My birth mother was calling me — for real.  OMG I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I just stared at the screen, watching it ring. I was seconds away from throwing up again, and honestly, what kind of first impression would that be? I was terrified of what she might say, and I didn’t have the strength to face a possible rejection. So I let it go to voicemail.

When I finally pulled myself together, I pressed play and listened to her message. The instant I heard her voice, I broke down in tears. It was uncanny — the sound of me echoed through her voice and into my phone. She sounded so familiar, like someone I’d known my entire life. In that moment, I knew without a doubt: she was my mother.

She said she’d just received my letter that morning and was thrilled that I had found her. I could tell someone else was in the room with her, which somehow reassured me — she wasn’t alone, and everything would be okay. Just hearing her voice lifted my spirit. She was happy.

When I called her back, we both cried at “hello.” Our conversation flowed so easily — warm, natural, and full of laughter. It felt like two old friends catching up after a long time apart. She was delighted to learn that my adoptive family was Italian and that I worked in an Italian restaurant. It meant something to her because she was married to an Italian — Vito Florimonte — and they had a son named Rocco. I remember thinking, Oh dear, what have I unleashed? Please don’t be like The Sopranos!  LOL

It turns out I’m not Italian after all — I have Icelandic roots! Which makes total sense, because I’ve always loved the cold weather. She was also happy to hear I’d been raised Catholic, which had been her only request when she placed me for adoption. 

We shared stories, traded tears, and laughed through the nerves. She wept when she learned my adoptive parents had passed away, and said she had hoped one day she could thank them herself. When we finally hung up, we promised to email each other — to swap photos and fill in the gaps. She kept her word.  And when I saw her pictures… OMG we really looked alike!  :-)

The next day, I was officially in sponge mode. Finding my birth mother, Toni, was a dream come true. I wanted to remember everything she said, every little piece of the story that connected us.  As her emails arrived, they felt like the missing chapters of my life—short, beautiful notes that filled in the blanks of who I was. We both had endless questions for each other—some we had to ask, and others were answered before we could even think to voice them. The questions were simple, yet deeply intimate: “How tall are you?” “What was it like growing up?” “Do you have a big family?” “Do you have many friends?” “What are your hobbies?” “What’s your favorite color?” The list kept growing, and with every answer, I found myself smiling wider, feeling more connected, more whole.

Everything she shared with me spoke directly to my heart...

"Many times during the years I have thought about writing you a letter, just in case we ever had the opportunity to meet. I wondered what I would say. I imagined you showing up at my door sometimes. I have had a couple of really good cries, it is the most wonderful feeling in the world to finally know something about you!" 

It was so comforting to know for certain that she had thought about me all these years.

As the sun went down that first day, we each wandered around our homes with the biggest smiles on our faces. It felt like a heavy weight had finally lifted — one I didn’t even know I’d been carrying all these years. I couldn’t stop thinking about her, about us, about everything that had just begun to unfold. The emails kept coming, and each one felt like opening a tiny window into her world — a world that, somehow, had always been waiting for me.

She wrote about her life with such warmth and honesty. She told me where she had lived, the jobs she’d held, and the people who had shaped her story. She was born in Ketchikan, Alaska, and grew up mostly in Montana and Washington State. How amazing — those were three places I’d always dreamed of visiting, long before I knew they were part of my own story.

I learned that she had three older sisters and that one of them had taken her in when she was pregnant with me, twenty minutes away from were I would soon live with my adopted family. I learned that she had lost her mother as a little girl — a truth that made my heart ache for the child she once was. And then came the part that made me smile through tears: she told me more about her husband, Vito, and their son, Rocco. I loved that I had a brother! I could barely believe it. The joy I felt in that moment is hard to describe — it was like discovering a missing piece of myself.

She also wrote about Vito’s daughters, Maura and Elaine, who had lost their own mother when they were very young. Toni stepped into their lives and became their “other mom,” loving them as her own. How beautiful and bittersweet — that the woman who had once let go of a baby girl would later be called to mother two little girls who needed her. It was as if life had come full circle, weaving love and loss into something sacred and whole. Just as my parents had needed me, Maura and Elaine had needed Toni. God truly works in such mysterious, wonderful ways.

Toni’s family sounded huge and full of life — cousins scattered all across the country, each story adding another branch to the tree that now included me. She was as overjoyed as I was, calling everyone that first day to share the news. Her whole family was thrilled that I had found her. Some even reached out to me right away, sending messages of love and welcome. It was the sweetest, most overwhelming flood of kindness I’d ever experienced. I let it all wash over me — the love, the belonging, the unbelievable sense of home. For the first time in my life, I felt like every piece of my story had finally found its place.

