Two simple sentences. How can I find out if my kid’s all right? It was a closed adoption. It was a huge move on his part and he couldn’t say why, after all these years, he’d finally made it. Maybe the gnawing anxiety had worn him down. When he pushed Send, his throat went dry. His first actual move to discover something, anything, about his son. Part of him said it was wrong. His son was now someone else’s child. Prospective parents were well screened; many waited for years and spent thousands of dollars to get a child. His kid was fine. Another part of him wanted proof. A few responses trickled in as the evening passed. Do you have a name? In what state was the adoption made? Have you signed up with an adoption reunion registry? What he discovered was that without a name and without a state, a search was practically impossible. He had to at least find out where the adoption had occurred. He didn’t even know that. All he knew was that Rachel had gone back east. He’d have to try and contact her parents, find out if they’d mellowed over the years.
