I let the stone drop from my hand and heard it land on the ground by my feet.
Or perhaps not.
EpilogueI have asked myself why I had to write this piece. It is because I am writer; it is what I do, just like each of you does what you do. It is too interesting a story not to tell.
Being a writer is nothing special and is a lesser profession in my mind than being someone who can build things by hand or someone who can save or help suffering living things. Each article is a journey of inner exploration, none more so than one about your own life, and not to take the journeys would be dishonest.
Questions I had to clarify before I published the story were mostly about if my mother Zella would be hurt by publishing it. I don't think she will. I did not write this for the money, although I do not turn money down, or for attention, because an uncomfortable crowd to me is any congregation more than two people.
In part I wrote it for the 20-million adopted Americans who may experience the same thing.
But it is misleading to impute altruistic motives. I wrote it because the only other choice was not to write it, something a writer would not do. People who hate two endings to a story should consider that, for those who discover they have been adopted, there is no right or wrong answer about finding birth parents.
Frequent Weekly Planet contributor Tim Ohr can be reached at [email protected].
