An ode to the honeymoon stage of adoption reunion

Without my birth mum telling me his name, I may never have met my biological father, Rob, and one of the most intense and influential relationships of my life may not have happened.

He was listed as ‘UNKNOWN’ on my original birth certificate so I really did need my birth mum to tell me his name, which she was happy to. Once I had his name I found his address thanks to the UK phone directory and the early internet. I’d sat on the information for a few years and it wasn’t until I was due to head off to South America for a backpacking trip, age 26, that I felt any urgency to contact him.

I reached out via a letter to his home address in which I said I strongly believed he was my biological father. I mentioned my loving family, my university degree and my forthcoming trip abroad. I made myself sound as normal as possible. I deliberately tried to sound ‘breezy’.

Rob replied to my letter via email within 24 hours. It was more than I could ever have hoped for, and much more than I expected. In his reply, he said he had often thought of me over the years and suggested meeting at a local art gallery in a week’s time.

The following week, I nervously hovered outside the art gallery in the town Rob grew up in; the town in which I was born and relinquished. Rob had been browsing on the upper gallery and when I walked in he looked down to the lower floor and our eyes met. We recognised each other immediately and as he came down the stairs towards me it felt like a scene from a film. I took I every detail as he descended the stairs. When he reached the bottom the first thing he said to me was, “You look just like her – you’re beautiful.” When he smiled I saw where my dimples came from after 26 years of wondering.

We emailed while I was away and I felt wary but optimistic about the future. I was pleased I had reached out before I went away. As a very anxious person it had crossed my mind that something might happen to me while I was away, and I didn’t like the idea of having any ‘what ifs’.

Once I was back from my trip, Rob and I met regularly following a format of ‘something cultural’ followed by lunch or dinner. At an immersive exhibition in London we held hands as we stepped through a room of fog together. Rob said he felt like I was a child and he was my father holding my hand – something which he never got to do in reality. That was a moment I will never forget. More than once we were last in a restaurant while the chairs and tables were being packed away around us.

Rob was interesting and interested in me. We dialled up our points of common interest, such as music and TV box sets and we dialled down any points of contention such as his strong Catholicism.

In between meetings we talked over email. Rob said his wife had always known he had a child at 19 who had been adopted, and that he’d always made sure his details were in the phone directory to enable me to make contact. However, his children didn’t know about me and he didn’t think now was the ‘right time’ what with them in the final years of their studies. I concurred and complied. I was happy getting to know Rob for now.

Looking back on how things are now, I cherish those early days.