How do I express the feelings someone experiences after thirty-eight years of separation?
I know that those of you who have been reading my weekly reflections have probably been anticipating the events leading up to the video call. The truth is, the events of that day were so personal to me that sometimes the emotions are difficult to put into words.
How do I express the feelings someone experiences after thirty-eight years of separation?
Some people may say they don't understand how you can have feelings for someone who placed you for adoption. Others may say they understand the longing and pain of being separated from their mother. The emotions are always complicated.
For me, however, the feelings I experienced that day were both overwhelming and exciting at the same time.
I recently watched a documentary about a Korean adoptee from the Netherlands. During her reunion with her birth parents, there was a noticeable hesitancy in those first moments together. She explained that she immediately knew these people were her parents, yet at the same time, they were complete strangers. Although her mother wanted to hug, kiss, and embrace her long-lost daughter, those feelings were not immediately mutual. She needed time to process everything she was experiencing.
That documentary reminded me that every Korean adoptee's journey is unique. No two reunions are the same, and no two people experience them in exactly the same way.
However, let's get back to my own story and why I shared that documentary.
In my last reflection, I was sitting at my kitchen table with my phone in my hand, waiting to receive my very first FaceTime call from my birth mother.
Yes, I was sitting there realizing that, after thirty-eight years, I was finally about to see my mother's face for the very first time.
But in all the excitement, nervousness, and anticipation of finally seeing her, I hadn't stopped to think about one very important detail—we weren't actually going to be able to communicate.
Before I continue with the story, I should explain how I already knew FaceTime wasn't going to provide live translation.
A few days earlier, I had the opportunity to FaceTime my younger sister for the first time. To be honest, I don't even remember why I called her that day, but I do remember she was grocery shopping when she answered.
Although KakaoTalk translated our text messages, it didn't offer live translation for voice or FaceTime calls.
It was incredibly exciting to finally see my sister's face after exchanging so many messages. But within seconds, we both realized we had a problem.
She spoke very little English.
I spoke no Korean.
We looked at each other through our phone screens, smiling, making hand gestures, and speaking in our own native languages, hoping the other person somehow understood what we were trying to say.
After several minutes of unsuccessfully trying to communicate, we simply laughed, waved goodbye, and ended the call.
Sometimes a smile really is a universal language.
Now...
Back to my mother's FaceTime call.
As the phone began ringing, I suddenly realized this conversation was going to be exactly like the one I had just experienced with my sister.
My mother didn't speak English.
I didn't speak Korean.
So how were we going to communicate?
I took a deep breath...
...and pressed the green button.
There on my screen was my mother and her friend.
It was nighttime in Korea, so it was a little difficult to see her face clearly, but I recognized her immediately. I had seen her photographs many times before.
She was absolutely beautiful.
At that moment, everything became real.
This was the mother I had been missing my entire life.
Even though it was dark and the video quality wasn't perfect, there was no doubt in my mind.
This was my mother.
I greeted her with the only Korean phrase I knew.
"Hello, Eomma."
The moment I said those words, a smile spread across her face.
She responded in Korean.
To this day, I'm sure my mother remembers exactly what she said to me.
The truth is...
I don't remember a single word.
What I do remember is her voice.
"The truth is... I don't remember a single word. What I do remember is her voice."
This was my mother's voice.
The voice I first heard when I entered this world.
The voice that comforted me when I cried.
The voice that probably sang to me when I was little.
The voice I hadn't heard for nearly four decades.
Although I couldn't understand what she was saying, her voice sounded soft, gentle, and comforting.
Somehow...
It still felt like home.
Our FaceTime call didn't consist of much conversation. There were lots of smiles, plenty of hand gestures, and two people trying their best to connect despite a language barrier.
But even without words, something incredible happened.
For the very first time, we weren't looking at old photographs.
We were seeing each other in real time.
That alone was an incredible blessing.
The FaceTime call wasn't very long. My mother was taking a break from work and only had a few minutes to see my face.
Yet those few minutes represented decades of waiting, wondering, searching, and hoping.
They were worth every second.
After the call, we agreed to schedule another time when we could have a longer conversation. I also promised my mother that I would find a way for us to communicate through translation.
Looking back now, I sometimes believe things happen exactly when they're supposed to.
I believe God has a plan for each of us.
I'm not trying to turn this reflection into a religious message, but I would be doing a disservice if I didn't acknowledge how much my faith has shaped my journey.
Had I reunited with my mother back in 2001, our ability to communicate would have been incredibly limited. The technology simply didn't exist. There were no live translation apps, no AI interpreters, and no tools capable of bridging two languages the way they can today.
Maybe I wasn't meant to reunite with my mother back then.
Maybe the timing wasn't wrong.
Maybe it simply wasn't time yet.
In an earlier reflection, I shared how joining a Korean church reignited my desire to search for my birth family once again. Looking back now, it's incredible to see how each step of my journey prepared me for reunion.
Today, I can honestly say that I feel truly blessed.
Every step—even the painful ones—led me to that FaceTime call.
And for that, I thank God every single day.
Reflection
Reunion isn't always defined by the words that are spoken.
Sometimes it's a smile.
Sometimes it's a familiar face.
Sometimes it's simply hearing a voice you've waited a lifetime to hear.
For me, one press of a green button didn't just answer a phone call.
It reunited a mother and son who had been separated for thirty-eight years.