Everything Is Possible

A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another.

A lot has been made of the story of how I reached out to my sister, Olympic gymnast Dominique Moceanu, and told her I was her long-lost sister. She wrote about it in her memoir. We talked about it in newspapers and magazines and TV interviews. But it’s really just half the story. To me, the most important half is what came after that initial meeting: how my relationship with both my sisters and my biological mother has evolved. The story isn’t over, because we’re just finding our way in one another’s lives.

I always knew I was adopted, and that fact didn’t trouble me much. My parents knew eventually one day I’d get curious and start digging, but they hoped it would come later rather than sooner. My adoption was supposed to be closed; I wasn’t even supposed to know who my birth parents were. But God was working overtime. He made sure that the social worker made a clerical error and gave my parents all that information. He knew one day I would need to reach out to Dominique.

That day came when I was sixteen. My friend Kassi was adopted and had found out her biological last name. It seemed so cool and mysterious—a piece to a puzzle. Could I find out mine? What would that reveal about me? I had never been curious about it before, never had any reason to think my parents were holding anything back. But God put the idea in my mind. It was time.

“So,” I said to begin the conversation with my mom. “Do you know what my last name was when I was born? Do you know anything about my birth parents?”

Her reaction was kind of like Hold that thought! as she went to call my dad and ask him what to tell me. Should she wait until he got home from work? Should they tell me at all when I was still so young? He told her not to keep me waiting any longer—so she didn’t. She pulled out a manila envelope filled with papers.

“Now, Jennifer,” she began. “You’re never gonna believe this.” She laid out on the table all the documents she’d kept. “Your biological last name is Moceanu.”

I knew. I just knew. On some level, I had always known. I think she was waiting for me to have a reaction but I didn’t. On the outside I must have seemed eerily calm, but inside I was freaking out. “Dominique’s my sister.” It was a statement, not a question. It all made sense now. My parents, of course, had put two and two together several years ago. While watching the Olympics with me, they saw the fourteen-year-old gymnast I was fixated on—and the names of her parents, who were watching in the audience. My mom had seen their signatures on my adoption papers. She knew at that moment my idol was also my sister.

But they made the very difficult decision not to say anything—not just yet. They didn’t think it would be fair to either of us. I respect their decision and know it came from the purest of places in their hearts. Do I wonder what would have happened if I had known sooner? Sure. We missed out on a lot of years that we could have been living as sisters. But like I said, on some level I think I did know. I just needed it confirmed, and I needed to be ready to hear it.

Armed with my new knowledge, I went into detective mode and did some research online. I wanted to understand how I was born in Illinois when Dominique was born in LA. The answer was that my birth family had moved around the United States so that Dominique could train with different coaches. Our younger sister, Christina, was actually born in Tampa. I started to make sense of it all. When I went on Dominique’s website and saw a picture of Christina for the first time, it was like I was looking at a photo of myself. So that’s what I’d look like if I had legs! My dad walked by and quickly glanced at the picture on the screen. “Jen, when did you go skiing?” he asked.

“I didn’t, Dad. That’s my younger sister.” She could have been my twin—not even my father could tell us apart.

I knew I had to get in touch with Dominique, but it wasn’t as easy as picking up a phone. It took four years and several failed attempts. First, I asked my uncle Gary, a former private investigator, to find and reach out to my biological parents. He did talk to Dmitry and explained that I wanted to contact my sisters. Dmitry wasn’t very receptive, but he did admit that he and Camelia gave a child up for adoption. After that initial conversation with my uncle, he was silent, making it clear that he wanted to keep the secret (me), and he wasn’t going to help me contact my biological sisters. Failed attempt number one. So I switched my game plan and planned to contact Dominique instead. I subscribed to her website and saw she was on a gymnastics tour—and one of the stops was Indianapolis. That was only two and a half hours away from my home, so I had the genius idea to show up at the meet, get down to the gymnastics floor, find Dominique, and tell her I was her long-lost sister! It was the “perfect” plan in my head, but about two weeks before I was going to buy the tickets, I found out that she was injured and had to pull out of the tour. I was so bummed and discouraged! Failed attempt number two.

