It’s getting to the point where it seems ridiculous to even write about my adoption history. Some days, I can’t even take myself seriously. One day I think I know something only to find out a few days later that the story has changed again. Still there is another part of me that says I should write it down just so others can see how ridiculous it can become.
After over thirty years, I finally have a tangible clue. It’s an address leading back to almost the very beginning. Strangely though, as I look at it, I feel absolutely nothing. Some tell me that it’s normal, but after so many twists and turns what the heck does normal mean?
I’d like to feel hopeful but thirty years is a long time. It’s quite possible the address no longer exists or the person it belongs to could be dead. All I can do is write a letter, mail it and wait.