I had always wondered how much of a secret I had been in her life. She was only sixteen when she got pregnant with me and was sent away to California to give birth. It was a very different time back in 1965. Was it even possible that anyone in her hometown knew what had happened? Her friends? Her classmates? Her neighbors?

It’s easy for me to assume this was a traumatic experience for her, but how did it shape the rest of her life? Was it something she tried to forget, or had she found a way to live openly with it? Finally getting answers to these questions felt like freedom—for both of us.

Toni told me that only a handful of people had ever known about me—her husband, Vito, and her sisters. Rocco had just found out the very morning she received my letter. She walked into his room holding the envelope and shared our story with him. I can only imagine the shock to his twenty-five-year-old system, but he handled it beautifully. He could see immediately how happy this news made his mom, and that was all that mattered to him.

Maura and Elaine, however, had found out just a few weeks earlier—and by complete chance. Almost to the exact day that I began my search, Toni happened to be standing in the kitchen with her daughters and one of their friends. The friend had just adopted a baby boy, and they were talking about the adoption process. Out of nowhere, Toni decided to share her own story. The girls were surprised but happy—and full of questions.  The timing was almost unbelievable. While I was beginning my search, she was finding her voice. And only a few weeks later, my registered letter appeared on her doorstep. That blew my mind. Looking back, I can see that we were destined to find each other. Something—or someone—was preparing us both.

Hello? Can I get another helping of serendipity, please? :-)

Now I was about to learn that even defining moments can have defining moments.

I did not see the truck that hit me next. One minute I was hearing angels sing, and the next, they were swooping down and smacking me upside the head!  LOL

In her next email, Toni wrote: “You didn’t ask me about your birth father?”

(long pause)

Huh? My heart sank. My jaw hit the floor. It was so obvious—and yet it hadn’t even crossed my mind. I was completely stunned. Why hadn’t I asked about him? Why?

As I thought about all the years I’d wondered about my birth mother, I realized I had never once imagined my birth father. My friends had asked me over the years, but those conversations never stuck in my heart or my head. The phrase “Who’s your daddy?” always just made me laugh.

I tried to sort through my feelings and make sense of it all. Maybe because they were so young, I just assumed he wasn’t in the picture. Maybe he didn’t even know about me. Or maybe he wasn’t someone she wanted to remember. I had made a lot of assumptions, based only on her age at the time. Somehow, I had disconnected from that entire side of the story.  Perhaps it’s just natural for a girl to feel more connected to her mother?  I don't know.

But none of that mattered anymore—because now I was about to face another huge, defining piece of my puzzle.  This is what Toni shared about him...

"His name is Roy Munroe. He lives in Olympia, Washington and his birthday is October 10th"

She went on to share, “He was my first love, my first everything. He was three years older than I was—5’10” and a great dancer.”

I had to smile at that last detail. The fact that she mentioned his dancing right away made me grin—it was such a sweet, charming glimpse into her sixteen-year-old heart.

She continued, “When we found out I was pregnant, he wanted to marry me. But I was only sixteen, and my father wouldn’t hear of it. It was so hard leaving him and moving to California to live with my sister. Before I left, we went for a drive to talk, and he wanted to take me to Idaho to elope. I cried and said we just couldn’t do that. So, he took me home. He even tried to follow us to California. We wrote letters for a while, but eventually, the letters stopped. When I came home the next summer, he had joined the army. He started writing again while I was in school, and for a while, I thought maybe things would start up again. It’s always easier in letters. But when he came to see me after boot camp, I had moved on, and it just wasn’t going to work. I thought about him a lot over the next few years. An old high school friend got in touch with me a few years ago and told me he wanted to know what happened to you. I told her my family always knew—if you ever tried to find me, I would want you to know where I was.”

After reading this, I just sat there—for what felt like forever. I didn’t want to move, or blink, or think about anything else. I wanted to replay that part of the story over and over in my mind. It was incredible to think how differently my life might have turned out if she had run off and married him. I was beginning to realize just how delicate life really is—how someone else’s defining moments can shape another person’s entire existence.

It was an awakening. My whole life began flashing before my eyes. I know that sounds cliché, but that’s exactly what it felt like. I saw faces and places—my mom, my dad, my sister, our house, my schools, my entire family, my childhood friends, and everyone who’s been part of my journey. Everything that defined who I am today existed because of one choice Toni made more than forty years ago.

That realization hit me hard. How do you even begin to absorb something like that? I was overwhelmed with gratitude—for the course of my life, for every twist and turn. All the ups and downs, the good, the bad, and the ugly—they all made me who I am. I’m happy. My life has been good.

