Meeting Mioara. (Part 1)

Heaviness. The cool, cloudy, rainy April day didn’t help. A huge lump continually formed in my throat, hot tears threatened to spill, blurring my vision. I blinked hard, thinking if I could hold back the tears I could be happy. Today was suppose to be special, a day I had dreamt of my entire life. The day I would meet my biological mother, Mioara. Why did it have to be so hard? I always knew there would be hard things about this, I didn’t know what to expect. I was scared of the unknown.

As we wound our way through traffic on our way out of Bucharest, I looked back one last time, not knowing when I would see this place again. Food was the last thing on my mind, I ate out of necessity. Overwhelming emotions of fear and sadness came in waves. I convinced myself to hide my feelings from my husband and parents, thinking if they knew how I felt, it would ruin their vacation. They deserved to be happy. Why should I even be sad, when something I’ve dreamt of all my life is finally coming true? Blinking back tears, I forced myself to act normal, but I couldn’t deny what I was feeling. Matt and my mom & dad noticed. Concern on their faces, they tried to make conversation with me. Right then, the thing I wanted least was to talk about it. I focused on holding back my emotions. Worried I would lose strength if the tears would come. Looking back I believe I would have been better off getting my feelings out. Where would I even have started? I wanted to ask my parents how they were feeling, but was scared to face the truths of what I might hear. Worry rose inside me. What if I would tell my parents what I was feeling? Would it hurt them? What if I would lose the connection I have with my mom? What if she would think I didn’t need her anymore? Would it offend her if she saw how much I loved my birth mom? Will the connection I hope to have with my birth mom affect my parents? Many questions I had no answers to, raced through my mind. Fear forced me to keep my feelings to myself. I watched the rain as it gently fell against the car window and slowly trickled down. Like my mood, dismal grey clouds hung low in the sky, and a hazy fog covered the mountain tops. Beautiful countryside made up for the weather, with big grassy hillsides and blooming white and yellow trees. Tiny houses dotted the hillsides, smoke curling out of their chimneys. Shepherds with their herds of sheep were out on the green hills. We passed through many cute villages, with small houses and rust coloured patched tin roofs tucked right up against the side of the road, forcing us to slow down as we drove through. The smell of wood smoke filled the air. Little children playing in the streets would move aside and curiously look at us when we came through. Dogs wandered aimlessly, some appeared to be wild. Big storks sat in their nests on top of nearly every power pole. Part of me wanted to stop and see the village people. Would I have been able to make friends? Or would they consider us obnoxious tourists and send us on? As we drove I felt a connection to this country. My country. I was born here. I have a biological mother living here, who has called me many times, begging me to come visit her. Something about this all was strangely familiar. We wound our way around incredible curvy switchbacks as we got into the Carpathian Mountains. As we approached Sinaia, I felt a sense of excitement and wonder. The scenery was picturesque, breathtaking. Mountains rose up on each side of the road. Tall trees gave it a cozy feel. Quaint little store fronts lined the street, people bustled about. We stopped for a short break, soaking in the beauty all around us. I tried to paint a permanent picture of it in my mind, telling myself someday I must come back here and stay a while. Being able to experience this drive and see different parts of Romania touched me in an inexplicable way. The road took us to Brasov, a beautiful city in the Transylvanian region of Romania. Surrounded by the majestic mountains and beautiful scenery, stretching as far as we could see. My mind took me to my dear friend back home. Brasov is where she grew up. She moved with her family to Canada when she was 21. We became instant friends the day we met. I will always treasure her friendship. The rain was still falling when we drove into Sibiu. Behind us we could glimpse the mountain peaks. The day seemed to be going by quickly. We stopped for food at KFC, dashing into the building to escape the rain. A loud throng of school children crowded the restaurant, and we wondered if we should stay. We ordered at the kiosk, and the service was prompt. Impressed, we ate our food and took in all the action around us, trying to understand the few Romanian words we knew. This restaurant was worlds ahead of any KFC in Canada, clean and modern looking. As we drove out of Sibiu I saw numerous older looking buildings, adorned with red roofs.