That was a low point. After my high school graduation and my big move to Florida, I was so overwhelmed and distracted that the idea of finding my sisters got put on the back burner for a bit. But toward the end of that year (2007), my thoughts and even my dreams became consumed by the idea of meeting my biological family. It was clearly God telling me to try again! So I gave it one third and final shot. I called my parents and told them I wanted to try again. I needed them to copy all the legal documents from my adoption and send them my way. Then, I called my uncle Gary and asked him to track down Dominique’s address in Ohio for me. I copied pictures of myself from when I was a baby all the way to my current age, then crafted a carefully written letter that took forever to get just right. I made the decision to leave out the detail about me having no legs—maybe that would be a bit much to find out at the same time she was learning she had a long-lost sister. Finally, I packaged up my heart and soul in a big manila envelope and sent it out on a hope and a prayer.

In retrospect, the scene I made at the post office was pretty hilarious. Because Domi was famous, I was concerned about someone intercepting the package. I asked the postal lady about all of these hypothetical scenarios. “Okay, so if she isn’t there, no one else can sign for her, right? And if someone is there and it’s not her, they can’t take the package, right?” I asked the same thing in different ways over and over again to make sure all my bases were covered and I hadn’t forgotten anything. The lady must have thought I was nuts.

I waited for two weeks, truly the longest two weeks of my life. I remember I was talking to my neighbor at my front door. “I’m going to go check the mail,” she said. “Do you want me to grab yours too?” I said, “Sure, thanks.” She returned with a Christmas card. When I opened the envelope, a letter signed with Dominique’s signature fell out of the card. In that moment, my heart stopped. I hadn’t been waiting on this for only two weeks; I had been waiting and praying for four years. Then I was seized with fear. What if she and Christina reject me? What if they don’t want to have anything to do with me?

It was one of life’s true “Band-Aid” moments. Like ripping off a Band-Aid, it’s best to just get it over with. There was no point in hesitating; I just had to get on with it and read the note. I’ll never forget when I got to the middle of the letter and read Dominique’s words: “You’re about to be an auntie!” I knew right then and there that she had accepted me into her family. The next day there was a knock at my door and a delivery guy handed me a flower arrangement. Who would be sending me flowers? Then I read the note: “Love, Dominique and Christina.” I knew Dominique was getting ready to have her first baby and finishing up college, so I decided to give her as much time as she needed. I let her take the lead. And I still have the vase the flowers from my sisters came in next to my bed on a nightstand. It marked the beginning of us finding one another.

A couple of weeks later, I was on my way to work at Disney when I got a call from a number I didn’t recognize. I answered it and heard a soft voice say, “Hello, Jennifer? This is Dominique.” I was so surprised that I didn’t know what to say at first (I know—me, speechless! Shocking!). But really, what do you say when your childhood idol turns out to be your biological, long-lost sister? And then that sister calls you when you’re not expecting it? I took a deep breath, tried to forget the awkwardness of the situation, and just talked like I would to a close friend. The conversation flowed so naturally that before I knew it, we had been on the phone for more than an hour. Toward the end of the conversation, I realized I still hadn’t told her I didn’t have legs. I was hoping that maybe her parents had filled her in about the reason why they gave me up. Maybe, I thought, I’ll just squeeze it in real quick, very casually . . .

So that’s just what I did. Right before we got off the phone, I said, “Oh, you probably already know, but I was born without legs.” Dominique was pretty quiet on the other end of the phone for a minute. Okay, so she didn’t already know. I could tell she was trying to process and respond in an appropriate way.

Then she kind of stammered. “Oh, oh . . . wow, no, I really didn’t know that.” She was trying her best to be polite and kind and not sound completely freaked out. I almost felt bad because she had already had one huge surprise (me!), and now she had to cope with another one. It was the reason I had purposefully left it out of my letter; it would have been way too much new information to handle at one time.

It was a huge relief knowing that she wanted to get to know me. Four months later, in May 2008, Christina and I both flew to Ohio, and all three of us met for the first time at Dominique’s home. At the time, our father, Dmitry, was still alive. But he died of cancer later that year. He knew the three of us were meeting, and I wondered how he felt about that. I was told that at the end of his life, he made amends with his whole family and even told my sisters he wanted to meet me. Unfortunately, he died before that ever happened. I had a million questions to ask him, and I think we would have gotten along just fine. Like me, he had a strong personality and was very driven. My sisters say he was proud of me, of “the Moceanu” in me. I think at the end of his life, he realized and regretted the mistakes he’d made. I hope he found peace and took comfort in the fact that God is good and wanted our family to finally be whole.

