I
was at my desk in the cubbyhole office off our bedroom,
waiting for my teenage daughters to get home from
school. Even though it was a beautiful spring day, I
was doing something mundane like entering receipts into
Quicken® or playing computer solitaire. Then the phone
rang.
“Hello?”
It
was my father, calling from Virginia. He sounded upset,
tears coarsening his voice. “You’re there! I have to
read you something.” I could hear him fumbling with the
phone.
“What’s the matter? Has something happened?”
“Yes, it’s happening, what you always wanted is
happening.” He couldn’t control his voice. It cracked
with a sob. “I got a letter today. It’s from Catholic
Charities. Listen to this:
“Dear Mr. Downs:
I am currently trying to locate your daughter, Katherine
Mary Downs, born 12/18/57. I would like to share some
confidential information with her that is of a positive
nature...”
Faster than the blink of an eye, my whole being plunged
straight through the crust of everyday life into the
dark emotional river I hadn’t known was flowing beneath
it. Everything stopped: heart, breath, words, sound.
At such moments, some people describe a roaring in their
ears. For me, there was only stillness, silence,
unfathomable emotion. Grief? Love? Fear? Joy? Yes.
All of the above and more.
My
father finished reading. The last line of the letter
crumbled my paralysis:
“I can be reached between the hours of 8:30-4:30, Monday
thru Friday...I look forward to hearing from you or
Katherine. Sincerely, Terri Hitt, MSW”
I
gasped for air. Words came back to me. “Is that what I
think it is? Could it be him?” What would compel
Catholic Charities to search for me other than news of
my birth son? Inside my head, a new tape was looping:
“please god please god please god please god please
god...”
“What else could it be?” he asked gently. “I called
her, but the office is closed. I left a message. Do
you want me to fax you the letter?”
“Yes, please.” As it spooled out of the fax machine, my
eyes sought out the mysterious phrase “confidential
information...of a positive nature.” I was so grateful
for the magical word “positive” – it cancelled out
worries of terminal illness or too-early death. But I
wouldn’t be able to find out exactly what “confidential
information” meant until Monday morning, three days
away.
The
weekend was torture for me. I don’t think I slept more
than half an hour in a row. The ticker tape of my mind
asked one question after another: “Is he all right?
Does he want to meet me? What does he look like? Will
he like me? How well did his parents take care of him?
Is he angry at me for giving him up?” It never
stopped.
Over
the interminable weekend, I found myself unable to
answer simple questions like “What are we having for
dinner?” On Saturday evening, I backed my car into the
garage door. At 3:00 on Sunday morning, sleepless, I
got on the Internet and found my son’s birth father,
just to distract myself. All I could do for those three
days, with every fiber of my being, was wait for Monday
morning.
At
5:30 a.m. on Monday, April 21, I called Terri Hitt just
as the Catholic Charities office opened. She confirmed
my wildest, deepest hope: my son wanted to find me. All
I had to do was send her, in writing, my permission so
the State of Virginia could open my confidential file to
him. She said it would take a week to petition the
state, then she would tell my son how to contact me.
Until then, I’d have to refer to him by the name I gave
him at birth – Michael Patrick – and just wait for his
call.
Again, the wait was excruciating. I kept my cell phone
with me at every second, checking messages the instant I
woke up, making sure I never went into a low-signal
zone. It was three weeks, not one, before I heard from
her again.
On
Tuesday afternoon, May 6th , Terri called me
at home. She said she’d received permission to give
Michael Patrick my contact information. “As soon as we
hang up, I’ll call him. If he’s home, I’ll give him
your phone number. If he isn’t, I can’t leave any
information on his answering machine, so he won’t be
able to contact you until Thursday. Either way, I’ll
call you right back to let you know when you’ll hear
from him.”
One
minute later, the phone rang again. Terry said, “He
wasn’t home. I’m leaving now, but I’ll call him again
on Thursday. Just so you know – his first name is
Patrick. Quite the amazing coincidence!”
When
I got over my shock, I suggested, “Give him my website
address, too, so he can see my picture.” Then I went
back to waiting.
That
evening, at 9:30, I was talking to a good friend on our
family line. “I can’t stand this waiting! My whole
life is on hold!” My business phone, the one listed on
my website’s “Contact” page, interrupted me. I put my
friend on hold to answer it.
“The
Untangled Web,” I said, in my best business voice.
A
young man’s voice replied, “Is this Kathy?”
“Yes.”
“This is Patrick Drury calling from South Bend,
Indiana.”
“Is
your birthday January 11th, 1979?”
“Yes
it is.”
My
heart stopped again. “I’m so glad you called me. Can
you wait for a second while I get off the other line?”
When he agreed, I punched the buttons on my phone,
shrieked, “IT’S HIM!” into my friend’s ear, and hung up
on her. Then a whole new stage in my life began.
In
that first conversation, Patrick and I talked for two
hours. We covered every topic we could think of,
e-mailed pictures back and forth as we spoke, cried and
expressed our love for each other even though we’d been
separated for more than 24 years. Patrick’s wife
Cynthia was by his side as we talked, and I found out
later that my husband Will sat outside my office during
our conversation, making sure it was going well and I
wasn’t getting upset. Another coincidence came to
light: Patrick and Cynthia were living at the University
of Notre Dame, where he was conceived 25 years before.
All in all, our first contact was magical.
The
next week was totally intoxicating. The only feeling
I’ve experienced that comes close is the blossoming of a
new love affair. Patrick and I agreed that we needed a
daily “fix” – a phone conversation, an e-mail, a
voicemail message, anything – to keep us going. We
planned for Patrick and Cynthia to come visit my family
in California at the end of May.
I
couldn’t wait that long. On May 13th, I got
off a plane in South Bend and picked my son out of the
crowd at baggage claim. It was easy. He looks just
like my youngest brother. From there on out, our
reunion has gone wonderfully, in large part because our
families have been so supportive. What an incredible
blessing!
I
wouldn’t trade being found for anything in the world.
It transformed me from a woman with a hole in her heart
into a whole person. Thank you, Patrick, for finding
me!