JENNIFER

Taking the lid off the tube and pulling the elongated cotton swab out by the stem, I stared at the at home science experiment. I looked at the instructions one more time before swabbing the inside of my cheeks, and placing the swab back in the tube carefully. I filled out the information on the attached form and then sealed the FedEx Envelope. 
I wouldn’t be hearing anything back for a few weeks but the results would be posted on the site with my login. 

A mix of anticipation and nerves whirled around in my stomach. There was so much about where we come from that just couldn’t be answered simply. I made up more than just one thing, I know that for sure. We all are. So what else is that something more? 

Think of it this way: There are trillions of stars in the sky, some even form constellations when grouped together. Those who know how to find them can connect them and identify them; but those who don’t simply look up and get lost in the vastness. 

While some are fine looking up and simply seeing stars, I want to look up and know I can connect the stars in my and my family’s constellations. I don’t mind the vastness, I just simply don't want to be lost in it. I want to know who else I’m connected to. 

And I know my dad does too. 

1963

“I’m sorry ma’am, but like I explained, your sons and your daughter have been adopted. There’s nothing left to do. Cindy’s adoptive parents have agreed to allow you visitation, but your son’s adoptive parents had a closed adoption. We cannot by law give you any information on them.”

The social worker tried her best to be understanding of a mother’s grief and worry, but her hands were tied and there was nothing more to do by the state. The anguished mother stared at her, eyes wide as her panic began to set in. 

“And I’m telling you that I don’t understand how that’s even a possibility! I did not sign away my rights and I did not give my kids up for adoption! I have 5 children! Where are my two youngest sons?!” 

“Again, I’m really sorry ma’am. But the reality is that your children were handed over to the state. When we couldn’t get a hold of you, we had to continue with the process of adoption. All I can tell you is that they were adopted together. I’m sorry.” 

The social worker sat in silence as the anguished mother stifled her cries into her palms. 

Closed Adoption. 

Closed Adoption.

Closed Adoption.

Terry and Gregory, I’m so sorry. 

JAMES BEEMAN

I make myself comfortable on the dining room table with my phone laid face up in front of me. I check the ringer to make sure it's turned on and at full volume for the third time. 

I clasp my hands together on the table and recite a silent prayer as I’m confronted by memories I kept archived next to the  questions I never got answers to. 

There isn’t much that I remember about being a kid even now. You could say it’s because I was too young to remember or because my own consciousness has decided to protect me from the trauma by blocking it out. If you ask me, I think my 62 years on this Earth have simply taken their toll. 

The topic of David and I’s adoption had always been a sensitive issue to say the least; and out of respect for my parents I decided to leave it as that and learn to live with the curiosity. My daughters, however, had a different stance. Jennifer and Kimberly decided to have their DNA tested with those ancestry registries and well, here I am.  

Maria walks into the kitchen either pretending to or needing a glass of water. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you for the call honey? I promise I won't say anything, I’ll just be here for moral support.”

I smile to myself at my wife’s repeated suggestion, “No, I’m alright honey. I just think I’d like to do this on my own for right now. But I’ll come to you after and let you know how it goes?”

She gives me a small smile in resignation and walks over to give me a kiss on the cheek before heading back into our bedroom. She is a wonderful wife and the most loving person. When my daughters found out about their ancestry results, they meant to keep it to themselves and have it be my Father’s Day gift a couple weeks later. 

Upon speaking to their mother, she made them realize that the severity of the issue and the surrounding circumstances meant this was something that could not be kept that long. So that leaves me here on my dining room table, heart racing and palms sweating as I will my phone to ring. 

What I do  remember from being a kid was growing up in Mexico, the son of a Missionary couple. My dad had gotten the offer shortly after adopting my brother and I from an orphanage in Missouri. Originally, only David would be adopted by my parents, but upon finding out that my older brother and I would be a packaged deal, I got adopted too. 

The circumstances of our adoption had always been fuzzy and my parents never seemed willing to expand on the subject outside of the basic information. From what we understood, we were taken from a home as young children because an older sister had brought us to CPS. Both my parents were abusive, or I’ve been told. From there, David and I were adopted but we never heard about the sister that turned us in or what happened to our birth parents after our adoption.
We’ve also never received anything from our previous life. Benefits of a closed adoption I guess you could say. One more thing I do know that my dad let slip once was that our original last name before the adoption was Tinnin.

Interesting to think about the little boy who would’ve answered to the name in school if he would’ve had the chance. That little boy had a sister. A sister who was cognizant and brave enough to recognize that the conditions under which we were living were less than ideal, and look for sanctuary for both David and I. 

I’ve never known what happened to her after she turned us in. I wouldn’t even be able to tell you if she went back to our parents or was adopted separately. Frankly, I’ve never even known her name. But that would change soon. Everything would.

Because when my phone rings I’ll speak to my older sister for the first time and I’ll get a few more answers to the questions I was always afraid to face.  