Though my sisters and I wanted things to go smoothly and easily, we each needed to go through an adjustment period. I had to figure out how I fit in this family that was so different from the one I grew up with. I was the outsider, the new kid on the block. Domi and Christina had a rough childhood during which they learned to rely on each other. As a result, they’re always going to be closer, and I have to be okay with that. I’ll admit I was a little jealous at first. They had inside jokes. They had memories. Christina struggled as well—she had always been the little sister, and now she had to share that role and let someone else in. The only way to grow our relationship was to invest time in it—talk things through, be open and honest with our feelings.

Time is the key word. After Dominique and I were in contact with each other, another four years passed before we shared the news with anyone beyond our small, intimate circle of family and close friends. We couldn’t talk about it publicly. We waited for many reasons, but most importantly because Dominique felt we needed time to get to know each other before fielding an onslaught of questions and media attention. I was frustrated, but I understood. We each needed to process the situation in our own way. I had to miss Christina’s wedding because people couldn’t know about me yet. Then, in June 2012, Dominique’s book was published, and she and I did an interview that aired on the TV show 20/20.

It was a bit melodramatic! Some news sources called our story “shocking,” “a dark family secret,” “a sin of omission.” They characterized Domi’s life as “tumultuous” and my letter to her as “the biggest bombshell” of her life. She admitted that rage was her first emotion, then denial. She felt like her life had been a lie.

Hearing our story told was surreal. We all knew the story, but seeing it on national television was an entirely different experience. Once the story aired, my phone blew up with people asking me, “Why didn’t you say something?” So many people in my life didn’t know. I remember driving in LA the night the 20/20 piece aired and feeling like a huge weight had been lifted. And being able to post that first picture of all three of us on Facebook was a huge moment.

I met my biological mother for the first time in 2009 in Dominique’s home in Ohio. I remember the phone rang and my heart did a backflip: Camelia and her husband were about five minutes away. It felt like the scene was happening in slow motion. I heard her come through the door, speaking words in Romanian I couldn’t understand, and then she entered the living room. She had on this huge fur hat and walked toward me slowly. I held my breath.

She hugged me and kept speaking in Romanian, so Dominique had to translate. She said how much I looked like Christina and Dmitry. Over the course of the afternoon, I showed her videos of me performing with Britney Spears and pictures of my acrobatic and aerial routines. She was proud of all the great things happening in my life. She told me she knew she never could have given me any of them. I sensed a great deal of sadness even when she smiled. She seemed haunted by a past that she had little to do with and that I don’t hold her responsible for. But no matter how much I assured her that I was fine, that my life was happy and I was healthy and everything was good, she couldn’t forgive herself. It’s something I can’t do for her, and I know it will take time. But I also know she’s a woman of faith and that will get her through. She believes in God, and He’ll help her realize she’s not to blame and this was always part of His plan for me.

My parents came the next day to meet her as well and brought a shoe box full of old baby pictures. I have always wondered if they felt uncomfortable during those early reunions, but they supported me 110 percent. If they were nervous or worried, they didn’t let that get in the way. They put my needs above all else and trusted that although I was getting closer to my biological family, they wouldn’t lose me. Our bond is way too strong.

We all had dinner together that night at Dominique’s. As I looked around, I realized that both my worlds were coming together at one dinner table. Isaiah 55:8 says, “‘For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,’ declares the LORD.” God’s plans are so much bigger and more impressive than ours. His goal for your life is more rewarding, more fulfilling, more spectacular than you’ve ever dreamed possible. The trick is staying open to those possibilities. Let God in and let Him work His wonders.

Life Isn’t Always Black and White

Sometimes life can be really colorful and complicated, and things you never could have seen coming in a million years just happen. What then? You have to adapt. My pastor said something one Sunday at church that has stuck with me: never put anything past yourself, and never say “never.” You may think to yourself, I would never do this or I would never do that. But the fact is, we are human and we make mistakes. This is why we need to show grace, compassion, empathy, and forgiveness. Everyone’s path is different. Everyone has different struggles, challenges, childhoods, joys, triumphs, defeats. We cannot fully relate to one another because we will never walk another’s exact path. I’ve made mistakes, I’m not perfect, and I’ve done things I’m not proud of. But I’ve also shown forgiveness. I know life isn’t always simple and clear-cut, and we can’t judge someone for doing what they do. That’s between them and God. The only person you can hold accountable is yourself.