On the flight back to Korea, I felt like a different person. Almost twenty years earlier, I had moved to Korea as a lost and lonely man, struggling with life and not understanding how much my adoption weighed on me. But now, after everything I had experienced—meeting my biological mother, attending a transformative conference, and facing emotional truths I had avoided for so long—I was returning with a sense of renewal.
In the quiet of the airplane, I let myself feel it all. Watching movies on the small screen, headphones on, tears streaming down my face, I laughed and cried as each story seemed to mirror my own. Each one seemed like a hero’s journey—taking a chance and having it all work out. Hollywood couldn’t have scripted it better.
As I reflected on the events of the past few days, my mind went back to my childhood birthdays. Even though my parents threw great parties filled with friends, games, and sweets, there were always moments of sadness I couldn’t shake. I’d look around and feel the absence of someone who should have been there—the woman who made it all possible.
One birthday stands out. I was playing wiffle ball in the backyard. When it was my turn at bat, I hit a grand slam. The ball sailed over the roof of the house. For a moment, it felt like magic, as if the universe itself had carried the ball. That longing for connection—represented by that wind-assisted grand slam—stayed with me, shaping my questions and my sense of absence for years.
In June 2023, I stumbled across the State of Ohio website and saw something that felt almost miraculous: a notice explaining that a 2015 law allowed adoptees born between January 1, 1964, and September 18, 1996, to request their original birth certificates. Since I was born in Ohio in 1965 and adopted in Ohio in 1966, I realized this applied to me. I couldn’t believe what I was reading. All my life, I had thought this kind of information was sealed away forever, and now, here it was—within reach. So, I applied to the state for my original birth certificate and waited, filled with anticipation and uncertainty about what I might discover.
When I received the document, I hesitated before opening it. What would it feel like to see her name? Would it answer the questions I had carried for so long—or raise new ones? Trembling, I opened it and saw her name for the first time. It wasn’t just a name—it was my mother’s name, the woman I had longed to know my entire life. In that moment, it felt like an anchor connecting me to the questions I had carried for decades: Who was she? Where was she? What was she like? Finally, I had a piece of the puzzle.
Thanks to the help of Adoption Network Cleveland (ANC), I didn’t just have her name—I had a glimpse into her life. Karen Wyman, ANC’s Program Manager for Search, Adult Adoptees, Birth Families, and DNA Discoveries, provided not only my mother’s address and current photos, but also photos of her from when she was young. Seeing those photos, I recognized our resemblance immediately. It felt like looking at a piece of myself I didn’t even know was missing.
Around that time, I learned about Untangling Our Roots, a conference designed to bring together adoptees, birth parents, and others touched by adoption and foster care. The timing felt like a sign. The conference was being held in Denver, Colorado, just a short drive from Arvada, where my mother lived. It was too perfect to be a coincidence, but fear set in. I almost talked myself out of going—it felt impulsive, expensive, and overwhelming.
The support I received made all the difference. Susan, a member of my Adoptees & Addiction group, was relentless in her encouragement. “Ken, you’re going to be there. I just know it,” she said with such intensity that it felt like the universe itself was speaking through her. Her confidence inspired me to try.
With encouragement from my group, I booked the flights and got time off from my job as a university ESL teacher in Korea. The journey felt surreal—each step a leap of faith. When I arrived at Untangling Our Roots, I was welcomed into a community that felt like home. Meeting adoptees I had only seen on Zoom and hearing their stories was grounding and inspiring. Being able to tell them that I had flown across the world to take this chance gave me courage. It felt like the bases were loaded, and I was preparing to swing.
Then came the biggest moment: driving to her house. My support group friends insisted on coming with me. Each mile of the drive was thick with anticipation. When we arrived, I sat in the car, taking a moment to steady myself. Finally, I knocked on her door.
She answered.
Looking at her, I asked, “Did you give up a baby for adoption on April 7, 1965?” She paused for a moment, her eyes searching mine, and then said, “Yes, I did.” Tears filled my eyes as I said, “Well, I’m him.” Without hesitation, she opened the door and said, “Well, come on in.”
We talked for hours. I told her about my life, my struggles, and my journey to find her. She shared her story—her life, her choices, and her hopes. Before I left, she hugged me and said, “I love you.” Hearing those words was like a balm for a wound I didn’t fully realize I had. I told her I loved her too.
We began a friendship after that day, speaking a few times over FaceTime. I even had the chance to tell her I forgave her for her decision to relinquish me and that I would have done the same in her position. She seemed relieved, and I felt lighter for saying it.
Four months later, she passed away. I wasn’t ready to lose her again, but I’ll always treasure the time we had. Those moments of connection helped me let go of decades of pain and opened my heart to healing.
That’s the grand slam. Bases loaded, home run, out of the park. Against all odds, everything came together. The universe pitched me the perfect ball, and I swung.
But this isn’t just my story—it’s a testament to the power of support and the amazing work of organizations like Adoption Network Cleveland and conferences like Untangling Our Roots. Without their guidance and care, I wouldn’t have found the courage to take that swing. To my fellow adoptees: the pitch is coming. When it does, take your best shot. The bases are loaded, and the moment to connect, to heal, is waiting for you.
Adoption Network Cleveland provides compassionate support and expert guidance for those searching for birth family. Our Search Assistance Program helps adult adoptees, birth parents, siblings, and those with DNA discoveries connect with family members. Through General Discussion Meetings, we offer real-life perspectives and a welcoming space for sharing and peer support. Because every search is different, we encourage you to reach out for a personalized consultation with Karen Wyman, ANC Program Manager & Search Specialist, who can provide guidance tailored to your specific situation, at karen.wyman@adoptionnetwork.org or 216-482-2323. Before making contact, it’s also important to consider the pros and cons of each approach. Our Making Contact Guide can help you determine the best method. You don’t have to navigate this journey alone—we’re here to help.