The vibrations of an incoming call ricochet through the table as the first ring echoes in the air. Immediately, I am launched back to that night so many years ago, “ What do you want to do before you join God in heaven?” 
The heat from the bonfire in front of us crackled, absorbing the silence that we ached to fill. It was a simple question and my answer was truthful and from the heart. That fourth of July weekend has been the mark of something I hadn't realized for me. It was a hope and a prayer that I knew God would hear but deliver only when he deemed it was time. 

“I want to meet my siblings. I was adopted at 8 months old and I never got to know who they were or where they went. All I want is to meet them one day.” 

The second ring of the call blasts through the speakers on my phone and I was brought back to the present with that question lingering in my mind– my prayer really, truly, finally being answered. 

“Dad?”, Kimberly and Jennifer looked into my eyes as I stared at my dining room table blankly. After so many decades could it really be? Had they really found them?

“Dad, are you okay?” Kimberly asked, reaching for my hand on the table. Maria soothed me as she massaged my back in big circular motions. 

“How can you be sure?” I asked, finally coming out of my daze. 

“Well Cindy and I had our suspicions at first,” Kimberly began, “because she had been looking for you under a different name. But the DNA wouldn’t lie and neither did your birthday.”

I looked at my daughter's eyes and wondered what they would see if they met her. What I would see in my sister's eyes when I finally met her. “Cindy?” I asked bewildered, “that's her name?”

I felt the well of tears behind my eyes begin to overflow. Kimberly looked at me and I saw the moment her heart seemed to swell. She smiled at me softly as her own eyes began to water.

“Yes dad, that’s her name.”

The third ring of the call rang in the air and I was startled to pick up the phone from the table. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t picked up yet. After so many years of longing to know where I came from, this would be that defining moment for me. 

This was my sister. 

My sister was calling. 

Pick up the phone James. 

Answer the call. 

I’m not sure where this will go. What these supposed answers I’ve been seeking will lead to. Did she love us but just didn't know how to? Why had she let things get this far?

How old was she and how young had she once been? Would I also get to meet her? Ask her? Love her? She had been my mother, at least for those first eight months of my life. Did she regret not getting to be for the rest of my life?

Another ring roamed in the air, but I didn’t let it echo out this time. I clicked the green button and took a breath as I pulled up the phone to my ear.

“He-Hello? Is this Cindy?”

GREGORY LEON TINNIN

My suitcase is lying on the mattress of my wife and I’s bedroom. Her half of the luggage is packed and set to go while I fold and refold the same few shirts. I roam around the room looking for the essential items I know I need but can’t seem to find.  All I have managed to add are a few pairs of socks.  

This week, we will be traveling to Missouri for our first family reunion with my siblings and their children. One big family connected at last. There are no words to describe how utterly blessed I feel at this moment, how grateful. It almost doesn’t feel real. All I can say is that God makes miracles as long as we have faith and patience. He knew that I wanted to be reunited with my siblings, but he also knew that there would be a time for it. All  had to do is hold onto that faith and that belief in him.

Cindy and I had spoken for what felt like an eternity and a single minute all at once. After relishing in the happiness of finally having found each other we took some time to recount the events that led to our separation. 

Most of all, I took pleasure in finding that not only did I have a sister but a fleet of siblings. There were five of us total and I am the youngest of us. We were all born within a year of the previous one so our age differences are not big at all. 

Our mother had been in an abusive relationship with my father for years. He had been an alcoholic and a womanizer. When my mother finally decided to leave him she set off to build our life in a different town. She left my siblings and I in the care of our maternal grandmother and set out to find a job and housing for us to move. 

Our grandmother's house hadn’t been much. After all, we were poor and times were hard. She had a single bedroom for the six of us total but I assume we made due. My great-grandmother was the one to call CPS, though her reasoning for doing so isn’t truly known or understood. However, it was then that my siblings and I became wards of the state and were put up for adoption. 

It’s said that my grandmother tried contacting my mother multiple times. However, it was a different age and communication was not what it is today. By the time our mother finally made it back, Cindy, David and I had already been adopted. 

Cindy’s adoptive family had agreed to an open adoption and so Cindy grew up knowing and spending time with both our mother and our siblings. David and I had been a different story. Upon being adopted, our adoptive parents had left the state and changed our names on top of having a closed adoption. Finding us had become that much more difficult. But she never gave up. Not once. Not for a minute. 

For the next several decades, she would raise Sherri and Tom and have contact with Cindy while also seeking out her remaining two sons. Over the years she rebuilt her life and remarried. In that marriage she would have two more sons, my half siblings Scott and Tracey. 

Life had taken its turn and fate had other plans for my mother and for us, her children. She may not have gotten to raise us all herself but she had been a mother even from afar. She passed two years before Cindy and I would reconnect. Her last request before passing had been that my siblings never stop looking for my brother David and I. 

