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Click

As a very young child, I hated the click of my bedroom light switch at night as it announced my parents’ departure. I am told my panic and screeching tore away any hope of playful bedtime kisses and wishes. Even to this day, if someone tells me to go to bed I bristle. I recently realized my opposition is likely because I woke up one day without my birth family.


Bedtime signifies loss.


A week ago, I felt the subtle click of a switch in reverse. After fully scrutinizing my adoptions papers for the first time in my life, I learned the name of the Korean Orphanage director, KWAK Sun Yong, who cared for me 53 years ago. On a whim, I typed his name into the Google, and a website dedicated to him popped up. My understanding is that Mr. Kwak was a very kind man who worked tirelessly with very few provisions. The website admin is one of the many soldiers who volunteered to help the orphans during their free time, bringing comfort along with treats. The humble visual of what my parents could only describe to me in rare morsels brought on a torrent of tears. When I stopped heaving, the internal click of the switch was almost auditory, ushering in peace.


My point? Not sure… I encourage adoptive parents to gather as much information for their children as possible – photos of where they were born or found – even it if is only a doorstep of a church. Having visual proof of their identity might be helpful – when/if they are ready to look at it.


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