I have returned from my great adventure in New York.

It is Sunday afternoon now and I have to cook dinner soon. I got back late last night and am still processing the whirlwind of events and the emotions that were this weekend. The Conference was amazing. But that is another post. Before I went to the actually conference, I did something else.

I Went and Saw the Father of my Adopted Son

I guess it was pre-mediated. I packed things that I would need: Extra pictures, the update. I felt a certain sense of resolved when on the bus. As I thought about it, it just felt different somehow..and I found myself saying “Oh, you are really going to do it this time”. Not a question, a statement.

And so, when I got off the bus, I found myself walking towards my old stomping grounds, and in front of the old office building I was and looking at my watch, I knew that even after 6 on a Thursday evening, there was a very good chance that I would find him alone, still working, when most have gone home.

It began and ended here.

And so I called him. Plugging in the first four letter of his last name and pronouncing my own to the automated voice as “Cloudia” like it was said back in the day..barley having time to react from hearing his voice on the recording to a big booming “Hello” as he immediately picked up.

And I was talking to Max’s father.

“Hey, it’s Claudia. Are you busy? Are you free for a minute?”

“How are you?” thinking at least he knew who I was…Whew!

“I’m good. I am standing outside the building. I would like to talk to you if you have the time.. I am down stairs”

“Where downstairs? What building?”

“Umm this one..where I called, where you are..330”

“You’re downstairs now?”

“Yes. Outside”

“Yeah, well how are you going to get in?”

“Well, I was planning on using the door right here” yes, there was some scarcasm thrown in.

Then a quick discussion of how the new post 911 security worked and I hung up and walked to the desk to get in. My name was not in the system yet and I went back outside to wait, have a fortifying cigarette and hurriedly called KT. I felt the need to let someone know what I was about to do.

Last Time I saw Him I was Pregnant and About to “Go Away” to Relinquish

Finished with neither cigg nor phone call, I turned to see him coming thought the door towards me..OMG..almost looking exactly the same..the hair maybe a big thinner, but still full, maybe a bit more faded, but only gray at the ears, face only slightly more wrinkled..or maybe the lines only a bit deeper..my son would age well I knew. Still loud and commanding, still sporting a ridiculous bow tie slightly off kiltered, he greeted me like I hadn’t seen him for 9 weeks rather than 19 years. And passing though security, he asked me questions about how I was, why was I here, what have I been doing, as we took the elevator upstairs.

Funny how without thinking one remembers.

I automatically went to the left when stepping out of the lift, I didn’t have to think about what door it was or wait for him to lead. Yet, the reception are was different, my formaica’d desk area gone, only the same hideous kelly green carpet remained. Surely, it was not 19 years old, yet why get the same bad color? Yes, to the back, to the left, big heavy door shuts, same huge picture window, oh I had forgotten the view of the Chrysler Building..stunning.

He comments how the place is a mess, the landlord doubled the rent, they are finally moving out within the month and I suddenly understand how the universe works. Of course, today was the day, it was the last chance I had and without knowing..I knew.

I am not nervous, I do not stammer, it does not even feel odd as we sit down at his conference table like old friends needing to catch up.

But we are not old friends though maybe he thinks so.

The Reality of My Planned Conversations

Yes, right now that is all this meeting is to him, but to me, oh so much more. I have had this conversation with him, in my head, hundreds of times. This almost feels like deja vu as I have planned it so much, thought it out, played his responses, planned my perfect wording.

No, much more than just old friends we are. Not even just an ex, a former lover, for I was 19 and he was 45, he was my boss, I was the niece by marriage to the woman he then lived with for the next 10 years, and I had his baby. Most of that he knew, so more than “just old friends and co workers”..but now was the final piece.

I comment on how it has been 19 years. He seems shocked, remarks in disbelief that it is so long. But I confirm with the certainty I know by the numbers of birthdays I have lived though, “Oh, believe me,it has been 19 years..I know for sure!”

He’s asking me more questions. I am responding. What do I do, where I live, somehow before I can get my bearings, we are discussing Garin’s heart surgery the past year, I am explaining aortic stenosis by route while my mind is going “nooo..wrong child, this is not why I am here..get on track”, but I know that I will not falter this time, I will not procrastinate for another day, enough time has gone by too much, I do not panic.

