Search News

I think a few entries back I discussed the possibility of someone in WA being able to have an inside to getting my records! well… that turned out to be a dead end. I already knew all of the information that she was able to give me. I'm not sure what she thought that she could do for me, but Ive been doing this for over 10 years now, this search process and I know all the WA state law and the fact that I need a CI. I'm a little frustrated, because I thought we had a bit of an understanding when I talked to her that I was really asking her to see what she could do on the down low. I didnt ask her to break any laws or anything, but sometimes having someone on the inside can open doors (and in my case – I was hoping.. files) that you cant get otherwise. I dont know. But apparently this is how it goes. So I think for right now, the search is at another stand still. Until I get my non-ID from Olympia, (next freakin year!) and until I get back to WA to look through those divorce records.. then there's not alot I can do.

My roommate has helped me begin to look at the school districts in the Renton area, but that is such a freakin long shot. I only have first names, no idea about schools, and only an estimated year of graduatation because I have two different ages documented. (sigh). Well, I suppose this is the search process. and this is what i get for not believeing that WA state law has my best interests at heart – trying to keep me from what is mine.

I'm angry and tired of knowing that those files are just SITTING there, I'm getting older and the chance of my finding them still seems so out of reach. I wish i knew a judge who would write me a letter. I'm angry that the rights of the birth mother are all that seem to matter, what about my freakin right to KNOW? I'm tired of looking at people wondering if they belong to me.

This is bullshit

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One thought on “Search News

  1. “I’m tired of looking at people wondering if they belong to me.”

    There is such longing here, such expectation. I have had to make a family out of the friends I surrounded myself with, though for reasons far different from yours.

    For me, though, it was only when I was about nineteen that I knew that at least other people’s reactions to me assured them that I belonged to the family of my mother: I would walk down a Harlem street, having moved there from Michigan, and these really old people, aged 77 and such, would reach out and grab my arm, and ask, “Aren’t you sister Cunningham’s child?” (my grandmother). I look like none of them, but the old people saw something, and that was enough for me.

    Peace.

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