AKA Brandi Lisa

My name hasn't always been Lacey. For a short time just after I was born, my name was Brandi Lisa. My last name? Well, even I don't know that. I was given up for adoption when I was born and luckily enough I was adopted by a family who already had one adopted child and was fully prepared to take on a second. Otherwise, who knows what my life would have been like.

I ask myself all the time: WHY was I given up for adoption?

No one makes the decision to give up a child lightly. No one gives up a baby because it's eyes are blue or brown or green and never because it's hair is brown or black or blond. I don't feel, and have never felt, "abandoned" or "unwanted". I know for certain that I wasn't given up because there was something wrong with ME.

I was told when I was a child that my birth mother was a high school senior and too young to be a mother. I don't know how my parents would have known this, and I never asked. But now, as an adult, I realize that was a little white lie that I was told in case I ever felt that I was an unwanted baby. A little white lie so that I never felt bad about myself. And for that, I'm not upset at my parents for lying.

But my birth mother? That's another story. I would never say I'm "mad" at her. I have no reason to be. I am puzzled by a few things though... mainly, WHO ARE YOU?

You see, a couple of years ago, I decided to investigate where and who I came from. I spent seventy-five Canadian dollars to request my birth documents. I waited for 8 weeks to get my records. Those were the longest 8 weeks of my life. I couldn't believe I was actually going to find out who my birth mother was. I was so excited. However, although Canada has what are called "open adoption records", birth parents have the option to file whats called a "disclosure veto." A disclosure veto essentially means that personal information regarding birth parents are kept private from anyone requesting birth documents.

And sadly, that's an option my birth mother chose to take.

When the mail came one day and I saw a huge packet addressed from British Columbia, I ran to the mailbox to get it. It was one of the happiest days of my life. Then I opened it... I received a packet of documents in the mail with black markings all over it. Black markings to cover up names, addresses, dates, and so forth. I was crushed. I couldn't believe it. Not only did she not want me, she did not even want me to know who she was. For the first time, I felt unwanted.

About 5 years have passed since that day. At this point, I have a who-cares mentality. As far as I'm concerned, nothing has changed. I've gained nothing. I've lost nothing. I am back to where I was more than 5 years ago. I've had time to get over it and now I can say that I barely care about the situation. That's not to say that I don't want to meet her, I still do, but I'm over the feeling of being unwanted.

So to my birth mother I say this: If you're out there, I'd love to know who you are. I'd love to meet you. I don't ever expect to, but I do want to. I don't know if you're remorseful of cutting off any means of learning about you, but I forgive you. It was and is your choice.