I ask him as I had rehearsed so much, what does he recall form when I left and he says “not much”, I lose my out, He is talking about how I just “disappeared, he wondered what had happened to me, how did I get upstate. Then the moment…

He inquires about how many children and I give the truth, “Four”, I say.

“Four? Wow, how old?”

Now with my chance, as I speak, I begin to rumble about in my bag, starting with Tristan I work my way up, still fishing.

The timing is perfect and as I get to my oldest, my lost baby, I am raising my head from the bag, looking up at him I apologize,

“I am sorry, I know it was wrong, but my oldest is 19”

SLAP, goes the picture in front of him on the table, heads up, Max from his senior prom, looking oh, so much like his father, so clearly evident,

“And this one,” I say, “is yours”.

And I sit back in my chair, deed done, triumphant, to watch his face.

The subtle play of emotions and revelations as they wash over him are not anything I could have foreseen.

The light shifts in his eyes, the intake of breath, the stance, his posture, as he looks at the picture and sees so much of himself, sees the truth, takes it all in and asks, incredulous, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

The story, told so much before, tumbles forth once again, but this time he knows the players, needs no introductions, no explanations. I know as I mimic Marina outing my pregnancy with her “Cloudia, you cannot have a baby! Cloudia what about your education? You will ruin your life!” he sees her face as clearly as I do, he hears the accent much better than I pretend.

When he asks me, with slight panic “Who else knows?”, he understands what I mean when I say “Who is left? They are all dead?”

As I speak about the adoption, he questions. I speak about Max now, how he is, what he is like. We talk about the people who raise our child, his parents, his other siblings, his life in Massachuttes, our son in college.

I explain how the agency worked, how I went away, what I was given, how they erased his rights, how it was wrong, I know now, again so sorry, how fruitless, a mistake. I speak of the years waiting and wondering. Only when I speak of the immediate time after relinquishment prompted by his “And then what did you do?” do I feel the threat of tears, I do not hide them.

“I went back home to Long Island. I immersed myself in children. I took Early Childhood classes. I was a nursery school teacher. I took care of other people’s babies. I learned to read “Where the Wild Things Are” by heart without crying.”

I can still see his brain going back and forth, he asks about me, then goes back to the boy, shocked look again, realizing his child, his son. He comments about how he has so many God children, he lists then and then says “But I never knew I had a real son”.

He admits to regretting never being a father, “But you are,” I say, “Congratulations, it’s a boy.”

At one point he makes a comment how this is a good argument against abortion. I take this as a sign of pleasure, maybe, acceptance, a welcomed surprise. It also means, to me, that perhaps if given a choice at the time, that would have been his first choice, as I imagined, and that choice, he sees now, would be wrong.

But yes, I agree, I am glad he was not lost that way. I cherish and honor the existence of our child. I am able to say that it was foolish, unnecessary and it took me so long to see that. That it was not a full ten years after that I realized that he would have supported us. That the adoption was not needed as I thought. That he would have sent our boy to Dalton and taken him to South America. I don’t want to rub his face in the loss, but yet I need for him too, to see what could have been.

We speak about adoption in general, I let on some of what I know, what I do, the conference, my work, then pull back saying “You don’t need all this information now..all in time..you need to process his existence first for yourself”

We mosey around to other topics. He tells me about his brothers children, Michael and Kelly, cousins I never knew my son had, children of theirs, his mother that just died at 93, and I think again, about good genes. It occurs to me that he is rambling on about anything but what has been said, his brain is forcing a break, stuggling to make sense of this news.

And sure enough he comes back to questions about Max. I give him the update that I received from Max’s mom over two years ago, I show him more pictures, I watch him, as he reads the update, noting the look in his eyes as he reads about his own traits clearly passed on to his child. As he self identifies, he gets that look of a proud father, his shoulders raise, a chuckle of joy.

I am pleased.

He is impressed with my searching skills, how I found our son, the assumed unhappy feelings of Max’s parents, the “good barf-udder” rules that I broke by finding him and making contact. I think I seem him sympathizing with Max’s folks, then realizing his own roles, seeing my pain, admitting it is very complex and he has never given it much thought, this thing called adoption.

“You’ll see” I warn, “It’s different when you live it.

