by Diana Leigh

Created on: September 19, 2008

No one can truly understand, unless they've been there themselves, what it means to be adopted. It's wonderful to have a family, but it can be troubling when there is no physical connection. Sometimes, as a child grows, mannerisms and gestures, even facial expressions are taken on from the adoptive family members. There is, however, that persistent question in the back of the mind, the connection question. I had to be able to have natural children to make that connection.

Growing up in my adoptive family was good. We had quite an extended family and we were all very close. My mom was the second oldest of nine children, and they all were married with lots of children. We spent a great deal of time together, aunts, uncles, and cousins, so there wasn't time to be lonely, but there was still something missing. The cousins, without exception, looked just like their parents. That wasn't true in the case of my brother and me. Worse yet, we were not biological siblings, so we didn't look a thing like each other, and we sure didn't look like mom or dad. That was part of that missing link.

Shortly after I was married I began to think about having a child. I wanted so desperately to have something that would be an extension of myself. Maybe that's selfish, but it was what I thought I needed to complete the circle at that time in my life. I'm not sure what I was trying to prove, and to whom, but as I think back on that time in my life, I believe it was what I needed to make me feel more complete.

The day my son was born was the second most extraordinary event in my life. The first was when I married my husband. When our son arrived I couldn't believe my good fortune. He was connected to me in a way nothing else had ever been. As I gazed at him and took in his fingers, toes, and tiny nose, my happiness was, without doubt, immense. As I looked into his almost coal black eyes, it was like looking at my own, and I knew they had come from me because his father's eyes were hazel. I prayed that when he did get hair it would take on the blue-black color I sported. It was even apparent that his skin tone was similar to mine. As the days turned into weeks and then into months I began to realize even more just how important he was in that connection.

With his birth I began to realize the sacrifice both my birth parents, and my adoptive parents had made. It must have been as difficult a decision as any human had to make when my birth mother chose to relinquish her child. At the time I was born the tremendous pressure society put on pregnant teens must have been awful. I could not even begin to imagine having to make that decision. On the other hand, my adoptive parents, who were unable to conceive, took on the responsibility of raising someone else's child, someone they knew very little about. I began to have a new respect for both sides of this adoption equation.

I also knew that if I had adopted a child I would be able to love them unconditionally. I knew there would be many questions regarding their adoption, and there would be challenges, but I would truly be able to show them that even though I had not given birth to them, I would give them life. "Biological" and "adopted" were just words.

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