Let’s just keep this momentum going, shall we?

Toni called me the next day to tell me she had gotten in touch with Roy and told him that I had found her. Wow. She just looked up his name on the internet—and there he was. Funny how simple that sounds now. All I ever needed was a name!

It turned out he still lived in the same town where they had met. She called him, and they talked for the first time in over forty years. You can imagine his surprise when he heard her voice. He was thrilled that I had found her and said he’d be happy and eager to hear from me himself. Toni gave me his contact information and told me it was entirely up to me when—or if—I wanted to reach out.

Boy, what a year I had last week! My anxiety levels were all over the place, and I could hardly keep up with my own emotions. But knowing that Roy actually wanted to hear from me helped calm both my heart and my mind. I knew I wanted to reach out—but what would I even say?  I’d never had a list of questions about my birth father. I never imagined what kind of man he was or what he looked like. I wasn’t even sure what I wanted to know. That sounds crazy, doesn’t it? You’d think I’d be just as curious about him as I was about Toni. But then something shifted. A door opened, a light turned on, and I suddenly realized—I did want to know everything about him.

When Toni told me they had been high school sweethearts, it unleashed a flood of emotions and answers. I realized I had blocked thoughts of him for years because, deep down, I was afraid. I worried he might have been a terrible experience for her. As awful as it sounds, when I was a child trying to make sense of why I was given up for adoption, I assumed maybe she had been forced or hurt. It was a heartbreaking but simple explanation that made sense to a little girl. I think I just couldn’t let myself think about him until I knew he was a good man. I was protecting myself.

Things moved much faster with Roy, but I was on a roll and felt ready to reach out. Since I had zero patience for snail mail, I decided to send him an email. Maybe not the most personal way to make contact in a moment like this, but it felt right. I was too emotional for a phone call, and I wanted his first words—and mine—to be something I could hold on to.

I wrote a short message, similar to the one I had sent Toni, and attached a photo of myself. Several hours later—at 5:00 a.m.—I heard back from him. 

This is his actual letter to me...

“Oh my goodness back!!  I cannot tell you what a void my life has had for not being in your life. When Toni's parents found out she was pregnant they picked her up and shipped her off to California. Toni was only 16 years old then and neither of us was prepared for that big of a change. We wanted to keep you and get married but Toni was gone before the words were out of our mouths. I could never get anyone to tell me anything after that. I did see Toni once after that and she would not tell me or could not as she had about as much information as I did and the fact was that it was a very traumatic event in her young life and has weighed on her as it has with me.

I have tried to find you over the internet several times but to no avail as I had nothing but desire to start with but now I guess that desire to find you worked out only backwards… ain't life amazing! I am absolutely, positively more than interested in seeing you and hearing about your life. I hope this will be a new beginning for all three of us (plus your extended families now).

When Toni called me I had not heard her voice in over 40 years and I am still in a state of shock, but a good one to be sure. I guess I am at a loss emotionally myself. Took me 15 minutes to see what you actually looked like through the tears. You will be happy to know you have two other half-sisters, Kimberley in her mid-thirties who lives in Texas, and Rhiannon my youngest, who turns 21 in May lives here in Olympia with her husband.

I wish I could send you pictures but my scanner attached to the computer gave up the ghost a while back and I have not replaced it but will soon. If you want to send me your address I will dig up some pictures of me and send them along to you. I do not have any of Toni and myself together as I believe she had kept what pictures there were. I guess if you and I were standing side by side you would know without doubt that we are related.

When I got to 60 years old I told everyone that I was going to grow my hair long, get tattooed, and buy another Harley which I have done so prepare yourself as I mostly look like a biker these days, and love it. My last hooray so to speak. I am so glad to hear from you. This is an occasion that I am lost for words to say how I feel right now. I had all but given up on ever knowing you but always had a little bit of hope to hang onto.

I am on 100% disability through the VA because of Vietnam in the mid-sixties. I decided 3 years ago that I could not get the inner changes accomplished that needed to be dealt with without help so my Nam buddies talked me into going to the VA for help which I did. I won't get into the particulars now but I was and still am suffering from PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) but getting better all the time. I do believe I am rambling about now as I am so wound up with emotions I can't seem to get my fingers to quit typing. I am sending you my address, phone, etc., for your use and please please stay in touch. YES, I WANT TO SEE YOU!!!!! I was planning on being in California sometime after the sun comes out here (fat chance) so I am not sure when that would happen as I want to ride my bike down and visit some friends in Sacramento, Stockton, and the Ceres areas. If you can come up here please do… my home is yours.

Take care and I will talk to you soon.

