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Published by jas2maui
Leilani...The story of a woman conceived through rape who finds her birth mother and father after 51 yrs.
Leilani...The story of a woman conceived through rape who finds her birth mother and father after 51 yrs.

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Published by: jas2maui on Jul 12, 2009
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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Donna Sorensen
The loudspeaker was piercing my anxious anticipation. Mental pictures were flashing andcrashing like neon lights gone haywire. Suddenly there was no distinction between reason or season. It was miracle time. My birth mother, whom I had just been reunited with bytelephone, was about to disembark Hawaiian Airlines at the Kahului airport on a spectacularlysunny November afternoon.My heart was racing, the photographers were waiting, and as the doors swung open with thatfamiliar clank, I strained for a glimpse of my unknown Leilani lady about to enter my life. Shehad nursed me, cuddled me, and lastly released me, so that opportunities in life wouldhopefully free me.Now, filled with ecstasy and unimaginable joy, we were being reunited after fifty one years.With arms filled with fragrant multi-colored flower leis, I leaned forward to get a better view.My shocked spirit, my heaven drenched soul, was about to embrace its loving co-creator.What a toast and testimony to life. As I stood waiting, crying and smiling, I remembered that
9-23-1992...Kahului AirpotKahului, Maui, Hawaii
extraordinary phone call, placed on a lovely Maui morning in August, only four months before.It was the unfolding of packaged fate, beautifully wrapped in fluffy foo foo with a heavenlymessage saying I love you."I am a real person," my inner voice shrieked, when told there were files verifying my birth.Someone had been kind enough to carry me into the world, just to give me life, and another had chosen to lovingly support it. My God, what a blessing. My identity search had beenlaunched and I was already on the edge of blurred or occurred, the answers pressing on thewindow waiting to be unveiled. The adoption agency was sending secrets of record whichwould smash and trash my tightly held pictures squeezed into the puzzle frame of my identity.Was she still living? Could I locate her? My mind was wild with excitement, consideringoptions previously ignored. Might she too have registered? This new option for biologicallyseparated persons searching for their other half had been widely publicized.My spirit soared, ringing my senses with mighty messages of validation as I listened to thesocial worker reading my adoption records. Had I truly felt all my life that I was not a realperson? I could not believe my initial reaction. This astounding thought and inner revelation Iwould ponder for months to follow.The instructions were simple. I had now registered and the next step was to wait. Ignoring myyearnings for more, I prayed for acceptance of whatever God's will would reveal, hoping thatsomeone would come forward seeking to fill the same void.To my shock and total surprise, a phone call came on another sunny morning, in September,only a month later. "Donna, this is Ray Cherosky from the Children's Home Society. Are youready to meet your birth mother?"I breathlessly replied, "You must be joking. Who is this really?" He patiently restated four times the reason for the call, and each time I doubted his every word. Finally after catchingmy breath and assuring myself this was not a dream, with my heart pounding like a jackhammer, I said "Yes."My birth mother and I were reunited on the 23rd of September, l992. Our reunion began onthe telephone, with babblings of love and gratitude falling forth through the receiver intoawaiting craving. In rapid succession we spoke of all that was missed, and all that had been,and what could be for now and then. The ironies, coincidences, and details were startling.We were reunited almost nine months to the day after the death of my adopted mother, whohad passed away in the early hours on Christmas morning the year before. A birth in reverse.My birth mother and I each had little information, yet found the adoption agency andregistered within two years of each other. We had heard the same Voice, at the same time,urging us to find each other, but neither had any substantial facts to help initiate that search.Divinely said and willingly led, we both reached out for one another almost simultaneously,and soon fifty one years of separation was to change to a time of celebration. Unconsciouslongings would finally be fulfilled.I had been adopted by wonderful loving parents, who with utmost devotion raised me and myadopted brother, five years my junior. I grew up in Berkeley, in the San Francisco Bay Area,
during the 50's and 60's. Had it not been for my marriage, and two sons, the Haight-Ashburydays could have brought my early demise. Resisting peer pressure was not one of my better traits, as the need for acceptance often over shadowed my good judgement.Growing up I had all the advantages anyone could wish for. Knowing I was adopted made mefeel special, however I thought I might search one day for my birth parents, after my mom anddad were gone. Doing so while they were living would have hurt them far too deeply to justifythat decision. I truly do not remember lamenting over my genetic darkness, in fact myadoption was a verbal badge of pride. My brother, however, never once talked of his adoption, as if he simply arrived in the usualmanner, and I was content with his viewpoint. When our father died on May 26, l986, wefinally discussed our childhood, sharing the gratitude of having been adopted by suchwonderful parents. His death transformed our relationship.Hawaii captured my heart when I was fifteen years old. Two glorious vacations were spent inthe Hawaiian islands before I reached the age of twenty. Each time I had experienced thatmagnificent sail from San Francisco to Honolulu on the illustrious Lurline. The time waspicture book perfect for all who drank of the lovely balmy Aloha spirit blanketing the islands,and I vividly remember throwing flowers into the water, committing to always return, hopefullyto stay one day.My adopted mother told me the name given to me at birth was Dianne Leilani, changed bythem to an equally lovely one, however it was the "Leilani" I clung to, hoping for a sign of mymerging destiny with Hawaii. The romantic notion I might have been conceived in heavenlyHana enhanced my love for the islands, and so it was, in l975, after a second marriage wasfinalized in ceremony on Maui three years before, I moved to Maui, where I have lived withmy two sons for the past twenty years.This period of my life has been the most fulfilling, second only to my child-bearing days. I amwhole, and probably never will feel rooted to the islands like my spirit desires, however myinward journey during this time, nourished by the spiritual beauty of the islands and its people,has been transformational. I eagerly await the time to replace the gifts I have received, thegreatest being my time here. To say, "I was adopted and now live in Hawaii," has been egobound pride speaking, but not once have I wished it were different. I knew fate held it all, theanswers, reasons, and the decisions for why. What would be would be. If I was meant to meetmy birth mother, that would be a miracle. If not, that would be fine too. I had loved my life, andwhatever God had planned I hoped to meet with surrender and serenity. Now I stood waitingfor recognition. Our private yet public display of heightened emotions would soon splash across the canvaslike rain on the pavement. The chatter was coming towards me. "Please be on that plane," Imuttered to myself as people began passing by me.Suddenly my mind departed. I thought I could see her emerging within the passenger carry-on crowd. Oh my God, struggling to hold back fifty one years, I started moving towards her with out-stretched yearning, plunging toward that deeply longed for mother and child reunion. As we fell into each other's being, my miracle moment having finally arrived, the void was

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