She stumbled through the door overloaded with books and papers after a long morning of researching to find something, anything, that would bring her answers. Her hope was draining away. She had searched every piece of history and chased every lead, all in the hopes of finding one thing, a name. A name of anyone she could call family. Yet every journey down every trail was a dead end. She had no one to call her own and it seemed she could find no one who ever called her theirs. As she trudged toward the stairs, the usually empty bulletin board caught her eye. It was covered in random scraps of notes and paper all turned over except for one.
The familiar writing—”MAKE THINGS HAPPEN.”
She flashed back to last night’s declarations of defeat to which her best friend had replied, “you don’t always need the perfect answer to make things happen, sometimes what you already have is enough.” She dismissed the comment, but now as she replayed it in her mind, her curiosity began to take over. She grabbed a note from the board, flipped it over, and read “I am your family—Sarah.” She grabbed another, “I am your family—James” and another and another. One by one she pulled the notes and flipped them to see friends and co-workers and neighbors all remind her that she was never without family. No matter what answers she did or didn’t find about her past, she knew was already home.
