lunch with Sasha

This past weekend, I traveled a few hours with my friend to visit her family.

For most of our trip there, she told me about her brother and her brother’s girlfriend. Her brother is away at college and his girlfriend moved back home and is going to college locally.

In the middle of the conversation, she told me that Sasha (his girlfriend) wanted them to go as a group to visit Israel – through Birthright.

She mentioned that Sasha was not Jewish. I looked confused and she explained. Sasha is adopted and is Native American. Her parents are Jewish.

I was curious about her – about this lunch we planned with her during our trip. I wanted to meet her. I had never really talked to or interacted with an adopted individual. I am not sure why the curiosity was there, but it was. I didn’t think she would be ‘different’. I figured she would be normal, but wondered if she was curious about her past.

I’ve read so many stories of first parents wondering about their placed child – regretting their decision, in pain and distress. I wondered if Sasha’s first parents were doing the same. I wondered if she knew them or wanted to know them.

I was never a first parent. I pretended to be one.

We went to have lunch with her. She is a beautiful, well adjusted and happy. I was surprised, although I was waiting for something ‘not so good’ to sneak in. She was welcoming and kind. She included me in all conversation; made sure I was comfortable and felt included into everyone’s conversation.

I didn’t think she’d be any different than anyone else, but I didn’t expect her to be what I saw.

I wonder if I would’ve seen this in a different way if I weren’t (once) an adoption scammer.

helping a stranger

A few months ago, I dropped an envelope in the mailbox - the envelope with no return address, with a decent amount of cash - an envelope with the small note of 'please use this for your adoption fund' - but nothing else ... The moment I dropped it into the mailbox, I got emotional and started to cry.

It is something I wanted to do - I want to support this family. If people could read the words she wrote, you'd be inspired enough to do the same. She reminded me so much of one of the people I hurt, so many of her words sounded the same - so much of her heart was the same. It feels so similar, although I know it's not the same at all. I look at this woman, wonder how on earth I could have hurt someone like this. I look at the tears in her eyes, the pain and 'want' in her heart ... she's so vulnerable and innocent - I hurt someone like that.

The moment I put the envelope in, I thought of the person I hurt. I imagined in my mind so many times, what it would be like to meet with her again. The last time I saw her was more than a few years ago. In just a few short months, the calendar pages will turn and it will be the 'anniversary' of when all the court proceedings started. Another year will pass.

A few years ago, I forced someone to be in my life ... someone that I didn't know prior, but that will be connected to my life forever. I'm not sure what she thinks about this, but I assume she's moved on a bit further than I have.

I try to imagine her face and what she thinks at this point. I try to imagine meeting up with her and hearing how things have been for her. I am not fearful but I am curious. I don't believe she ended up adopting - for that, I will always regret what I did, although I had no control over the future for her.

I haven't written her letter, although I don't intend for it to be long ... just a few short words and asking if we can meet up and have a chat at a local coffee shop. But thinking about this reminds me of the time we were supposed to meet up long ago. I passed by her in the restroom, she didn't know it was me.

I'm not sure what I want out of this - perhaps closure ... because my heart still hurts for what I've done. I had a small period of time after my 'free' day that I was happier than I would have ever been able to imagine prior. It feels like I’ve come off of that 'high' and getting back onto firm ground. However my ground is not nearly as firm as I thought it was, it's a bit wobbly and cracked.

I'm not sure that if I spoke with her - my ground would be straight and flat. But I'm thinking it might be.

taking a vacation

I recently took a vacation.

I spent eight days with my siblings, father, step mother and cousins in the Caribbean.

I haven’t felt surrounded by that much peace in several years.

After being caught, I felt that everyone knew who I was because it was on the news. My name was being used quite often. My story was being told. What was really a personal and private matter between the people I hurt and myself, was brought out to the world.

Questions follow every new experience in my life; new job positions, new volunteer opportunities, new friends, etc. Each one of those things practically brings me to my knees in shaky nerves. Each one of those things brings up my past – my mistakes.

What I did never leaves me. Each corner I turn – each path I follow. I am sure that there are plenty of people that feel that this should be the case, but I ask that you imagine your biggest mistakes … remember the people you hurt and to take that and publicly display it. Imagine it is something that each person you meet, will know. Imagine all the world you’ve done to get past that mistake, but still, people judge you on that mistake – even years down the road. It doesn’t feel very good and it’s hard to move forward.

I cannot change the past – I don’t intend to try. For many reasons, I wouldn’t change it even if I could.

This is why this vacation was so unique, so relaxed, so needed. It left me feeling free. No one knew me and it didn’t matter if they did. I felt like I was in a completely different place – both physically and mentally. I felt far away from the world and I didn’t think about what I had done our entire trip. I could walk down the road, sit on the beach, and take pictures … all without people knowing me.

You may not understand, but I believe feeling that free pushes me further into recovery. One day I will find that kind of peace within myself and I won’t have to run away across the globe to find it.

the judge

I remember standing in front of the judge.

I was arrested the night before.

I walked out with my ankles in shackles.

I remember my fathers face and the tears that were streaming down his cheeks.

There is barely anything more painful than knowing you have disappointed a parent.

The judge looked at me, told me that this was the worst case he has handled and the worst he has heard about.

I couldn’t say anything – I wasn’t allowed to.

If I could go back, I would have spoken up. I would have told him that this was not the worst thing anyone has done. I would tell him that what I did wasn’t good, however, I’m sure it might beat out murder. I would tell him that he has no idea how his words would crush the spirit of someone that really was only reaching out and searching for the help I needed. I would tell him that what I did was not fair or okay, but that his harsh words weren’t either.

I would tell him that he has no idea who I am or what I’ve been through. He has no idea what has brought me to this place. I would tell him that he has no idea who I am and where I’m going.

I would tell him to find me in a few years and see how much I’ve grown. I would tell him to take a chance on someone – someone that made a really huge mistake. I would tell him that it’s silly to think no one else has ever made mistakes – that surely he too, has made some of his own.

I like to think that this particular judge didn’t mean what he said – that he doesn’t treat other people as he did me. I would hope he doesn’t ruin someone else’s journey to recovery – because it would have been just as easy to have fallen backwards.

Hopefully, he never encounters someone else that is lost, someone that just needs a second chance, someone that is begging for help in one way or another. Hopefully he will take the time to listen and give them help.

I like to think he was only saying what he did because a reporter was in the courtroom – perhaps that was his time in the spotlight. My story gave him plenty of ‘light’.

I wonder if he thought it was worth it.