SALMON RUN: Finding my Birth Mother

by Michael Ken Stewart

The headline is, “I found my birth mother!” This moment was an culmination of a lifetime of unease mixed with wonder. As an adoptee, I have created endless stories about the who, what, when, where and why of my adoption. Every birthday, I would wonder if she thinks about me or if she misses me. Also, what my life would have been if I had grown up in Japan with her and him. 

This past November, I returned to Tokyo to find answers to my questions. I had two addresses in my boshi techō (Maternal and Child Health Handbook) that lead me to the narrow streets of Nishirokugo, Ota City (section of south Tokyo). To my surprise, the second address was a house with a sign that had my birth family's name inscribed. I felt a jolt of excitement and also frustration about how easy it was to find. After all this time, I just had to walk here? I wished I had done it sooner. After the excitement died down, I was faced with a daunting decision. What do I do now? Do I knock or leave a letter? It didn’t help that a neighbor came outside to ask what I was doing there. I thought about lying to him about how I was looking for a lost friend but I hadn’t traveled thousands of miles to hide so, I told him.  The cat was now out of the bag. Certain that gossip would make its way around the area, I said thank you and started walking. After many confusing laps around the area contemplating what to do, I decided to allow the adoption agency I was working with to send a formal letter to the address to try to make contact. I had only a week and half left in Japan so I really was crossing my fingers that something would happen. 

In the meantime, I walked around Ota City trying to imagine the life my birth mother might have lived growing up in the area. What parks she played at. The buses and trains she must have taken to get around. The walks or bike rides she took along the river. 

I also visited the hospital where I was born.  With each step, I tried to feel the weight of carrying a baby and the weight of an unknown future ahead. The stress, pain, and hope of it all. I found a park next to the hospital and something told me she sat there contemplating our future. In hindsight, this was my attempt to reach her.

I also visited family friends in Ogikubo, where I attended preschool.  They run a soba noodle restaurant called Tamagawa, named after the river just a block over. [If you are ever in Japan please go! Tell them Michael sent you.] There I was met with the warmest smiles and a warm meal. They even showed me how to make Tempura properly. I can’t explain how much that soba shop means to me and my family. 

Fast forward to three days before I was set to leave Japan. I made one final visit to the orphanage I lived in for the first year of my life. Caretakers that had taken care of me 30 years ago greeted me. I didn’t know they were still around. It was quite a surprise! I still hadn’t heard from the adoption agency so I was finding peace with not finding my birth mother this time. After all, I had learned so much already. 

A couple of hours later on the train, I got a call from the agency. Nervous, I didn’t pick up the call. But I did check my e-mail and I had a message saying that they had made contact with my birth mother and she wants to meet! I nearly choked on my spit on the train. I waited until I got out of the station and called the agency back. They told me she said she knew I would come back to find her someday and that she wanted to meet. Since I had 48 hours left in Japan, we set the meeting for the following evening! I was so nervous. 

I spent the day leading up to the meeting making a PowerPoint of my life. It was a tricky task. I mean, how do you compress your life into a set of slides? Which photos tell my story the best? When the time rolled around, I made my way to the agency offices to meet my birth mother. 

Once I arrived, we sat down in the conference room. I was anxious to say the least. What does she look like? Will she be friendly or mean? What will she say? All these thoughts ran through my head while I casually drank tea. Then, the doorbell rang and the case worker got up to greet her. I could only hear the little shuffle of feet and hushed sounds of greetings. One last deep breath in and out - here we go. She walked into the room. White coat and pants with a pink purse and pink gloves. One bow and then a big hug. Immediately, she asked me a particular question, “Is your throat okay?” Turns out she is allergic to dust so she was worried I also had respiratory problems. Very motherly.  We sat down and she opened up immediately about what had happened. I was surprised at how open she was. I was even more surprised when she pulled out an omamori (amulet or charm) with a photo of me when I was born and a photo of herself from that time. She told me she has carried the photo and omamori for the last 30 years. I was never forgotten. So much was lifted off my shoulders at that point. This moment shifted a narrative I have told myself for my entire life. She was hurting as much as I was. Both of us longing to reconnect with each other. I am forever grateful for her grace and courage. 

After our initial meeting, I was able to see her once more at her apartment before heading to the airport. The biggest thing for me was seeing the similarities we shared. I saw in her a shared creativity, forthrightness, seriousness, goofiness, and nervousness. I was not raised by her but I felt like I was seeing myself reflected in ways I hadn’t seen before.

When I set out on this trip, I knew I had to be okay with any scenario. I could not have predicted how things would finally unfold. All the twists and turns lead to an outcome that left me so thankful. The biggest take-away was that I had so much love in my life. I have a hard time acknowledging love but when it smacks you in the face you pay attention. Thank you to everyone at the adoption agency, the orphanage, my family friends, the new friends I made, my family back in Seattle and my birth mother. 

A mother’s love I will never comprehend. You give up your child with a deep faith that he will find a way in the toughest of circumstances. And with the deep hope that we would find our way back to each other one day. I am your courage. I am your strength. I am your love. 

Thank you!