A New Ending

“Kolleen, you are now an Ebert.”

That’s all it took. The second I heard those words, tears started rolling down my cheeks. My hands were shaking, my foot tapping uncontrollably against the floor—but my heart had never felt so full. I stood up and wrapped my arms around my dad.

“We did it,” he said, his voice breaking.

And just like that, everything came full circle.

My dad, Greg, and I from 2023

I was about three years old when I first met Greg Ebert. To me, he was this big, tall, intimidating man my mom had started seeing. He would come over often, and my sisters and I would go to his house in Corcoran, which quickly became our favorite place. He had cows, chickens, cats, and dogs—it felt more like a playground than a house. At the time, we didn’t really have a father figure in our lives, and because of that, we were incredibly close with our mom. She would tell us how lucky we were to have Greg, but at first, we weren’t so sure.

As I got older, life got busier, especially with sports. Most of my time with Greg ended up being in the car, driving to and from basketball or volleyball practices. But those drives became our time. He would always say how much he loved them because it was when we could actually talk and just be together. By then, my sisters were off at college, and it was mostly just me at home. Without even realizing it, Greg and I built a bond that felt natural—like he had always been there. Looking back, that was one of the first times in my life I learned that relationships aren’t always about how they start—they’re about how they grow.

One night, after hosting people at our house, my sister asked me a question I hadn’t really considered before:

“Do you think you’d ever change your last name?”

I laughed it off and said, “Yeah, when I get married,” thinking I was hilarious. But she didn’t laugh. She pointed out how close Greg and I were, how he had basically been there my entire life. That conversation stuck with me. For weeks, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Eventually, I asked my mom and Greg to sit down with me. I had played that moment over in my head a thousand times, but when it came down to it, I could barely get the words out. My hands were shaking, my mind racing. But finally, I said it, I told them how much Greg meant to me, how safe he made me feel, and how I wanted to take his last name.

It was one of the first big moments in my life where I chose to speak up for something that really mattered to me, even when it felt uncomfortable.

They both smiled.

Then they asked me something I hadn’t expected: instead of just changing my name, would I want Greg to adopt me?

It made sense. It wasn’t just about a name, it was about identity, security, and making official what we already felt. I said yes immediately.

The process wasn’t completely smooth. My biological father had to sign paperwork, and there was uncertainty about how that would go. I remember feeling nervous, unsure of how things would play out. But it also taught me patience—learning that some of the most meaningful moments in life take time, trust, and a little bit of resilience.

About a month later, on my 14th birthday, my parents handed me a folder and inside were the signed adoption papers. It was, without a doubt, the best gift I’ve ever received.

From there, it was a waiting game—meetings, scheduling, and finally, a court date. The night before felt endless. But when the day finally came, everything felt different. We got breakfast, walked around downtown Minneapolis, and reminisced about all the moments that had led us there.

Then it was time.

Walking into the courtroom, I felt a mix of nerves and excitement. My palms were sweaty, my heart racing. But when I looked over at my mom and Greg—my dad—I saw nothing but smiles.

As the attorney spoke, sharing our story, my mind drifted through memories: moving into his house in third grade, my parents’ wedding in Florida, and the moment I first asked him if I could call him “dad.” Each memory reminded me how much love had quietly built over the years—through consistency, support, and showing up.

It made me realize that identity isn’t something that changes overnight. It’s something that’s built, shaped, and strengthened over time.

Then the judge looked at me and smiled.

“I can see how genuinely happy you are as a family,” she said. “And I’m happy to announce… Kolleen, you are now an Ebert.”

In that moment, everything felt right. The tears, the hugs, the overwhelming feeling of love—it all meant one thing:

Family isn’t just something you’re born into. Sometimes, it’s something you choose. Sometimes, it’s something you grow into. And sometimes, it’s something that quietly shapes who you become long before you even realize it.

That day didn’t just give me a new last name, it gave me a deeper understanding of who I am, where I come from, and the kind of life I want to continue building.

And that’s something I carry with me in everything I do. 🤍