad’s house and, coincidentally, was where my mother and my adoptive parents met to adopt me. I parked my car and slowly got out, carefully making my way to my dad who was waiting for me. He took my arm and held my shaking body close, walking me inside for reassurance. When he lead me to the table, I felt my feet glued on the spot as I looked at my mother. She was beautiful and looked like me, minus her blonde hair. She stood up after she saw me and we both looked at each other, unable to move. After realizing that years of searching had come to an end, I ran into my mother’s arms and held her there for the longest time, she wouldn’t let go either.
The night carried on with me blathering on about my life and asking every question known to man towards my mother. We then drove back to my dad’s house, which is where I live now, and I showed my room and the whole house to her. In my room, though, I had pictures of when I was very little from a project I just did. I gave them to my mom for her to look over and as she scanned them, she bit back tears that already started falling. I watched her cry over my baby photos and saw something I never did in my parents’ eyes. I know they love me and always will, but in my mother’s eyes was sorrow and complete happiness mixed. She truly did love me since the day I was born, and did look for me until this very night.
I might be far away from my mother now, but that doesn’t stop me from calling her to check up on her and my younger siblings (not only an older brother, but three younger ones). My older brother is off in the Marines and we write every chance we get, both of us expressing how much we miss and love each other. For me, true love was finding the people missing in my life, and making their lives better by knowing I’m here. If anything, I believe this: Everyone can find love, everyone can find out who they truly are through another person, and everyone has the right to search until the end of time to find what makes them happy. Don’t stop searching, not even for a second and always smile as you’re searching.