I am pretty sure that I have finally spoken to my maker. I think.

A few months have passed since I have made one of my “emo” posts, so I am about due. Last week I traveled to Columbus OH to begin search for my original birth record amongst the the Ohio Birth Index for my birth year. I had to do this manually because some numb-nuts back in the 1990’s bumped a cart into a bunch of computer tapes and my particular year was tossed into the trash. There is a backup microfiche, but you need a ton of patience. I asked the Dreamy little buddy if she was interested in heading down there with me and she was more than delighted.

We took the day off and woke early. Ate a few snacks on the way and made it there by noon. I walked in and was handed 16 pieces of 5×7 large format film. NO cotton gloves, no protective envelopes, nothing. Greasy hands and paper clips holding them together. We walked over to the glass room where you can use their machine and look by hand. Each fiche has 128 pages of births on them, each page is 50 births. In 1.5 hours, I was able to make it through the first fiche. We hadn’t found anything yet. On the very last column, last row there was a baby born in Cleveland, OH same day to a mother that was unwed. It was named–Kenneth W. That was me. I could not believe it was there. I was given my original birth certificate number from a reliable source, and sure enough it was that number. (there’s no way a person can have the same maiden name as a married name)

We wrote everything down and then turned to the computer to my left where I was able to piece the entire family together to confirm that this is her. I was shocked. Everything was right inline with my non-id info. So we turned everything in and left. Now what?

Well I wrote a letter on Friday thinking it would be the best thing to do. When I get this phone call on Saturday morning from an investigator that I hired. She says to me that she is glad to hear that I was able to piece everything together. She told me to call her. “Call her?– No way.” I said. We talked some more and by the time I was off the phone, I was ready to call her; convinced it was the best way to confirm it. So at 10:00am Saturday morning, I called her. I think I reached her husband. He informed me that she was out of town for a while and would be back on Monday.

Monday came and I was extremely nervous. I missed a workout and did not eat dinner. I was waiting for 7pm to roll around. I called. I was so nervous. No answer. Answering machine picks up: “Hello, you have reached Dale and Joann; please leave a message. Goodbye.” I freaked. I heard the voice of my maker. She sounded almost annoyed in her tone. But it was her. I hung up.

Later that night Dreamy asked me to call her again, so I stood up and walked downstairs and called. Her husband answered. I asked to speak to Joann, he said she was in the shower. I could call back in 10 minutes. So I waited. Oh man this sucked.

Ten minutes passes and I call again. Pacing and cotton-mouthed, I began to speak; “Is there a Joann at this residence?”

“Yes; speaking” she said.

I asked “Were you once Joann C (maiden name)?”

“Um, Yes.” She said with curiosity in her voice.

“Ok, since I am on a cell phone can I ask you to write something down for me? It’s my number and I want to make sure you have my number incase we get disconnected.”

“Um, Ok.” She said.

I gave her the number and then proceeded to tell her that I was born in Cleveland back in 1972 to a woman that had to give me up for adoption. I explained that I have been doing some research to find her and I believe it was her. She paused. Then she said, “Um. No.” Complete silence.

I then asked one more time, and explained that with the information given to me that there was a Joann C (maiden name she confirmed was hers) whom had a baby in the 1970s and had to put it up for adoption. She said once again “No, I am sorry.” And at this point I was so choked I had no idea what to say other than a polite, “Oh dear, I am terribly sorry. Forgive me for bothering you. Have a nice evening.”

I hung up. I felt like a kid that lost the big game. My wife came downstairs and said “I am sorry honey. It wasn’t her. I am sure you had the wrong person. She is out there and she is waiting to meet you.”

“Thanks.” I said. I meant that too, but at that point I just wanted to decompress. 30 years I have always known I was adopted. Wondering who she was, what she looked like. I may never know.