I'm Major Jackson and this is the slowdown.

And this is the slowdown. All her life, my wife wondered about her birth parents.

Who were they?

Where were they?

Did she share physical characteristics, a voice, a favorite cuisine, or certain habits like biting a lower lip.

Recently, our friend's health scare led to a new worry about genetic diseases.

So my wife registered her name on adoption.com, as an adoptees seeking her birth

parents. Then she hired a specialist to research hospital

records in Columbus, Ohio. Two months later she was sitting on a park bench next to the woman who had given her over

to an agency some 40 years ago.

They talked for hours, which answered many questions for my wife, but she got no information about the identity of her birth father.

From an early age, my wife knew she was born to a woman other than her mother.

Her adopted parents lovingly raised her and provided a life of comfort.

She grew up wanting to please her parents, earning the best grades,

participating in sports at a high level,

maintaining an upright image throughout her life.

She worked to never be rejected again.

Being given away as an infant created a gap in her understanding of herself. As an adult, she navigates feelings of abandonment and gratitude.

I admire her strength in overcoming periodic waves of insecurity and doubt.

No Adopt-E's experience is the same.

Today's poem portrays a meeting with a birth parent, the kind of encounter we seek to gain new information,

but it often does more to help us live every day with what we already knew.

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