He tells me that he imagines it hard, not knowing, waiting. I go on to explain how I had planned to tell him, always..Once I realized how wrong, when the guilt monkey settled in on my shoulders, but how I could not when I knew nothing, but now, I have something to show him, more pictures, proof of life.

Somewhere in this, his wife calls and he speaks to her, “An old friend stopped by, unexpectedly, we were catching up”

After he hangs up, I say “That was the understatement of the year” and laugh.

He does too, more implications of the magnitude.

He asks to keep a picture, and I promise to send more from home. As many as he wants. Here’s my card, here’s my email, I have copies all on my computer at home. He says we must be careful as his secretary answers his email. I tell him it is time to get another one just for him that he can access himself. He agrees.

He keeps the picture where his son looks just like him. Same smile, same planes of the face, his nose, his cheekbones.
After 2 and a half hours, we are done.

Exhausted and still reeling, now noticing how I am sweating, I murmur about him having to process this still, it will take time, it is allot, again I am sorry. I am available for more questions when they come up.

Now I am in my element, the knowlegable one, the professional, I know the ropes and what this means, what he will now have to go though. I know some might think it seems mean, to tell this man, too late, for what purpose, but late or not, it is the truth and just because I got away with avoiding it once, does not mean it was ever right. I cannot change life, I cannot deny. I cannot undo what was done, cannot fix it, but I can stop it from continuing. This man has a child and deserves to know.

He walks me out. All and all, it was painless, almost pleasant. Though at various times during the many years I have had great anger at him, and wanted so much to demand hard answers, I didn’t feel it so I didn’t go there. I had gotten along with him well in the past, we did enjoy our time, and even now, knowing that he didn’t have any business being with me then, I felt that same connection, not the sex, but just the conversation, the same ideal, that he was and is a good man. He was not angry, not disbelieving, not judgmental, not dismissing. He thanked me for coming, I think we spoke of contact and I was surprised with the European kisses on both cheeks.
Then it was over.

I remember after each time giving birth to one of my children, the feeling afterwards..the constant play in my head..the incredible feeling of what I just did. It felt like that as I walked away. My shock that it was truly over. I had finished what what should have been so many years before. I felt lighter, exuberant, free. I called Karen B to connect with the conference, find out the plans, I called back KT to let her know what happened. And when I walked in the hotel and saw Suz, I did a little dance, ordered a scotch, and sang about the monkey being off my back.

It is still sinking in.

I told Him 19 Years too Late

The reality of the truth is hurting. I did not need to lose my son. I made his father into a mythical beast, someone who was a foe, not an ally, not help. I admitted to him how I was so angry at him. How my mother knew he was the father of the child I carried, but I begged her not to tell, how I panicked, how I wish she had not listened to me, how I don’t know why she did. What I imagined my life to be like if those crossroads lead on different paths, is even more real now. It is cleaner, more in focus.

And that part hurts. It hurts a lot. He would have helped us. He would have provided support. He would have been a father. My motherhood would not have been needed to be amputated. I would not be here now. In the past, when I mused on these thoughts, someone would almost always say..”But you don’t know for sure what would have happened. Maybe he would have been a jerk.” But my heart never said that..at least after my anger subsided and the grief set in. In my heart, once I saw it, I knew..There was a way out besides adoption. And I was right. It didn’t need to happen. He was a grown up, a man with recourses, reponsible, good hearted, even if a pechant for girls too young. His rights were taken with no regard for us all. We were all cheated from something good. It is still his only child and he had the right to know. I tried to cheat life, get away with what was handed to me, but you cannot escape the truth, you cannot cheat life at it’s own game.
And eventually one must pay the piper, must face it all. Procrastination is no one’s friend.

Somewhere in NY city there is a 63 year old man still probably reeling with the news that he has a beautiful 19 year old son. Adoption takes another casualty. Send a good thought to him if you will. Granted, I think he was overall pleased, even if shocked, with the news, but still no one deserves this.

I think I left the update there by accident, but that’s OK. I think it is safe. It is with his father.

Update: While I did run into Max’s birthfather almost exactly a year to the date later, other than that,, to date, there has been no contact made by him and no interest on Max’s part to meet his father. This does make me sad.

Continue reading……19 years 111 days!