Off Balance: A Memoir (8 page)

The Channel 10 segment closed with a Jerry Johnson comment:

“Dominique Moceanu, very, very talented and only nine years old, headed for the 1996 Olympics Games in Atlanta, no doubt. There are senior Elite-level gymnasts all over the world who cannot do a triple, and that’s a triple somersault on the dismount from the uneven parallel bars, and Dominique
M-ahr-cee-ah-no
can do one.”

I still value that first news story and never underestimate what it did for my career. I’m thankful for the memories and footage, and thankful, in particular, to Tata for making it happen. I already knew I loved the sport of gymnastics, but something unspoken, some new level of belief in myself, just clicked that day. I realized that beyond loving my sport, I
thrived
on performing gymnastics, especially
under pressure. I relished the aspect of others taking notice of my hard work.
This is awesome!
I thought. In my mind, I was no longer the small, skinny, awkward European kid; I was a 1996 Olympic hopeful! A fire had been lit under me. I knew I wanted to be an Olympic champion.

Chapter 4

THE LETTER

December 2007

Hi Dominique
,

My name is Jennifer Bricker. I’m not sure whether or not you have read the papers I sent you, but if you have, let me explain what they are all about. I’ve known my whole life that I was adopted and that my heritage was Romanian. Ever since I was about six years old, I’ve been obsessed with gymnastics and I always watched you on TV. In fact, you were kind of my inspiration to start competing myself! Anyway, right before I turned sixteen, I was asking my mom if
there was anything she had not told me about my adoption, and I was expecting her to say “no” because they (my parents) never kept any secrets from me, but she said “yes.” There was something she had not told me yet. She said that I would never believe her, so she told me that my biological last name was “Moceanu” and proceeded to show me the papers I sent you
.

I almost could not believe it myself. You had been my idol my whole life, and you turned out to be my sister! I was in extreme disbelief, and my immediate thought was that I wanted to meet you and let you know! So my whole family had known for quite a while, but they had to wait until I was older for a lot of different reasons to tell me, which was the right thing to do
.

My uncle is a retired private investigator, and he got in contact with Dumitru, your father. He talked to your father, and he did not deny that I was their biological child, but he would not return my uncle’s phone calls after that. So we stopped trying to contact you for a while because I did not want to seem pushy and I wanted to do this right. I feel that I have one chance to show you and prove to you that I’m not some crazy person, but I’m sure after seeing all of the papers, you’ll see that I’m serious. I’ve been a member of your website almost since the day I found out. I saw pictures of Christina, and you would not believe how much we look alike, it’s so crazy. The first time I saw a picture of her I got chills; my friends and family thought it was me on the computer!

I realize this must be a lot for you to take in right now, I mean, it is a lot for me too, but I’ve had a lot of years to soak it all in. I’ve been trying ever since I was sixteen (I’m now twenty) to think of the right way to get in contact with you. I thought about it almost every day. I would see different things on your website and see pictures of you and Christina and think, I wonder if they even know about me? I really hope we can get in contact; I would love that more than anything in the world!!

If you still for some reason do not believe me and the papers, I would even take a DNA test if you wanted, just to prove it. I’m up for anything; I just have already lost all of these years without ever meeting or knowing my two sisters. If you want to call me my number is
[redacted].
Please do not hesitate to call, I would really LOVE to hear from you, and I hope all is well!!

Jennifer

I lost count of the number of times I read Jennifer’s letter. I’d see her bubbly cursive writing on the envelope when I closed my eyes at night, and I could practically recite the letter from memory. When I first sifted through her package in the parking lot of the post office, I remember looking outside the tinted windows of my SUV to see if there was anything suspicious—a clue perhaps to make sense of everything. As silly as it sounds, I was halfway expecting Ashton Kutcher to jump out and say I’d been “punk’d!” Of course, that didn’t happen, but it seemed more likely at the time than what I was actually reading.

As brave and tough as I thought I was, I couldn’t bring myself to pick up the phone and dial Jennifer’s number. I was numb. I needed time to talk it over with my husband and Christina, and I most definitely needed face time with Mama and Tata so I could get the real story. I needed answers. Why had they kept this from me? How could I not know? I had questions swirling through my head so quickly, I couldn’t finish one thought before the next question jumped in. Here I was, finally enjoying the most “normal” stage of my life so far—happily married, inches from my college degree, and about to give birth to my first child. I didn’t want to cause Jennifer further pain by making her wait and wonder, but I needed time to digest this craziness. I was gaining a daughter and a sister all in a matter of weeks.

For my daughter, Carmen, I was prepared. I had been counting the days since I got pregnant and could hardly wait to meet her. Mentally and emotionally, I had never been more prepared for
anything. I had read every pregnancy and parenting book I could get my hands on, took my prenatal vitamins religiously, exercised, drank my daily water, and carefully monitored every stage of my pregnancy. I even wore compression stockings to limit swelling in my legs and feet. Every last detail of the nursery was complete and perfect, ready and waiting for Carmen’s arrival. The new cherry-wood crib, dresser, and changing table had been carefully placed, then moved and moved again until they were just right. We painted the walls a pretty light blue that reminded us of a cloudless sky on a warm summer day. Tiny onesies, newborn diapers, wipes, diaper cream, blankets, and baby books filled every corner of the room. We were ready.

