I had given up hope.
My entire life I had never made any connections with anyone in my past biologically related to me. I had scant information about my birthmom, but nothing actionable. I didn’t even know her first name.
I was told she was white. My biological “father” was black. And I wasn’t planned. At all.
I was conceived in rape yet adopted in love. Out of 13 children in my family, I was the first of 10 adopted. Each of us had narratives the world uses to justify violently disappearing the “unplanned.” In fact, my upcoming book is called Should Have Been Aborted. It shatters the lies of a movement that dehumanizes the “unwanted” and exploits vulnerable women.
I thank God (every day) I didn’t become an abortion statistic, and I owe it to my birthmom’s courage. I cannot imagine the pain she endured at the hands of a rapist. But I’m forever grateful she didn’t make me endure a painful end at the hands of an abortionist. Instead, she chose adoption and put me into the hands of two amazing parents who loved me despite how I came to be.
Back in 2023, I applied to receive my original birth certificate in Pennsylvania. I thought for sure I would be rejected, considering the circumstances of my conception. Within two weeks, it was in my mailbox. I was so nervous to open it.
As I pulled the long-awaited piece of paper out of the envelope, my past slowly revealed itself. I saw my birthmom’s full name. Tears streamed down my face. I had to blink a few times so I could read it again. Her name was Sharon. Maybe, just maybe, I could finally find her and thank her for my life.
My heart was racing. I headed to Facebook. Bethany, my amazing wife, went to Google. It only took moments to find her … obituary.
I felt like someone punched me in my chest. For so many years, I had imagined what meeting Sharon face-to-face would look and sound like, and all I could feel was a painful hollowness. There would never be an opportunity to show her the beautiful reverberations her singular decision led to: my beautiful wife and four kiddos (two of whom were also adopted).
Two years went by. I had basically resolved to never know more about my past. I was grateful to have learned my birthmom’s name. She was still faceless, though. And my spirit was still restless. Back in October, I decided I had to search some more. All I wanted was a photo of her. Why do I look the way I do? My wife came and sat next to me and asked what I was doing. I was a bit emotional as I explained it. She pulled her laptop out and started typing away.
Minutes later, she reached over and held my arm: “Oh my word, babe. I found another obituary.” It was one of my birthmom’s sisters. In that tribute, we found more clues to living relatives. Facebook helped provide connections that confirmed we were on the right track. A few clicks later, I had the phone number of the last remaining sister of my birthmom. Her name is Carol.
It took me a week before I could muster up the will to call that number. Would the person on the other end be the right Carol? Would she want to talk to me? Would she even know that I existed? My heart was pounding…in my neck. The pulsations were crazy.
A sweet voice answered: “Hello?”
I greeted her and then awkwardly assured her I was not a telemarketer. I told her this call “might seem a bit strange.” I asked her about her sister, who recently passed. She confirmed the details. Then I asked her (although I’m leaving out last names here): “Did you know Sharon *****?”
“What is this call about?” she gently pressed.
“Many years ago, Sharon had a baby. And that baby was me,” I said with tears welling up in my eyes.
“No. No. Noooooo. Oh my gosh! I wanted to hold you so bad!” she cried in disbelief. I found out later that she was at the hospital when I was born. The staff would not allow her to hold me.
We talked for an hour. I learned a lot about my birthmom and who she was, which explained why I am the strong-willed person that I am. Carol was not only Sharon’s sister. She and her husband took in two of her sisters (Sharon and Debbie) and cared for them through high school. Throughout the phone call, she kept saying: “We always loved you. We wanted to know what happened to you.”
Carol was also the one who cared for my birthmom when she was pregnant with me.
She didn’t want to get off the phone for fear we would lose connection. I promised her we never would. So, weeks later, I flew my family down to Florida to visit her. We hugged tightly a few times. Thankfully, my kids captured it all on camera. She’s a remarkable and loving woman in her 80s, although you would think she was much younger. (Watch the reunion here.) And she gave me something I had wanted since I was a child — pictures of my birth mom!
Meeting my past affirms something far greater than just my own personal story: There’s no such thing as “unwanted.” My parents wanted me, and now, after many decades, I found out that there are biological family members who did too.
There’s so much more to this story. There are crazy moments that can only be explained by God orchestrating it all. These short videos explain this whole miraculous journey at www.AdoptedAndLoved.com/ryan. Watch them with family, friends and coworkers. My hope is that people can come to understand the generational impact of being stronger than our circumstances.
Let’s create a culture that believes, even in seemingly impossible situations, triumph can rise from tragedy.
Ryan Bomberger is the Chief Creative Officer and co-founder of The Radiance Foundation. He is happily married to his best friend, Bethany, who is the Executive Director of Radiance. They are adoptive parents with four awesome kiddos. Ryan is an Emmy Award-winning creative professional, factivist, international public speaker and author of NOT EQUAL: CIVIL RIGHTS GONE WRONG. He loves illuminating that every human life has purpose.