I never got to meet her. I never got to know her. I have no memory of her and now I never will. God had other plans for my reunion with my birth mother and I have to trust that he knows best. After all he has gotten me this far and like I already said, I feel beyond blessed with what he’s given me. 

Our mother may not have gotten to raise David and I, but we grew up loved and cared for by two wonderful amazing parents. I have three outstanding children and a loving wife that have filled my life with even more love than I could’ve ever hoped for. I have never felt unloved or unfortunate. I know that she would have taken comfort in knowing that. Especially now that that love has grown by six more. 

I get to spend the rest of this life getting to know and spending time with my siblings. Getting to know our mother through their eyes and the moments they shared with her. I take comfort in the hope that she can see us reunite from heaven.  Her dream would come true.This reunion is a continuation of the love and the connection we already carried without ever knowing. We were tethered all along. Now we get to connect the dots. 

I let out a peaceful sigh as I placed the last shirt into the suitcase. My essentials are packed and my half of the luggage full. Maria walked into the room and broke me out of my daze, “Ready to go honey?”

As I’ll ever be. 

JAMES GREGORY

The room was filled with faces that were familiar and new all the same. Hugs had been exchanged earnestly and tears had been more than shed in the last 20 minutes. This was it. Here we were. After 5 decades I had finally found the rest of my family. Sherri, Tom, Cindy, David, Tracey, Scott and I. After so much time we were all something more but part of each other nonetheless. 

Sherri, my oldest sister, kept looking over at my son Brandon but not saying anything. As he had grown up, I’d always been asked if he was my son by blood given that he had a darker complexion than both my wife and I. Of course, I understood people’s curiosity but we’ve never had an explanation for why it had been that way. Scott also seemed to take an interest in both my daughters. His attention would stray to their faces and I couldn’t help but be aware of it. I am protective over my daughters and this of course was our first time meeting. 

That however, was the moment in which I realized that he was being reminded of someone I wouldn’t have recognized in their appearance. All my siblings seemed entranced by how much my children reminded them of our parents. Brandon now could attribute his complexion to that of my fathers, as he too was of a darker tone. Jennifer and Kimberly, as I was told, were the image of my mother in a way that none of my nieces or nephews were. Scott described how looking at Kimberly was like looking at our mom and having a piece of her still in front of him. 

The family albums were then brought out and I was finally able to place a face to the woman I had always wished I knew. Despite having missed most of our lives and infancy, we were able track that growth and those memories in these images. We spent the rest of the afternoon talking, crying, laughing, and coexisting under the same roof. This was our constellation. Our vastness mapped out and interconnected between all seven of us, my mother’s children. 

“I was wondering if you might tell me where I could visit mom’s grave?” I asked after some time.

Sherri looked up into my eyes and gave me the smile that I could only describe as that of an older sister. 

“I’ll take you to her.”, she answered simply.

“We all will.”

JOSEPHINE RACKMAN (Oct 26, 1941-2018)

We walked between rows and rows of graves. Some were littered in flowers of all types while others seemed abandoned by the years. 

Sherri led the way as we all followed suit. I felt as if I had been transported back to a childhood I would never have and could not possibly remember. I followed behind my big sister as she led the way through the scary part. The one I didn't want to face.

There were so many questions that I still had. Questions I would never get the answers to. And despite having made some sense of peace with that at one point I can't help but still want to know. 

I wish, I wish, and I wish upon a star that always looked down upon me but I could never hear.

So instead of growing obsessed with all that I still do not know, I focus on the answers and the blessings God has offered me thus far. 

I am James Gregory Beeman, born Gregory Tinnin. I have six brothers and sisters. My birth mother may not have been able to raise me and my siblings together, but she loved us more than I would ever get to experience. From this day forth, I will make the most of the time God has planned for my siblings and I.

I want to be with them

Spend time with them. 

Get to know them and pieces of our mother through them. 

We were bound together waiting on a miracle trying to find ourselves as the world grew dark and the sky disappeared. But we hold on tight until the afterglow  and we’ll burn so bright till the darkness softly clears. 

We are family, all my brothers, sisters, and me.

Sherri, Tom, Cindy, David, Tracey, Scott, — and I. 

One constellation.

Sherri stops in front of our mothers grave  and looks up to me with that same big sister smile as before. We all curve around in front of her headstone and I kneel to deliver the bouquet.

My mother had faith that we would find each other. If only she had been here to see her faith come through. 

“I’m here mom,” I say through the tears and the break in my voice, “your dream came true. We’re all here.”

Sherri squeezed my shoulder as I rose. All my siblings and I gathered in our first big hug and I was greeted with a different type of peace in that moment. Not a peace that I had to come to terms with, but one that I shared in that feeling of being seen and understood. 

It’ll be like this from now on. All of us together. Some Tinnin, others Beeman and Ratcliff. Josephine’s children. 

Connected always, tethered to one another, and together at last.