But Jennifer, I wasn’t ready for her at all. To say I felt blindsided would be an understatement. On the one hand, one of my childhood dreams had finally come true. I had always fantasized about having a big family when I was younger. I figured having siblings who shared the same family, DNA, and lifestyle as me would be a godsend and would fill some of my loneliness, especially when it was just Mama, Tata, and me. After years of praying and begging, I was blessed with my sister, Christina, who was born August 24, 1989, one month before I turned eight years old. Oh, how I had wished for her, and she was the best birthday present ever. I couldn’t believe I had a sister, and I treasured her from the day she was born. Christina was my everything, and I was so happy to have her. She actually kick-started my desire for an even bigger family. I knew it was a bit greedy asking Mama for yet another sister, but Christina was so lovable with her big brown eyes and warm smile that I wanted more Christinas. I thought there was hope, but nothing ever happened. Years later, Mama confessed to me that she didn’t want any more children with Tata.
She didn’t want any more children with Tata
. Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. She longed for more children and would have been in her glory with an entire houseful, but “not with Tata.” Not with Tata’s violent temper
and unpredictable mood swings. His hot temper made raising a family very challenging, oftentimes unbearable, and it eventually drove a wedge between them. It saddened me to see Mama grow more distant from Tata throughout my childhood.

It felt like hours before I could pull myself together enough to start my car and leave the parking lot after reading through Jennifer’s package. I kept glancing down at the papers and photos piled on my lap and the passenger seat as I drove toward home. I just couldn’t get my head around the fact that since 1987, I’d had a biological sister in this world and I had absolutely no clue. I tried to do the math, backtracking nine months from Jennifer’s birth to get a picture of what was happening in our family, in my life, at that time. It just wasn’t adding up. Jennifer was born October 1, 1987, exactly six years and one day after I was born. All that time I was wishing for a sibling before Christina was born, I already had one! Mama delivered Jennifer the day after my sixth birthday. How could I not even remember Mama being pregnant? I was going in circles trying to retrace that period from five to six years old. I was always with Mama, hugging and snuggling with her. How could I not realize she was pregnant? I had spent endless hours at the gym, but Mama was there, too. Could I have been so focused on my own life that I missed something this big? Mama has always been petite, and I know she was quite small during her pregnancy with me, gaining only twenty pounds, but she must have been particularly small and hardly showing at all with Jennifer for me not to see or feel the change in her belly. Carmen kicked and repositioned herself as I pulled into the driveway of our home. The irony was overwhelming.

I made my way up the walkway and through our front door, which seemed to be growing narrower by the day, and plopped
down at the kitchen table to sift through the papers and photos yet again. I thought about how Tata always made sure I was kept from “adult talks” when I was younger. Both he and Mama believed children should be children and didn’t feel it was necessary for me to know too much, leaving me in the dark on many topics. Gymnastics kept my focus after school, and since I never hung out with the “cool” crowd at school, I was never privy to playground tales about the birds and the bees. I was so sheltered and naïve that I didn’t even know where babies came from until many years later as a high schooler. I’m sure I was completely out of earshot any time they discussed Mama’s pregnancy, especially after she delivered Jennifer. Also, my parents had continuous financial and marital troubles, so oftentimes I simply tuned out, just trying to stay out of the way. Perhaps I simply wasn’t present enough to notice Mama was expecting.

I sat in the kitchen, looking around the house, taking stock of how things had changed since I walked out my front door that morning. My dog and longtime companion Princess danced at my feet trying to get my attention. She sensed something was different and finally jumped on me and crumpled the papers on my lap to reach my face. I stroked her, but my mind was a million miles away. Here I was on the verge of motherhood, supposedly one of the most fulfilling and miraculous experiences of my life, and I was completely turned inside out. I had already been on emotional overload trying my hardest to keep my pregnancy hormones in check and eke out a solid ending to my semester before going into labor. Now, nothing felt normal, and I had a nagging feeling that nothing would until I reached out to Jennifer. She had just put her heart in a package and shipped it off to a complete stranger. I knew she’d want to hear from me, but was she expecting me to just pick up the phone and call her
today
? It was probably the decent thing to do since she had already been waiting four years, but I hadn’t even had four hours, and I just wasn’t there yet. She sounded so
grounded and at peace in her letter, yet I couldn’t help wondering if she was actually angry or harboring some deep resentment toward me—Mama and Tata didn’t give
me
away, after all.
I
was angry and resentful already; why wouldn’t she be? There were so many layers to this story, I didn’t know where to start or how. My own hurt and anger kept me from picking up the phone that afternoon. I wasn’t ready to hear her voice and have no place to hide if I couldn’t answer her questions.

I decided on a letter—a happy medium of sorts. I’d be reaching out to let Jennifer know that I received her package, but I’d maintain a bit of space, a buffer, so I didn’t have to bare my soul completely just yet. The letter got my message across loud and clear: I believe you, Jennifer. I also told her that I looked forward to talking with her, but it would have to wait. For now, my obligation was a healthy delivery for Carmen. Along with the letter, I sent a bouquet of flowers.

A sense of relief washed over me once I mailed the letter. It was much more difficult to write than I’d expected. I was an emotional mess and could barely see the computer screen through my tears. I was confused and angry. I couldn’t process the deep hurt I felt that Mama and Tata had kept this secret for twenty years. It took all of my strength to stop my tears for any length of time. I found myself crying most of the day, every day, for the following weeks. I literally had to will myself to school to complete my final exams. I remember looking around thinking how none of my classmates or professors had the slightest clue what was happening in my life, and I wondered if they were going through difficult times in their own lives. So strange how you can feel like you know people, yet so much remains hidden. We talked, exchanged pleasantries, and discussed the course material, but I never let them in on my little secret and I never learned any of theirs. I’d wondered how my few good girlfriends in my classes would have reacted had I shared my story, but it wouldn’t have been fair to
distract them with my own family drama right before their final exams anyway.