ALL OF MY LOVE TO YOU DINA

DAD (the other one)

P.S. You know I was thinking about you finding your mom and I and want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for expending the energy and time to follow through with that search. I know it was not easy for you with so many unknowns involved. I am proud of you and the way you have faced a huge fear in your life and I know the results of that courage will make you whole and at peace for the rest of your life. I also want to thank you for not giving in to anger as that is something that more often than not accompanies such a quest. You seem like an extremely strong person with an exceptional heart and I cannot wait to see you and hug you for the first time. Well, it's now 5 a.m. (again) and time to see if I can get some sleep although all of this has me so wound up it's all I can do to sit still let alone sleep. I feel like Snoopy doing his happy dance!!!!!”

All my fears were slipping away right before my eyes. His words were warm and sincere, and they gave me a real sense of who he was. My gut spoke to me after just one email — I knew he was someone I wanted to know better. He just sounded like a genuinely kind man.

Then his second email arrived, and it caught me off guard. It told a slightly different story, one that made me pause for a moment and wonder what I had gotten myself into. It had only been a few hours since our first exchange, yet he felt it was important to be completely honest and upfront about his life. What followed was a long, raw, and brutally honest account of his experiences — the kind of truth that doesn’t hide behind polite words.

The Vietnam War had shaped much of his pain, carving paths through his life that were hard to imagine. His story was heartbreaking, and though it frightened me at first, I couldn’t stop reading. This was my biological father — someone connected to me by blood — and I wanted to understand him. I read his words several times, stepping back emotionally when I needed to, and eventually, what stayed with me wasn’t the pain, but the courage. I admired him for his honesty. How beautiful to trust someone enough to lay everything bare. We’ve all had struggles, but through his story, I could see that his kindness, warmth, and good heart still shone through.

Later that same week, we spoke on the phone for the first time. The conversation flowed easily, his voice soft and kind. I could hear the relief in his tone — that sense of finally being known. It helped that we’d already covered the heavy stuff in our emails; now we could just relax and talk. He told me about his two daughters, Kim and Rhiannon, about his travels, and his lifelong love of music. He plays drums and harmonica, and still sits in with a blues band every Wednesday night.

By the way, I’ve always wanted to play the drums! Ever since I was little. When I was in grade school, they asked what instrument I wanted to play, and I immediately said, “Drums!” But my parents said no—it would be too loud to practice. Fair enough, I suppose… but still! So instead, I secretly became a master of the air drums without them ever knowing! LOL  It’s so cool to understand that parts of me were always connected to him.

The more we talked, the more I found myself relating to him. We had so much in common — especially our sense of humor.

Not long after finding Toni and Roy, I realized my birthday was coming up. My birthdays had always been my only true connection to my birth mother. Every year on March 15th, I would wonder: Is she thinking about me today? That thought would always lead to something oddly specific — my belly button. I know, it sounds funny, but I used to think about how, once upon a time, it was physically connected to her.

Growing up, my birthdays were full of joy — the garage transformed into a party zone with balloons, streamers, cake, ice cream, presents, friends, family, and music. But in my twenties and thirties, the day always brought a quiet sadness I couldn’t shake. It wasn’t about age. It was about the missing pieces — the unknowns of who I was and where I came from.  This year, though, was different. How could it not be, right?

Just a few weeks after finding Toni, a package arrived at my door. Inside was a large framed watercolor — a painting of a lone cypress tree on the Monterey/Carmel coast. The frame was old and simple, nothing ornate. I wondered if it held any special meaning. At the bottom of the box, I found a card — a birthday card from my birth mother.  Wow!

It was the most beautiful card I had ever received. Printed on the front of the card:

“Dear Daughter, On your birthday, I want you to know that, in my heart, you’re always with me. Not a day goes by when I don’t think about you, care about you, and wish good things for you…”

Inside, in her handwriting:

“So many birthdays have passed. I’m so happy I can finally send you a card to let you know I’ve always thought of you on your birthday and so many other days through the years. I look forward to our first meeting. I painted the lone cypress while I was carrying you. I took a night class in painting and I thought you might like to have it. Happy Birthday, Toni.” 

And that was it — the floodgates opened. I sobbed like a little girl, but it was the best kind of cry — a release years in the making. The sentimental value of that gift was immeasurable. Knowing she had kept it for forty-two years made it even more precious. The words “while I was carrying you” gave my heart the connection it had always longed for. I was smiling from the inside out.

Over the next few weeks, I shared our story with friends, family, and even strangers. My smile never left my face. We continued exchanging stories and photos, and soon began talking about meeting in person. The thought of it filled me with excitement and hope — the next natural step in this incredible journey.

Following my heart had once again proven to be the only  path worth taking.