It felt like I was dreaming, driving into Orastie that evening. This was my birth place. We drove around town, looking for the hospital I had been born at, without luck. A small, neat looking grocery store was close by and we parked there a while, wondering what to do. Then it dawned on us to ask someone where the hospital was. My dad approached a lady walking on the parking lot, but she didn’t speak English. Managing to communicate with a lot of hand gestures, she pointed us in the general direction of the hospital. We started out again, not knowing for sure if we were headed in the right direction. Suddenly my dad started recognizing streets, remembering that the hospital was across the street from the police station. When we stopped again it was in front of an old pink stucco building on the edge of town, the hospital I was born in. We sat there, as if in disbelief that we actually were here. Now what? Reality was sinking in. I felt weak as I got out of the car, and walked around the parking lot. Despite the age of the building, it was in pretty good condition. The marble tiled stairs going up to the entry looked like they had stood the test of time. I wanted to go inside and see this place. Standing there on the parking lot in the light rain, I fought back tears and tried to work up the courage to walk up the stairs and inside. Thirty two years ago, a woman whom I had yet to meet, gave birth to me here. Right here, in this building I was now standing in front of. What did my birth mom feel that day? I felt everything. Feelings of sadness and anger, frustration, rejection and confusion coursed through me. Why did my birth mom just leave me there in that hospital? How could a mother ever do something like that to her child? Did she really love me? Or was she just after my money? What if meeting her wouldn’t go like I imagined? I tried to calm myself, but cloudy emotions crowded out any happy ones I thought I should have. While standing there, I doubted myself. It seemed much easier to run from this all than to trace a trail back to my roots. Did I really want this? Would I have what it would take, to go through this and how it would affect me? I had come this far. Why would I run now? Deep amidst all the turmoil going on inside me I had a calm feeling. Like God was trying to tell me that everything would be ok. I wanted to believe that. I wanted to feel happy! I tried to find every reason why I should be happy. The truth is I was absolutely terrified. Little did I know the events of the evening would change me forever. Slowly we climbed the stairs up to the entrance of the hospital. Two ladies dressed in scrubs met us as we walked inside. The building was old, but well kept. We soon learned it was now used as a vaccine clinic, not a hospital. Talking with the ladies, we explained the reason for our visit. Their friendly faces smiled at us, and they were happy to chat. Despite the language barrier, we managed a nice conversation with them, using google translate. While we talked, they listened. Their eyes filled with tears as they heard my story. One of them stepped forward and wrapped her arms tightly around me. We cried together, and I started to feel a connection, to her, to this country I was in. We did share the same ethnicity, and the connection I was feeling didn’t seem unrealistic. It seemed as though they knew I was coming. Was I dreaming? Warm feelings washed over me, and the rest of the time there was a blur. The emotions I was feeling were ones I wished would never go away. A change seemed to be happening inside me. The empathy of these two ladies was enormous. As though they understood exactly how I felt without even telling them. I knew they understood all the awful things communism did to this country. All the hard times the people of this country had to endure. They understood I had come back to see Romania and meet my birth mom. I never want to forget how they made me feel. Someday I want to find them, and tell them what they did for me that day. Words to explain how I felt, come hard. It was so surreal. A change was taking place. Maybe I could go through with this after all. Maybe everything would be alright. If it wasn’t, well I didn’t want to think about the what if’s. I’d deal with them when the time came.

Hospital in Orastie, View on Map.

We saw ourselves out, and left for Geoagiu, the village my birth mom lives in. Quietly, I sat there as we drove, trying to process the mountain of emotion I was feeling. Being nervous to drive into the village, we stayed on the road outside. A small river separated us from the village. Slowly we drove and looked in. My heart broke when I saw it, and tears silently rolled down my face. I was speechless. It was exactly like the pictures I had often seen. Pictures my mom & dad had shown me growing up. And later ones that my birth mom had sent me. Tiny and colourful houses with patched roofs lined the streets. Run down and falling apart, it looked as if any little nudge would send them toppling over. Did people really live like this? Smoke was slowly rising out of broken brick chimneys and it smelled like burning trash. Laundry was out in the rain, hanging from clothes lines, and draped over sagging and broken fences. Houses were right up against the narrow streets. Trash littered the streets, making it look messy. Looming clouds and the drizzling rain made everything look and feel worse. Sadness overtook me. It seemed more than I could bear. Suddenly I found myself fighting the same feelings I’d had earlier. Part of me wanted to go straight in and find her. We were so close! We sat there in the quietness, looking at the scene in front of us. My Romanian mama was just across the river from where I sat. Was this home? Unsettled thoughts whirled in my mind as we drove away. I would be ok, I told myself. But I was unsure, broken. For years I had tried to convince myself it wouldn’t be as bad as the pictures I had seen. It was. The pictures could not have been more accurate. A huge thankfulness for my parents came over me. For always been open with me about everything. And a protective love like none other for my biological mom. A part of me stayed behind on that road beside my birth moms village. I was home!

Geoagiu, Romania,from across the river.